Lizzy Sunshine might sound like the name of a children’s TV presenter or a brand of organic lemonade, but don’t be fooled – this Fringe debut from American whirlwind Liz Coin is a chaotic cocktail of comedy, character work, emotional depth… and free plastic glasses. Yes, really.
The premise? Lizzy’s co-star is mysteriously missing, so she’s carrying the weight of a two-hander all by herself – and not just carrying it, but hoisting it over her shoulder like a glitter-covered Hercules in Converse. The show is a wild, meta “show-within-a-show” that hits notes of Glee with the emotional undercurrents of Baby Reindeer – but as Lizzy gleefully reassures us: “Don’t worry, it’s not sad!!!”
(Lizzy uses exclamation marks the way Brits use tea – liberally and with comforting intent.)
From the moment she bounces on stage, Lizzy is exactly what you’d expect from someone called “Lizzy Sunshine’ big energy, even bigger emotions, and the vibe of your chaotic little sister who drank too many Capri Suns and decided she’s going to host a talent show in your living room. She’s loud, loveable, and completely unfiltered – and while you may start the show thinking “what on earth is going on?”, stick with it… because there’s method in the madness.
Yes, it’s a comedy show. But like a glitter bomb with a sad core, there’s a much deeper narrative happening underneath the sequins and silliness. Slowly – cleverly – Lizzy drops hints that all is not quite as it seems, and by the time you realise what she’s really doing, you’re already wearing your free rose-tinted glasses and clapping along.
(A note on the glasses: possibly the cheapest prop in Fringe history, but weirdly effective. They also make your walk home feel like a Kylie Minogue music video, so… bonus.)
There’s audience participation, so if you’re the type who sinks into your chair when someone on stage says “I need a volunteer!” – prepare accordingly. But don’t worry – Lizzy handles the crowd with the charm of a slightly rogue cruise ship entertainer. You’ll be laughing before you know what you signed up for.
Now, onto the elephant in the rainbow-painted room: the emotional shift. There is a gear change in the show as it delves into some weightier themes. That transition could have been clearer – the gear stick juddered a little – but the intention and emotional truth behind it was still felt. And frankly, she earns your empathy through sheer heart and honesty.
The show received glowing reviews in the U.S., and this marks Liz’s first time at the Edinburgh Fringe. If you think she looks familiar, it might be because she’s been front and centre on Theatre Village’s homepage since June – yes, she won a competition, and no, she hasn’t stopped smiling since.
American audiences will likely feel more at home with her extroverted, high-volume style. The Brits in the room took a few minutes to warm up, possibly thinking, “Is she always like this?” But once they got into it – with a gentle nudge from the Americans laughing uproariously in row two – they appear to become hooked.
Personally, I was on the fence between 4 and 5 stars. This is a brave, smart piece of theatre masquerading as a clown show, and I fully see what Liz is trying to achieve. If I had the time, I’d go again to see how the emotional arc lands with a different crowd. But today, watching Liz light up the stage like a one-woman firework factory, I saw something special.
She’s not just Sunshine. She’s got storm clouds, too. And it’s in the balance between the two that this show really shines.
Five stars – and a free pair of plastic spectacles to prove it.
