She's Not Nice - She's Brilliant

Earlier this month, I wrote about male vulnerability onstage, and the difference between real depth and performative softness. But today, let’s talk about women. Because women face a particular subset of complexities across their lives, and when those experiences are put front and center, the result can be unforgettable theatre.

The two shows I’m highlighting here do exactly that.

Both pitched to me at the Meet the Media event on Day 3 of the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. Imagine waiting five hours in a chaotic ballroom just to get five minutes with a reviewer- if that. Out of over sixty shows that came my way that afternoon, these two stood out. I made them a priority. I’m glad I did.

That’s Why Mums Go to Switzerland is an autobiographical solo show about a middle-aged woman juggling life as a newly single mom to two daughters while also caring for her mother- who has dementia and is planning her death through Dignitas in Switzerland.
The Lolita Apologies is a fierce two-hander that takes aim at three men who have reinterpreted Lolita while ignoring the girl at its center.

The women in these stories are strong, complex, and- by contemporary standards- “difficult.” That’s what makes them essential. These are characters who push against silence and stereotype, and in doing so, become unforgettable.

Thanks for reading.

(Note: These reviews were originally published as part of my 2025 Fringe coverage for FringeReview. I’m archiving them here for readers who don’t follow that site.)

That’s Why Mums Go to Switzerland

TL;DR

In this richly layered solo play, a middle-aged mother juggles teenage daughters, a crumbling marriage, and an aging parent with dementia — only to learn her mother plans to end her life at Dignitas in Switzerland. Told with humor, restraint, and emotional precision, it’s a moving portrait of love, loss, and the impossible choices we make for family. It’s a portrait of love, duty, loss, and 

Review

In That’s Why Mums Go to Switzerland, a middle-aged woman suggests to her widowed mother that they all move in together, a gesture she assumes will be declined. It isn’t. What follows is an exquisite story of a life simultaneously moving along and coming apart: the collapse of a marriage, the rise of adolescent chaos, and the heavy truth of a mother planning her own death.

This is one of the best-crafted shows at the Fringe. It evokes the emotional and narrative density of a Claire Keegan novella: succinct while still rich and fully alive in every moment. You walk away with a full sense of these characters- their rhythms, their disappointments, their shared home, and all the things they can’t say aloud. The show is never overwrought or sensationalized; instead it trusts the audience with the truth of what it is, and it delivers an expected, and yet still heavy emotional punch. I left wondering if writer/performer Bonnie Oddie eats details for breakfast- that’s how thoroughly and precisely they infuse her work.

After the third husband dies, the grandmother, the matriarch of the family, begins living with her daughter, along with her son-in-law, two granddaughters, and their dog. Six months later, the husband leaves. What remains is a house of women: three generations, plus the dog (that seems to know everything). It’s all held together by one woman who bears the entire emotional and logistical burden. The daughters are growing up and they’re moody and unkind. The grandmother is in cognitive decline, growing increasingly sharper-edged. And eventually it’s revealed, not through personal confession, but via a family friend, that she has dementia. We then learn she wants to pursue assisted suicide at Dignitas in Switzerland.

The way the play handles this material is a masterclass in both propulsion and restraint. The story is layered with grief, duty, resentment, quiet humor, and profound questions of what exactly does responsibility and love look like in this context. And yet, it never feels overloaded. The pacing is exact. The transitions are seamless. The emotional truth lands and it lingers.

Within the first moment of Oddie speaking, there is a sense you have the privilege of witnessing an exceptional piece of theatre. She brings a fusion of talent to the stage that makes her captivating. A foundation in dance leads her physicality to always feel purposeful and choreographed, and it brings a sense of movement to the storytelling that allows it to develop with both momentum and ease. 

The show's efficiency also comes down to set design and direction. The staging is economical: a clothesline stretched between two trees, with garments put up, taken down, and manipulated to reflect the shifting dynamics between characters. The blocking and stage movement are all in service of clarity and emotional nuance. Oddie moves between roles fluidly, giving us distinct emotional beats and fully inhabited characters without excess. 

This is the kind of show that leaves you wanting more. Not because anything was missing, but rather it's just so well done that it invites a second (or third) viewing. It’s currently in a roughly 30-seat venue; cozy and intimate, but could hold its own in a much larger space. It’s also a show that could- and should- live well beyond the Fringe: in theatres, in school curricula, and any space where people are asked to sit with the complicated realities of caretaking, aging, and death with dignity.

It’s also worth emphasizing the conditions under which this production came to the Fringe. The team secured their venue just two weeks before opening. The fact that such a fully realized, high-caliber piece of theatre emerged under those circumstances is impressive in its own right.

That’s Why Mums Go to Switzerland is devastating, economical, and deeply human. It handles its difficult subject matter with elegance, emotional intelligence, and just enough levity to breathe through the grief.

This work is Outstanding for its attention to detail and elegance in writing, performance, and direction, and for how it unfolds the important, nuanced questions around love and death.

There are shows that ask to be noticed. This one doesn’t. It trusts its own depth and the audience’s ability to meet it there.

The Lolita Apologies

TL;DR

The Lolita Apologies pits a determined young woman against a rotating cast of male cultural figures all played by a single, versatile co-star. Each conversation challenges the way Lolita has been framed and re-framed over the decades. The result is a sharp, minimalist, and deeply personal interrogation of who controls a story, and at what cost.

Review

Staged in an intimate 36-seat black box at Braw Venues on Hill Street, The Lolita Apologies is a tightly written two-hander that combines theatrical minimalism with thematic boldness. Onstage there is little more than a table, two chairs, a TV screen in the corner, and a few basic lighting cues, yet the simplicity is deceptive. This is a piece built on language, performance, and the tension between two sharply defined roles.

At the heart of the show is Alex, the high-energy protagonist who takes the audience into a game-like premise: she will confront a series of well-known men connected to Lolita and its legacy. A spinning wheel on the screen “randomly” selects each male figure (though the show is carefully scripted), setting the stage for a series of face-to-face conversations. The male performer plays all of these roles, shifting from charm to defensiveness to unsettling menace, using minimal costume changes but strikingly distinct physical and emotional choices.

The piece is structurally clever: each confrontation escalates in difficulty, not only in how resistant the male characters are, but in the emotional toll it takes on Alex. We see her shift from effervescent and almost game-show-host buoyancy to a more grounded, worn, and deeply human presence. This gradual tonal evolution creates a clear arc, carrying the audience from playful satire to something far more personal and affecting.

The writing is direct, in the way you might see a couple get into a spat outside a bar on a New York City street corner. There are not many quiet hints or buried meanings. Instead, it lays its cards on the table. The confrontations are forthright, the emotional shifts visible, and the arguments articulated with clarity. This directness feels deliberate: the piece isn’t trying to hide its stance, but rather to challenge the audience to sit with it, wrestle with it, and carry those conversations into the world beyond the theater.

It’s also sharp and layered, drawing on cultural criticism, literary history, and gender politics without becoming academic or heavy-handed. The performances keep it alive: Alex’s drive and persistence, paired with the male performer’s chameleon-like transformations, give each scene its own distinct texture. Minimal set, minimal tech, but maximum focus on the actors and the words.

It’s the kind of theatre that provokes conversation in the bar afterward and lingers in your thoughts days later. Whether you arrive familiar with Lolita or not, this piece delivers a potent combination of theatrical craft and cultural interrogation.

This show is a Hidden Gem for its smart construction, both in writing and performance, and the necessary cultural conversations it will ignite. It deserves the audience’s attention and a chance to rewrite society’s script.