FringeReview UK 2026
Local
Liz Richardson Productions Ltd in association with Neil McPherson for the Finborough Theatre.
Genre: Biographical Drama, Comedic, Contemporary, Costume, Drama, Fringe Theatre, Mainstream Theatre, New Writing, Short Plays, Theatre
Venue: Finborough Theatre
Festival: FringeReview UK
Low Down
Following a 2025 sell-out tour in her native north-west, Liz Richardson’s Local, written, co-devised and performed by her, and co-devised and directed by Amy Hailwood, makes its London debut at Finborough Theatre till August 1.
A firm Finborough recommendation.
Review
“If this place is your local, then thank you for having me. If it isn’t then, thank you for making the effort.” After an initially disarming ”Hello” we’re introduced to what local means for one writer. Following a 2025 sell-out tour in her native north-west, Liz Richardson’s Local, written, co-devised and performed by her, and co-devised and directed by Amy Hailwood, makes its London debut at Finborough Theatre till August 1.
“Why is the measure of love loss?” As another Cumbrian writer Jeanette Winterson put it. Spoiler alert: there’s no skeletons here. Richardson’s far more caught up in those experiences of home and losing home that nearly all of us experience. It’s universal. So home won’t be where the heart-attack is, or the horror. But mortality hovers as a question-mark, as the measure.
Having moved way as quickly as she could, after her teens, the fact of Richardson’s parents’ selling up the family home has brought her up short. Brought back to help by decanting her own personal boxes, she’s already numbed by her old bedroom having been turned into a bland guest room.
What follows is based on Richardson’s life. Though we’re treated to an early peer nickname: “60 per cent truth-Liz”. And a segue into Richardson’s 12-year-old-daughter Eve. There’s other unnamed children but Eve’s apparently, unnervingly like her mother. Which triggers mediations on Richardson’s 1990s self.
As Richardson sorts her life in time-honoured stage tradition, she directs a relatively chronological peep into her diary 1993-95. She’s already returned north, to the Peak District. Now she mischievously unveils video footage of a return journey, with a map of where her teen self was, where Richardson is now. The window half-buried by the set’s bric-a-brac opens on Jim Dawson’s and Izzy Pye’s TripleDotMakers videography; shaded and given its moments in Arnim Freiss’s lighting. Her mum worked at a hospital, her father at Sellafield. It’s a welcome break from Richardson’s charming if rather pedestrian – literally – stroll up and down the length of the Finborough. Soon the exuberant grandstanding of local topos gives on to rockier terrain.
So Richardson’s memories of the 1990s unspool: insistently, as after some of Pierre Flasse’s sound design and composition, Richardson grounds herself slowly into the physicality, the detritus of home. Across the upstage the batique-looking set by Lizzy Leach is studded with a homespun chaos which dishevels further. A pile of National Geographic, yellow or amber alerts in themselves, initially seem neatly ordered. Later there’s a reference to books Richardson’s mum wants to foist on her. A 1983 Delia Smith doesn’t sound promising.
Jennifer Kay’s movement is subtle till towards the end. There’s teen moments including a particularly embarrassing Prom. No spoilers, but chickens are involved. Committed one might say. The set’s accretion of what might be original Richardson objects, act as triggers detonations and trip-wires. There’s an apotheosis.
With the videos the play notches up energy and point. Before, it’s an often delightful divigation on place, space and peers. You fear some shaggy dog story bounding on, but Richardson ties these up. There’s a conscious engagement with friend Charlotte and former headmaster. Then a friend’s funeral. The challenge is a sag in the energy. That’s not one of performance: Richardson engages warmly with the audience. She’s also consummate, subtle, fun and on occasion devastating. It’s the inlaid stories, their self-communing, that mark accretions but not always build.
Richardson does however provide an apotheosis that proves Winterson’s line right. Not actual loss, but fear. Her response is visceral, explosive, searching. At this point Richardson is phenomenal, and everything before proves deceptive. Did “Liz” ever belong, and what is that? By voicing this Richardson touches many lives. And she wields another surprise even after that.
Ending strongly, Richardson’s text, despite it already being long bedded-in, needs editing. There’s so many fine one-liners bled away by surrounding longeurs that an even tighter show might prove the answer. It’s already a slim text with a play lasting no more than 75 minutes, and I very much enjoy reading it. Experiencing it needs more sculpting on the ear though, more surprises on the eye. Alerted to Richardson’s work, I want to see more of what brought her to Local, and where she might be headed. A firm Finborough recommendation.
Dramaturg Andy Routledge, Stage Manager Naomi Shanson, Stage and Production Management Frances Allison, Cover Image Hannah Bird of Design Everything. Production Photography Stuart Allen
Presented by Liz Richardson Productions Ltd in association with Neil McPherson for the Finborough Theatre.
General Manager Tara Marricdale, Assistant General Managers Silvia Verzaro, Isaac Woon and Jaemin Yu, Assistant Resident Director Jillian Feuerstein.
