Lamesha Ruddock
Are you ready to refuse someone else’s sins as your inheritance? This is for anyone with unresolved daddy issues.
Suraya, a South African girl, from child to adulthood is slowly but surely derailed by the ripple effects of utter devastation, apparently god-given, man-made devastation.
The Sins of the Father is painfully honest and powerfully told. The archaic, patriarchal idea that the father is the head of the home runs through every scene, allowing for the potent critique of the embodied neglect, disrespect and sacrifice to manifest.
Femicide and gender-based violence are the order of the day across South Africa, across the world. Profile pictures everywhere have become purple in solidarity for our late sisters. Why is there a normalcy of abuse? We are Jane Doe. And to whose benefit? The Sins of the Father refuses to be silent.
Cat Isaacs is exceptional, playing all stages of Suraya, a distant mother, a warm auntie and a grifting preacher alone on stage. Cat stuns and reels the audience completely as auntie. Independent, divorced, understanding, she moves through classical stories woven together with Latin and Funk Carioca from the likes of Letan. Cat delivers such ingenue innocence as young Suraya. A child who knows lots of big words as she has had to grow up, older than she should be yet clings to her teddy bear to preserve her purity.
The intentional design is punchy and impactful. Under a full blue wash, a scarf is unravelled into a cradled baby. Cat’s live vocals permeate chills through the room as she melts into a harrowing Black Sheep melodic rendition under red and blue backlights.
The Sins of the Father sits in the discomfort, and invites you to address your anger and insurmountable grief amidst the ongoing injustice.
Recommended Drink: A cup of Honeybush tea.
Performances of The Sins of the Father have now concluded at EdFringe 2026.
Sarah Kher-Bek
