Edinburgh Fringe 2026
Queen of The Empire
Sasha Snowdon
Genre: Theatre, Theatrical Storytelling
Venue: Stephenson Theatre at theSpace @ Surgeons' Hall
Festival: Edinburgh Fringe
Low Down
Drinking, dancing and debauchery – just another night at The Middlesbrough Empire! And Lizzie, Boro’s resident party girl, loves nothing more than a wild night out. But behind the dresses, drunks and drama, her family fractures under the weight of a devastating illness. When Lizzie is ultimately forced to face her reality, is it all too late? Queen of the Empire is a tale of grief, addiction and what it means to be a sister. Darkly entertaining and based on a true story, Sasha Snowdon’s Fringe debut promises laughter, complexity, and a cheeky little dance.
Review
Sasha Snowdon’s one-woman show, based on a true story, commands an audience with real skill from the very first moment. She knows exactly how to grab attention, and more importantly, she earns the trust and respect of her audience quickly. That’s not easy to do in theatre, let alone in fringe theatre.
What makes this show work is how Snowdon holds the complexity of Lizzie as our lead character without flinching. She gives you the laugh-out-loud moments, but she refuses to let you stay there. Right alongside the humour sits the sadness, the loneliness, the grief. Lizzie is a woman who parties hard and aches deeply, and Snowdon shows you both without asking your permission to feel one way or the other about her.
Watch her shift from the chaos of a night out to a quiet moment of reflection and you see an actor in control of every register. The party girl persona is bright and bouncy, full of theatrical energy that fills the room. Then something shifts. Snowdon pulls you into a smaller, more intimate space. The contrast isn’t jarring because there’s a real person underneath both versions of Lizzie. Snowdon never lets you forget that.
What’s particularly impressive is how she manages the relationship dynamics with people who aren’t physically present on stage. Her sister, her family, the people at the bar: you feel their presence through Snowdon’s reactions to them. You’re not watching someone talking to an empty room. You’re watching someone navigate a world full of people.
What catches you off guard is how deeply you feel Lizzie’s pain as the story evolves. Snowdon takes you on a genuine emotional journey with real stakes. As the narrative unfolds and her sister’s fate becomes clear, you realise you’re not just watching a show, you’re living through something. This show moves you through the joy, the happiness, the sadness, and ultimately through to hope for the future. The laughter that filled the room earlier takes on a different weight. It’s a complex emotional arc that builds to something genuinely moving.
The pace is relentless in the best possible way. This piece moves. You’re never left confused about where you are or what’s happening. That rhythm matters because it’s what carries you through the heavier emotional beats without ever feeling heavy-handed. The show trusts you to keep up, and that trust is part of what makes the audience feel respected.
Technically, everything serves the story rather than distracting from it. The sound and lighting are used thoughtfully, defining the story further when needed. It’s subtle and precise, never demanding attention away from the storytelling.
The minimal set is a genuinely smart choice. It allows the stage to become whatever it needs to be through performance rather than design, which is more powerful.
The one-woman format absolutely works here. There are a couple of moments where you catch the performer shifting characters, a slight jumpiness as she moves between characters, but these are rare enough to barely register. Most people in the audience probably won’t notice them at all. What makes the format sing is the pace of the piece itself. The fast nightclub scenes fly past, and that momentum carries you through the character transitions so smoothly you barely register them. Everywhere else, the single performer vanishes into the storytelling.
This is theatre that meets you with real substance. Snowdon’s Fringe debut announces her as a performer worth paying attention to. She doesn’t shy away from the messy reality of grief, but she also understands that people are funny and flawed and worth caring about. Queen of the Empire refuses to give you easy answers about Lizzie, and it’s stronger for it.
