Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

Amanda Dwyer succeeds in the sub-genre of comedy that might now be called traumady. Her delicacy and restraint and her gravelly Glasgow voice complement a compelling narrative of fragile mental health being assailed by some outstandingly repugnant behaviour over a couple of decades.  

Her vulnerability may not have helped her in the past, but now it is her superpower on stage, and with her lack of self-pity, a decent audience should always respond positively to the pithy tales on offer.

Although Dwyer is legally unable to name the cast of toe-rags (whose friends and relatives will nonetheless know exactly who they are from her neat biographies and characterisations) this show is cathartic without the dramatics; she’s already done that work off-stage.  

She elicited a lot of shocked laughter as she detailed the abusive behaviour from the staggering lowlifes whom she seemed to attract like moths to a flame. She’s had anxiety disorders, OCD and panic attacks since childhood – before it was fashionable – and met with a staggering lack of support because it wasn’t ‘a thing’ 20 years ago.  

But those are my observations; she was not doing a ‘poor me’ in the slightest. Her bone-dry approach was clinical and wicked – the comeuppances she has served are deserved and hilarious and the details of each creep getting his were satisfying. 

Her manner and delivery softened when she spoke about her wee son, whom she has raised to be a delightful ally with his own battles to fight. She might have to come back every year to update us on his progress as she proves the old saw ‘living well is the best revenge’ with this work.

This show is quietly gripping and shock-funny, not loud nor crass, and certainly not an extended gag-heavy club set. But if you enjoy your quiet friend holding the floor and being devastating and funny after the loud clowns have shut up, this may be one for you. 

Review date: 11 Aug 2026
Reviewed by: Julia Chamberlain
Reviewed at: Stand 2