Esme Davis
If you’re at the fringe seeking the unexpected, allow me to point your attention to Lucy McCormick’s solo cabaret: Lucy & Friends.
After a nonsensical opening number, Lucy introduces the show with the story of her intention to create a cabaret show with her friends, only to fail to secure the required funding. Instead, she decides to deliver the cabaret entirely by herself.
The audience are cast, recruited and subjected to a diverse range of games and spectacles as the show quickly dissolves into an intentional mess of condiments and bodily fluids. For one such act, Lucy strips in front of the audience, a pole-dancing set staged behind her. One moment, she is revealing yellow and black safety tape covering her chest, the next she is using an angle grinder to physically cut the steel pole in half. From that point onwards, there really was no telling what was going to happen next.
The performance was not polished nor coherent, and it is difficult to figure out whether the messiness is intentional or simply welcomed. That said, there is not a moment in the piece where Lucy loses your attention. It’s a real edge-of-your-seat, eyes-wide and mouth-gaping kind of experience.
Even if you’re not sure what you’re walking into (and still aren’t sure when you leave), you are likely to be laughing incredulously for enough of the performance that your jaw hurts.
The show fits within a loose commentary on the artistic process and the state of the creative industry. It exposes the limitations of the ‘DIY’ model that is fast becoming the expectation. Lucy produces a hectic, artificial pressure to do everything, and to do it as fast as possible.
There is a painful erratic energy to each section as she tries to excuse and explain her failed stunts and unexpected turns. Throughout the show, there is a through-line of the attempt to foster connection with the audience, forge a community, and make friends.
Audiences should be aware that there are starkly explicit moments throughout the show, including nudity and sexual acts. I wouldn’t deem these necessary, but they serve a purpose in welcoming the unnecessary and firmly embedding the expectation that anything may happen. There are no lines that cannot be crossed, and so who knows where things may end up. The descent into chaos sees no end.
Lucy’s performance comes across as refreshingly authentic and frank, acknowledging both the strengths and weaknesses throughout as she loudly orchestrates the room. As an audience, you feel like you get to know her through this series of bizarre acts. Twisting these into something raw and emotional becomes near uncomfortable as a result, in a way that is quite unique for a fringe show.
The aesthetic of this show echoes this stripped-back depiction of a performer’s struggle. It starts messy. It ends a up as a mess. Things are spilt that you wouldn’t think would be allowed to be spilt. Things are broken that you would consider quite firmly unbreakable. And the audience, as Lucy’s new friends, are invited to help clear up. An activity that becomes really quite enjoyable as you work together to gradually create a semblance of order within the chaos you’ve communally witnessed.
This show tells a tale of pleading creativity, an artist baring all she has to give and asking who, if anyone, cares. It also refreshingly undermines itself – every moment that borders on meta or self-referential is quickly subverted by comedy. It is experimental without being inaccessible, a line many shows fail to tread. Unapologetically messy and delightfully unnecessary, if you enjoy art about art, or perhaps about nothing at all, Lucy & Friends is the choice for you this fringe.
Recommended drink: A bloody mary, complete with celery
Performances of Lucy & Friends have now concluded at EdFringe 2026.
Finlay Clench
Tom Clayton
Ellen Leslie
