Tag Archives: Edinburgh Festival Fringe

SAME

★★★★

Edinburgh Festival Fringe

SAME

Edinburgh Festival Fringe

★★★★

“honest, powerful, and true — and, perhaps most importantly, hopeful”

Many men carry complicated maps of their fathers in their hearts — some routes well-trodden, others broken off mid-journey. In Same, two best mates, James and Lewis, wrestle with the weight of those inherited paths. Do the sins of the father echo through the son? Can a pattern be broken before it repeats? Are the families we are born into the cards we’re dealt… or the ones we would ever truly choose?

Here we meet four characters, all adrift: fathers who have vanished or moved on, mothers who drown their sorrows in drink and drown their lives in a sea of overdue bills, a letter left unopened — the kind that can change a life, or slip silently into dust. Each of them searches for a way forward, a way out, a way home.

This is a finely wrought work, rooted in a subject that demands to be voiced. It is rare these days to see a story that examines male fragility alongside male resilience, one that does not flinch from the emotional weather of men. But Same does more than stage a drama — it holds up a mirror to its audience. It quietly asks: Are you struggling? Are you okay? Do you need someone to talk to? It is a hand extended, not just a curtain lifted.

The piece is still at the beginning of its journey. It probably will be longer or develop some second half that brings the audience into its script and onto its stage. There is much to cherish: the solid ensemble of Brandon Kimaryo, Jason Avlonitis, Miles Dunkley, and Aimee Samara; the vision of creators Francesca Di Cesare and Aimee Samara; the script by Aimee Samara; and a hauntingly beautiful score by Concerto Main, which shapes the emotional spine of the work. Same is honest, powerful, and true — and, perhaps most importantly, hopeful.

Performed in the Olive Studio at Greenside George Street — an intimate, low-ceilinged space that feels like a warm held breath. The lighting could benefit from a designer’s touch to refocus and illuminate the actors’ faces and the delicate intention of the work. Yet, somehow, the story glows from within, finding its own light.

Same may not be your story. You may not leave feeling the same as your neighbour. But when I saw it, it struck a chord that hummed the same in all who were there — an unspoken recognition, that was the same for all observers, as if we’d all been handed the same letter, and finally decided to read it.



SAME

Edinburgh Festival Fringe

Reviewed on 11th August 2025 at Olive Studio at Greenside @ George Street

by Louis Kavouras

Photography by Bradey Fallon 

 

 

 

 

 

SAME

SAME

SAME

ROLE PLAY (OR THE HOTTEST DAY IN BELGIAN HISTORY)

★★★★★

Edinburgh Festival Fringe

ROLE PLAY (OR THE HOTTEST DAY IN BELGIAN HISTORY)

Edinburgh Festival Fringe

★★★★★

“unapologetic, bold, brave, and brilliantly acted”

A single actor sits facing upstage in a small Fringe theatre. One chair. A pillow. Two torches (flashlights). That’s all — and it’s all that’s needed. This is Fringe perfection.

I could say I’m old — or rather, well-seasoned. When I was young, we’d get drunk, have sex with one another, make mistakes, and pretend to forget what happened in the morning. Times have changed. For new generations, sex is more fluid, more available, more visible on the internet, roles more varied and accepted — and yet it also seems far more complicated, even impossible. Today it’s not just a physical act; it’s a mental one too — an intimate terrain of permission, perception, and potential misstep. When did sex quit being fun?

Cameron Murphy has crafted a show that is beautiful, complicated, and deeply human. We live in a time where so much feels like a minefield — where we censor what we do, say, and maybe even think. Murphy doesn’t tiptoe through those mines. In Role Play, he dances through them, unafraid — because what he’s expressing is truth. And truth might be the only thing that keeps us from harm.

The story is true. An aspiring actor falls for a girl in high school. He never connects with her — she becomes “the one who got away.” Years later, he finds her online. He sells a prized possession to buy a ticket to see her. What unfolds is an unflinching coming-of-age tale: tender, darkly honest, taboo-laced, and utterly human. It’s the hottest day in Belgian history, and the heat of long-lost teenage infatuation collides with the fire of twenty-something explorations of identity and sexual permissiveness.

Role Play lays bare the choreography we all perform in love — the parts we play, the masks we wear. This is not a fairy-tale romance. Murphy strips himself emotionally to the core, telling “the story [he] was most afraid to tell” — the one that proves all of us, in some way, are trying to be good actors, hoping our performance is enough. Hoping to connect.

Well directed by Paolo Laskero, the show clearly benefits from an outside eye. Role Play is the perfect Fringe piece: unapologetic, bold, brave, and brilliantly acted. Murphy’s delivery flows like a spontaneous tirade — yet beneath it is a deliberate structure and vocal rhythm. In music, a repeated phrase or pattern becomes an ostinato, creating unity and hypnotic tension; here, repetition becomes the heartbeat of the piece — or perhaps the mended heart that serves as its central metaphor.

It’s architectural. Patterns return. Emotional arcs loop and resolve. The two torches become instruments of self-lighting, sculpting the space and punctuating scenes with precision.

The result: fifty vulnerable minutes, choreographed and sculpted with skill. Great art requires permission, surrender, and acceptance. This work demands all three — and somehow gives back more. It’s also quite funny, and Murphy’s wit and charm light the room even when the torches are off.



ROLE PLAY (OR THE HOTTEST DAY IN BELGIAN HISTORY)

Edinburgh Festival Fringe

Reviewed on 11th August 2025 at Ivy Studio at Greenside @ George Street

by Louis Kavouras

Photography by Jill Petracek 

 

 

 

 

 

ROLE PLAY

ROLE PLAY

ROLE PLAY