BASIC BALD B*TCH ⭐⭐

“Hair is everything. Until it’s not, this one-hour, one-woman, one-night stand of a show is about Amy. Everyone wants to be Amy. Until her hair falls out in all the wrong places. What follows is a knotty mess of swimming caps, cat shit and four-finger foreheads. Things buried threaten to rear their ugly bald head. She can’t stop thinking about the door. Her bedroom door. And the man hiding behind it. Now Amy attempts to take back her body, one fake eyebrow at a time. This show uses drag and comedy to explore sexuality, alopecia and assault.”

There is a lot to admire about BASIC BALD B*TCH. At its heart is a deeply personal story about alopecia, body image, sexuality and the aftermath of assault, delivered with a willingness to be silly, grotesque and occasionally downright outrageous. It is a show that clearly wants to reclaim the body from the expectations placed upon it — and there are flashes where it does this extremely effectively. The problem is that, at present, the show feels like it is still searching for the clearest way to tell that story.

Sarah Stacey's direction is a mixed bag. There are some strong theatrical instincts here, particularly in the use of space and the show’s physicality, but the overall shape can feel confusing and, at times, contradictory. At times, the production seems to know exactly what it wants to say, only to pull in another direction immediately. The result is that the audience can occasionally be left wondering what the production wants us to take from a particular moment, rather than being allowed to sit with it. At times it feels as though the direction is trying to support every idea the piece contains rather than deciding which ideas deserve to be front and centre.

The lighting by Catja Hamilton and sound design by Raffaela Pancucci are both solid and support the storytelling without unnecessarily demanding attention. Levels are generally well handled, and the technical design contributes to the atmosphere. I would have liked more definition and specificity in places, however. Given how heightened some of the material becomes, there is an opportunity for the technical world to become more distinctive and help separate the show’s different emotional and theatrical modes. Still, this is a technical package that understands its job, and, importantly, doesn’t get in the way of the performer.

Emily Glaze's writing holds the most potential. There is a genuinely compelling story here, and Glaze has clearly found a distinctive theatrical voice with which to tell it. The comedy can be filthy, absurd and wonderfully unexpected, while the more serious material has real emotional weight. The difficulty is that too much happens in a one-hour show. Scenes and ideas arrive at such speed that many don’t have enough time to breathe, particularly when the material moves into more emotional territory. Just as you begin to connect with something, the show is already sprinting towards the next beat. The irony is that the moments that land hardest are often the ones permitted to slow down the pace, and we are allowed to see Amy as a person rather than simply as the protagonist of a rapid-fire sequence of events. Comedy needs timing, and sometimes this production seems to be in such a hurry to get to the next punchline that it accidentally trips over the one it is currently delivering. There is a wonderful story here. I just wanted more time with it.

Emily Glaze gives a good performance, with glimpses of something genuinely excellent.

There is an impressive commitment to the physicality, comedy and vulnerability of the material, and Glaze is clearly comfortable carrying an entire hour on her shoulders. She throws herself into the ridiculousness of the show while also exposing some deeply personal material. However, the pace once again becomes the limiting factor. We very rarely get beyond a surface-level look at Amy before the show moves on to another idea, character or comic beat. And this is frustrating because the moments when we do get beneath that surface are some of the strongest in the entire production. Those glimpses make you want to know Amy better. They make you want the show to pause, breathe and trust its central story a little more.

Overall, BASIC BALD B*TCH has plenty going for it: a distinctive voice, an important personal story, some genuinely funny material and a performer who is clearly willing to give the audience everything. But at the moment, it feels like a show trying to fit a much bigger piece into a one-hour suitcase. And, much like an overstuffed suitcase, a few things got crushed in the process. With greater clarity of direction, a little more breathing room in the writing and a willingness to let the emotional moments linger, BASIC BALD B*TCH could become a considerably more powerful piece.

BASIC BALD B*TCH runs at Underbelly Cowgate at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, running 5–30 August 2026 at 15:55, with a running time of approximately one hour.

Book tickets for BASIC BALD B*TCH at Edinburgh Fringe