the joys of the fringe

In May, I had the pleasure of directing a show for Brighton Fringe — my first fringe festival since moving to the UK and completing my master’s degree. The show was Freezer Cake, a one-man piece written and performed by my dear friend Marco Namor. After a short run in Camden and a week in Brighton, I found myself sitting in the audience for the final performance, and to my surprise, I was still discovering new things about the play. After the show, Marco, the producer, and I found ourselves chatting about all the “what-ifs” — “What about this for the next run?” “Could we try that moment differently?”

It got me thinking about the unique experience of working on fringe shows: they’re living, breathing, and often unfinished. You want the piece to continue growing — to find its next iteration, its next home. One of the goals of fringe, I think, is progress, not perfection. It's not about putting up a pristine, final product. It’s about putting something up that’s alive and in motion.

I’ve directed for new play festivals, workshops, and a fair bit of new play development over the years. Sometimes the playwright isn’t in the room at all. Sometimes they are, but the goal is to shepherd the play toward a sense of completion. Other times, I’ve been handed a new script with zero room for development. And of course, sometimes you’re working on a high-budget production, and the stakes — financial, artistic, reputational — are considerably higher. But fringe theatre? It feels different - there’s a freedom to it I’m finding.

When Steph first approached me with this new play, she told me from the outset that she wasn’t precious about the text and was excited to develop it collaboratively. As a director, that kind of openness is gold. Having worked with Steph many times before, I knew we’d be in for an adventurous, joyful process. From our early meetings and Zoom rehearsals, it’s been clear that everyone involved is eager to explore, willing to take risks, and open to surprise. That kind of spirit is infectious — and essential when you're building something new.

Before I was a director, I was an actor for 15 years. And like many actors, I was a perfectionist. I always wanted to get things “right.” It took me a long time to unlearn that mindset. So when I moved into directing, one of my biggest intentions was to create rehearsal rooms where "getting it right" wasn’t a thing. Instead, I wanted to build spaces where experimentation, play, and collaboration were valued above all. Throw things at the wall. See what sticks. Invite the mess. In my experience, this kind of process leads to a deeper understanding of the material — and it gives everyone in the room true ownership over the work.

Fringe theatre feels like an expression of that ethos. You get to take bold, unfinished ideas from the rehearsal room and share them. That’s terrifying in some ways — it still pokes at the perfectionist in me — but it’s also incredibly exciting.

It’s a reminder that the best art — and the best artists — are the ones that remain curious, brave, and willing to evolve.

This week, we’ll all be in the room together for the first time, and I can’t wait for what lies ahead. The development, the collaboration, the risk-taking. That, to me, is one of the joys of fringe.