REVIEW: A Microscopic Odyssey, Mycelium Theatre Company, EdFringe 2026 ★★★★

Today’s performance will be in a tent. Here for it. Classical piano music tinkles and twinkles overhead like raindrops or stars. A test tube of… sciencey stuff. Algae? Hangs suspended in the light of an overhead projector. Something mesmerising is going to happen with this projector. The two women next to me are discussing their computational biology PHDs. I’m surrounded by tree-lovers, mycophiles, AND star-watchers – this is exactly where I’m meant to be. 

The show opens not with a bang, but a whimper. The ensemble cast of four are as curious to know what’s inside this illuminated test tube as I am. A child, playing with his toys. Playing with his… overhead projector? Toy soldiers become astronauts, sweets spells out ‘James’ Planet’. I have a huge soft spot for stories that centre a child’s eye view of the world. This world of exploration is quickly crushed by the booming voice of a threatening father figure.

A sliver of light cuts through adult James’ body – we’re oscillating from traumatising childhood to professional adulthood – god save non-linear narratives. James appears to pull back a pair of curtains – another clever trick of the light – and enters the stage as: grown up microbiologist James Weiss (who is real) to tell us about waterbears, AKA, Tardigrades. That rings a bell, I’ve heard of these things before, maybe in an old Buzzfeed article? So small yet so resilient, so cute yet so gross – what do you mean they can’t swim?! 

Now we’re getting to the physical theatre part of physical theatre: red lights, an interpretive dance piece which I think is meant to symbolically represent being abused as a child? Or an earthquake? These performers sure know how to move their bodies. Earthquake. A random woman appears, holding a disco ball like a lantern, transforming our tent into a star-filled sky. I am living for this light show. Who is she? No idea, a kindly American stranger who looks out for lost kids? Whoever she is, she is giving us a very earnest reminder that we are all made of stardust. Again, I feel like I’ve heard this before, maybe it was a quote on my Tumblr page. Lose yourself in the mirror ball effect and try not to cringe! Young James searches for the Seventh Sister of the Pleiades – he finds her, she’s waving at him. “Stars don’t wave, silly, they twinkle.” Young James twinkles back – now I’m holding back a tear: shy lonely kid learns how to twinkle always gets me. This sound design is doing bits, hats off to Caleb Wilton and Charlie Jones.

I did not know that tardigrades can enter a state of Tun, in which they curl up into a ball and basically hibernate until the danger has passed – but I do now. It doesn’t make them immortal, but it does make them able to survive incredibly harsh environments for long periods of time, as though frozen underneath a protective glass. Kid James cowers in front of us as a giant glass is dropped over him. This overhead projector magic eats. Point taken – humans curl into balls for self-protection too. We’re not so different, us humans and waterbears. 

Kid James is making a friend, another oddball loner who wants to look at trees and make hypotheseseseses (sic.) Being a scientist is easy: all you do is have a thought, then try to prove it by looking at things. I can feel the audience of scientists around me chuckling at each other, at themselves. It’s all very good natured. Bodies transform into trees, toes into roots, as the performers merge into each other and become growing branches and mycelial networks. This is one talented ensemble, impressively directed by Hope Wishart with creativity and vision. The chemistry and co-ordination between Ben Boulton-Jones, Allie-Rae Fossum, Elijah Bai Bangura, Greta Abbey is palpable. A tiny piece of tree root is magnified to become a bigger tree which is projected onto a body to become James’ heart. Eureka moment, I GET IT! The small is what makes us feel giant. I am in awe of this talented bunch of theatre-makers creating new worlds with nothing more than an overhead projector and their own bodies. Shout out to Enza Kim. I want to watch this again from the front row so I can see how the magic is made. How scientific of me, to want to pull back the curtain, Mycelium Theatre have a firm grasp of form-content relationship. 

Tardigrades have orgies. And can shag for the equivalent of 900 human hours at a time. Impressive. A bite-sized New Scientist article between scenes, these well-chosen facts launch us into ensuing plot points: James finds love. Another totally anonymous woman who could be literally anyone makes googly eyes at James. Are they going to waltz? No. Tango? No – an interpretive finger dance. I’m being kept on my toes here. Ugh, adult James is putting his hands over this mute womans eyes in order to open them for her and show her the world, his world. I am so over this trope. I’m willing to bet there’s a lot she could show him too.

Sexy time’s over, James isn’t coping, he’s shutting out the world around him. This feels like a PTSD episode. Until the rain falls. He cracks open a window. Sometimes all it takes is rain on your skin to bring you back to reality? James puts on his raincoat and goes outside. He is actually exiting the building, out the Fire Exit. Is this the end of the show? Nope. He’s back with a test tube full of puddle water – back to the microscope – more dancing. There’s a party under the microscope. A nightclub of microorganisms. It’s a joy to finally see the cast play, when they take their source material less earnestly and themselves less seriously their freaky fishy fun is infectious. Love a dance finale. Psych – one more lecture.

In case anyone hasn’t got it yet, grown up James tells us what he’s learnt: when you’re in a Tun state, trapped under a glass for survival, you may be alive but you’re not really living. He is just like the tardigrades he studies. Yes, James, we could have told you that. “We are all just one cell in a much bigger body called life.” I let my tear fall – is anyone else in the audience crying or just me? I spot a few other shiny eyes. Now THIS is an ending. But not quite. After an hour of skilled live projection that has left me breathless, we see a video of a real tardigrade under a microscope. Cute, but underwhelming compared to what the actors have been helping us to imagine.

Despite it’s few false endings, A Microscopic Odyssey is a mesmerising handmade spectacle; a dazzling light show full of childish wonder and adult awe, kid fear and grown up pespective. This show is sure to reawaken your inner child and make you alive to the wonders of the universe all around you: in the drop of puddle, in the tip of tree, in your own chest. 

Recommended drink: Cedar-Smoked Maple Old Fashioned: Bourbon or smoked rye steeped with charred cedar branches, combined with maple syrup and aromatic bitters. Taste that tree.

Catch A Microscopic Odyssey at Pleasance Courtyard Beside from 7th to 16th August at 11:35 (60mins). Tickets are available through the EdFringe Online Box Office.

Disclaimer: My opinion is not important. Or, my opinion is very important; just like yours and the person sitting next to you and the person sitting next to them. 

There is no such thing as an objective opinion, I do not pretend to have one. I am a biased human being with my own idiosyncratic likes, interests and beliefs, which remain open to challenge and change. I am not interested in telling audiences what to think about a show, or in telling artists whether or not their show has ‘succeeded’ or ‘failed’. In the spirit of ‘Think Less, Feel More’, what you’ve just read is less a review, more a stream of consciousness attempt to capture the feeling of watching said show.