GISELLE: REMIX

Edinburgh Festival Fringe

★★★★

“The choreography is impeccable, the performances magnetic, and the shifts in tone handled with total control”

Jack Sears’ Giselle: Remix takes the bones of the classic ballet and explodes them into something gloriously queer, irreverent, and intoxicating. Part ballet, part lip-sync cabaret, part queer coming-of-age story, this is an ode to love, lust, sex, joy, and the mess of queer intimacy.

On the day I attended, guest artist Johnny Woo opened the show in a shimmering gown, delivering a lip-sync that was stylish and glamourous. Sears and the company then appear in flowing gauzy dresses, pastel-toned and almost translucent, dancing to Carpenters’ “Crystal Lullaby”. The movement is technically exquisite, ballet-trained bodies gliding across a pale lino floor, but threaded with flashes of humour and character.

The narrative, though abstract, traces a queer coming-of-age: from childhood games of kiss chase (without ever being kissed) to sexual awakening, romantic ideals shaped by 90s rom-coms, and the jolting realities of intimacy. Sears’ love for Julia Roberts, Drew Barrymore, and the cinematic happily-ever-after surfaces in playful fragments, often subverted by sharp comedic beats. A brilliantly silly sequence involving overheard sex, chopped up with snippets of rom-com dialogue in the sound design, is very funny.

As the show progresses, light and costume shift the tone from airy romance to something darker and kinkier. Black and midnight-blue outfits, harsh alarm sounds, and sudden slices of light turn the dancers into something monstrous. A red velvet cape swirls like a villain’s entrance; later, Sears appears in black latex with glossy red lips, the choreography channelling erotic menace. It’s as much about the joy of sex as it is about the neuroses, fears, and regrets that can accompany it.

Throughout, the work nods to queer ancestry and community, in one section folding in the voices of Judy Garland, Julian Clary, Paul O’Grady, Miriam Margolyes, and James Baldwin. There’s a richness to these choices, a layering of history and cultural reference that adds depth without ever slowing the show’s momentum.

One of the most affecting moments comes late on, when Sears recalls being a closeted schoolboy, quietly looking up to older queer kids – whether or not they were out themselves – and recognising the unspoken passing of a baton between generations. It’s tender, relatable, and beautifully encapsulates the show’s celebration of resilience, inheritance, and connection.

The evening ends with a duet of “Get Happy” between Sears and Johnny Woo, the two beaming at each other, radiating the joy and defiance that have been running through the show all along.

Giselle: Remix is thrilling in its confidence. It knows exactly what it is, balancing the ethereal beauty of classical ballet with finely-tuned storytelling. The choreography is impeccable, the performances magnetic, and the shifts in tone handled with total control. This is a show about queer love in all its contradictions: the innocence and the filth, the fantasy and the fallout. It’s celebratory, sexy, and absolutely worth seeing.

GISELLE: REMIX

Edinburgh Festival Fringe

Reviewed on 10th August 2025 at Forth at Pleasance Courtyard

by Joseph Dunitz

Photography by Ali Wright

GISELLE

★★★★

“compelling, funny, and, at times, quietly challenging”

Sam Kissajukian opens 300 Paintings by telling us he is quitting comedy to become an artist. It is a ridiculous premise, he admits, and one that becomes the launchpad for a fast-paced, funny, and unexpectedly thoughtful hour that straddles stand-up, TED Talk, and autobiographical theatre.

In 2021, during a six-month manic episode, Kissajukian created 300 paintings, unknowingly documenting his mental state through the process. The show charts this period and its aftermath, skipping at speed through his evolving artistic styles, obsessions, and experiments. One recurring joke is just how quickly he abandons each new phase in pursuit of the next, a habit both comic and revealing. His philosophy, he tells us, is quantity over quality.

The set-up could feel minimal – just Kissajukian, a projection screen, and his story – but his charisma more than fills the space. He knows how to land a punchline, how to keep a rhythm, and how to pull the audience along even when the journey veers from art-world satire into something stranger and more personal. His recounting of a phase in his journey to create 30 inventions in 30 days, and eventually securing a $10,000 investment, is both absurd and oddly moving, throwing up questions about what art is, how we measure its value, and how business and creativity intersect.

There is a self-awareness here about form, too. Kissajukian uses the tools of stand-up to deliver a show that is not quite stand-up, playing with audience expectations of comedy while giving us something closer to a storytelling lecture. The effect is both disarming and refreshing, and it gives space for more serious reflections to land.

Those reflections are often on mental health, specifically his experience of bipolar disorder. At points, he shows us the symptoms of bipolar and depression, triggering that familiar audience reflex of self-diagnosis, only to turn it on its head with a comment about the creative peaks such states can sometimes bring. It opens up a fascinating tension: how far should we push ourselves for our art, and is great work worth it if it comes at the cost of wellbeing?

The simplicity of the staging keeps the focus firmly on Kissajukian as a storyteller. There is a thrill in watching someone take such big risks, not just in the work he makes, but in the way he shares it. His willingness to embrace absurdity and to place his mental health experiences at the centre of his art makes for an hour that is compelling, funny, and, at times, quietly challenging.

There are moments when the pace dips, but the overall effect is one of openness and curiosity, a show that invites us to think about art and mental health not as separate concerns but as intertwined processes. It is messy, human, and really very funny.

Tag Archives: Joseph Dunitz

GISELLE: REMIX

★★★★

Edinburgh Festival Fringe

GISELLE: REMIX

Edinburgh Festival Fringe

★★★★

“The choreography is impeccable, the performances magnetic, and the shifts in tone handled with total control”