Some plays take their time, building up tension, slowly unfolding their ideas. The Big Bite-Size Showdoes no such thing. It serves its existentialism like a shot of espresso—concentrated, intense, and slightly unsettling if consumed too quickly.
Eight short plays, each one under fifteen minutes, each one pressing up against the limits of human nature in its own way. Some burrowed deep. Some skated over their themes a little too lightly. But all of them provoked something—be it thought, frustration, amusement, or mild existential dread.
Here, then, is Part One of the bee’s reflections. Four plays, four sharp little theatrical experiments that poked at ideas of self-sabotage, delusion, and the terrifying unpredictability of human connection.
Home by William Knowelden
Recommended for anyone who has ever returned to a place they once loved, only to realize that time, cruel and relentless, has left them behind.
The world is waiting. The press is gathered. The triumphant heroes of space exploration are about to land. And yet, as they hurtle toward home, something terrible dawns on them. What if the world they’re returning to is no longer theirs?
That’s the real horror in Home—not the vast emptiness of space, but the equally vast indifference of a planet that has moved on without them. The play unfolds like a quiet panic attack in zero gravity. The astronauts have spent three years bickering, growing to despise each other, yet when faced with the reality of reintegration, they realize that this—this tiny spacecraft, this claustrophobic, dysfunctional bubble—is the only world that still makes sense to them.
And so, they do the only thing that feels bearable: they choose exile. They decide to stay in space until they can’t anymore. It’s a decision born of fear, but not an irrational fear. What if home is just as alien as the void?
Thin Air by Tom Coash
Recommended for anyone who has ever felt that their entire existence is a balancing act, performed for an audience that may not even be watching.
A tightrope walker exists in a world where everything—every relationship, every thought, every piece of identity—is tied to that one precarious act. She walks the line, not just as a skill but as a state of being. But what happens when she steps off?
The play explored not just the struggle of an artist, but the struggle of anyone whose entire sense of self is built on a singular foundation. If you remove the thing you’ve defined yourself by, what’s left? And is it better to risk the fall than to exist in perpetual performance?
There was something intriguing in this character’s embrace of fragility, of choosing to exist in a space where one wrong step could mean disaster. But maybe that’s the liberation of it—knowing that nothing is certain, that nothing is safe, and finding a kind of power in accepting that.
Vintage by Lucy Kaufman
Recommended for anyone who has ever wished they could dissolve into the world inside their own head, free from the constraints of reality.
A couple has done something extraordinary: they have convinced themselves that they live in 1942. Not in the whimsical, “we like vintage fashion” way. No, they have gone all in. Their entire reality is structured around this self-imposed delusion.
It was funny, yes. But not because of the spectacle, not because of the details of their illusion. The real joy was in how fully they believed in it. There was no hesitation, no self-awareness creeping in to spoil the game. And that’s what fascinated the bee—not the era they chose, not the nostalgia itself, but the sheer, unrelenting commitment to the fiction.
Because who doesn’t want to do that sometimes? To completely surrender to an illusion of our own making? To let go of logic, of self-restraint, of that annoying little voice whispering, but this isn’t real? Most of us never do. Something—fear, self-preservation, pragmatism—always pulls us back before we go too far. But this couple had removed that barrier. They had stepped into their fantasy and refused to leave.
And sure, it came back to bite them. The real world doesn’t like being ignored. But for a moment, just a moment, they had managed what most of us never dare to do: they had let go completely.
The Interpreter by Jonathan Kaufman
Recommended for anyone who has ever felt that language is a trickster, shaping reality as much as it describes it.
Interpreters are meant to be neutral—conduits of meaning, translators of truth. But what happens when an interpreter has to convey more than just words? When translation is not just about words?
This play dived into the messiness of communication, of what is said versus what is meant, of what is lost (and gained) in translation, and how it’s nearly impossible not to shoot, or at least hate, the messenger.
Words can be twisted, softened, sharpened, or manipulated. And it raised the question: is language ever truly objective? Or is it always a performance, subtly altered by the person wielding it?
It was an interesting premise, though the bee found itself wanting more from the execution. The tension was there, the idea was there, but it never quite landed with the weight it could have. Still, for those who love to deconstruct the power dynamics hidden within language, it had plenty to chew on.
Final Thoughts on Part One
Four plays, four wildly different lenses on the same nagging theme: reality is slippery. People choose exile over reintegration (Home). They define themselves by a singular act (Thin Air). They construct a past that never existed (Vintage). And they manipulate language itself to shape meaning (The Interpreter).
Did every play hit the mark? Not quite. Some burrowed deeper than others. Some felt like sketches rather than fully developed ideas. But all of them, in some way, sparked a question, a curiosity, a lingering thought. And in a night of bite-sized theatre, that’s all one can ask for.
Coming in Part Two: A Kidnapping Gone Wrong, Inner Voices That Won’t Shut Up, and a Man Who Thinks He Can Rehearse His Way Out of Heartbreak.
Watched March 2025 at The Pleasance Theatre. Each week offers a different line-up and each performance is a showcase of the best new writing from the Fringe. Here is the line-up:
Wednesday 5th - Saturday 8th March:
Home by William Knowelden
Thin Air by Tom Coash
Vintage by Lucy Kaufman
The Interpreter by Jonathan Kaufman
Keeping Annabelle by Rachel Welch
Transactions by Scott Mcateer
The Rehearsal by Michael Kalendarian
A Quiet Table for Four by Philip Linsdell
Wednesday 12th - Saturday 15th March:
Celebrities in Space by Jessica Moss
All You’ll Ever Want by William Knowelden
Celebrity by Trevor Suthers
Sleepless Night by Jonathan Gavin
Undress Me, Clarence by Doug Grissom
Borys the Rottweiler by Cj Johnson
Noir Man by Ken Levine
Baggage by James McLindon
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