Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

Hole is an impressive debut from a compelling performer who has found a quirky and entertaining way of telling her story, raising awareness - that dread phrase - without it ever feeling like you’re in the lecture hall.

Holly Spillar has a condition called vaginismus, in which the vaginal muscles close up whenever penetration is attempted. It makes sex, and even inserting a tampon, agonising, if not impossible.

She tells her story in a fragile high voice, part-schoolgirl, part-Bjork, perhaps so the unthreatening ethereal tones will dispel any awkwardness about the subject. But that doesn’t mean she’s not disarmingly frank, as she talks about the pain, how it’s affected her relationships and her mental health, and the problems she has encountered seeking help.

Often the sing-song voice becomes an actual musical track, as a key phrase is locked into her sampler and looped, creating trippy, echoey and surprisingly catchy songs to get her point across. The loop device has its limitations, which she hits as the tracks eventually become a little samey – but it’s an effective way of lightening her message.

She shames the potential sexual partners who have dealt badly with her condition (which has previously also been highlighted on Netflix’s Sex Education) as well as sexist bias in the health service. Male doctors give lousy advice and consider her complaint trivial – ‘medical gaslighting’ she calls it. And when she finally receives a straightforward solution from a female doctor, Spillar’s sampled voice becomes a host of angels giving praise.

Vaginismus doesn’t only have physical symptoms and the idea that nothing will fulfil her leads to some angst. Spillar is blighted by the crippling fear that not being able to have penetrative sex might make her some way less in today’s sexualised world – and some internalised misogyny does nothing to help her cause.  

All of this is done with the lightest of touches, with Spillar never taking herself too seriously, thanks to her faux-ditsy persona, even if her condition is clearly far from frivolous. Some segments offer pure comedy, such as her listing analogies for having sex, or encounters with doctors that could come from a sketch show. Even the way she says 'w-hole', to distinguish it from the hole that gives the show its title – and which she even dresses in acknowledgement of, is funny.

She’s a riveting performer – vulnerable but in utter control of her material, presenting a tough, multifaceted subject in a silly but honest way.

Review date: 21 Aug 2023
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Underbelly Bristo Square