You walk into a circus tent. Three women stare you down with mischief in their eyes, ropes coiled like snakes, and the distinct sense that something is about to go wrong—in the best possible way. Welcome to Don’t Drop Me—part aerial mayhem, part emotional unravelling, all heart. This isn’t your typical “ta-da!” circus act. These […]
You walk into a circus tent. Three women stare you down with mischief in their eyes, ropes coiled like snakes, and the distinct sense that something is about to go wrong—in the best possible way. Welcome to Don’t Drop Me—part aerial mayhem, part emotional unravelling, all heart.
This isn’t your typical “ta-da!” circus act. These women flip the genre upside-down (sometimes literally). One minute they’re mid-air, swinging dangerously close to the floor, the next they’re baring their souls in deadpan monologues that hit harder than any fall. The chaos is part of the charm—imagine Fleabag if she’d trained with Cirque du Soleil.
Things go wrong. Ropes tangle. Limbs flail. Heads bang (intentionally). And it’s glorious. Every near miss feels like a trust exercise with the universe—and the audience. You hold your breath not because you’re scared they’ll fail, but because you’re rooting for them to fly anyway.
And then they talk. About fear. About failure. About the ridiculous pressure of being strong, funny, flexible, and emotionally available—all while hanging upside down in a leotard. There’s a kind of intimacy here that sneaks up on you. You expect circus. You get catharsis.
But don’t mistake this for a downer. The comedy is razor-sharp. They land jokes as smoothly as they land flips (most of the time). It’s sweaty, silly, unfiltered fun with just enough existential dread to make you feel alive. Like all good fringe shows, it leaves you slightly confused, a little inspired, and completely entertained.
Reviewers Score: A dropping 5 star review
Reviewers Verdict: Don’t Drop Me isn’t polished. It’s not pretending to be perfect. And thank god for that. It’s raw, risky, and refreshingly real. See it, scream for it, and maybe bring a crash mat—just in case.
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