Edinburgh Fringe review

Given that adjectives such as degenerate, obscene, and blasphemous attached themselves to Lucy McCormick’s bold breakthrough show Triple Threat in 2016, fans of this theatrical provocateur will have some expectations of her latest endeavour. Those who don’t, brace yourself.

Lucy & Friends might be a little tamer than its predecessor, but that’s a warped standard to compare anything to. This proudly alternative cabaret-comedy-theatre show (it’s listed under the latter) contains some outrageous, graphic nudity as its star projects alluring sexual wildness that quickly transforms into the scarily unhinged. There’s definitely a frisson every time she strides into the audience.

Her description of herself as ‘a bit kooky’ is a criminal understatement. She’s a feral, fiendish diva, liable to trash the stage, climb over the rigging, and destroy props in her drive to get the audience – and herself – to feel something. She’s a fearless, visceral performer, always in the here and now, compelling for her unpredictability.

And yet ultimately, beneath this intense, anarchic carnage turns out to be something surprisingly sweet. Once the ferocity and the boundary-pushing subside, McCormick introduces some real vulnerabilities. 

The premise here is that she was going to present a full-on cabaret extravaganza with all her mates, but the funding fell through, and now she has to do it all on her tod, everything from a pole routine to songs. That’s a boilerplate Fringe show premise, but she makes unexpected choices at every turn, fuelled by red wine and mental dysfunction.
We get a glimpse into the decisions that brought her here, the mad routines developed in welcoming queer theatre spaces, now writ larger at Edinburgh where she can show it to TV executives. Quite what they could do with this insanity is moot.

Loneliness turns out to be the key theme, though. McCormick is bereft doing this show on her own, and she confesses how difficult she finds it to make friends as an adult. There’s an elegiac mood as she sings Adele’s Hello while pretending to be a ghost – all for the sake of a dad joke or two – plus a typically messy visual gag as she tries to swig back her merlot through the sheet. 

 Yet by the end, the audience has formed something of a community – initially via our host’s browbeating, but actually, it feels quite nice to be a part of it, even if that does mean cleaning up McCormick’s mess.

She has given us a wild ride through a show she accepts might be the definition of ‘not for everybody’. But if you want outrageous cabaret, songs, jokes, sketches and a bit of emotional depth, all from a supernova performer, you should get into McCormick’s friendship circle soonest.
 

Review date: 13 Aug 2023
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Pleasance Courtyard