Exclusive Review: ‘Queer as F*ck Cabaret’ Dazzles Brighton Fringe with Radical Joy and Grit

In the chaotic brilliance of the Brighton Fringe, few shows crackle with as much raw electricity as Queer as F*ck Cabaret, held under the intimate but raucous canvas of the Big Puck tent at the Circus Yard, this Bristol-born collective didn’t just perform—they detonated. This wasn’t cabaret as usual, this was subversive, tender, loud, and […]

In the chaotic brilliance of the Brighton Fringe, few shows crackle with as much raw electricity as Queer as F*ck Cabaret, held under the intimate but raucous canvas of the Big Puck tent at the Circus Yard, this Bristol-born collective didn’t just perform—they detonated.

This wasn’t cabaret as usual, this was subversive, tender, loud, and absolutely unfiltered. From the moment host Lilly Snatchdragon took the mic, it was clear the audience was in for more than glitter and glam. We were entering a queer sanctum—part circus, part confessional, all heart.

Bettie Bombshell slinked across the stage with vintage burlesque flair, but her performance was no pastiche—it pulsed with agency. She reclaimed the male gaze and flipped it, forcing the crowd to see power in pleasure.

Then came Symone, who didn’t just own the spotlight—she swallowed it whole with a performance that was a fierce declaration of queer existence, cutting through the tent like a thunderclap.

But the night’s quiet emotional centre belonged to Dad, whose gender-bending “queer-reparenting-extravaganza” blurred the line between performance art and personal exorcism. It was absurd, hilarious, and gut-punchingly sincere—a tribute to the chosen families we build when the ones we’re born into fall short.

Tayris Mongardi delivered choreography that crackled with rage and euphoria. If you didn’t leave their number rethinking your relationship with your own body, you weren’t paying attention.Tyrone Herlihy offered up circus arts with precision and sensuality, blending grace and danger in a breathtaking aerial display. It was artistry that spoke louder than words—a reminder that strength comes in many forms.

And closing the night, Nora Ireland gave us a performance that felt like a love letter to vulnerability. Her act was less an ending and more a benediction: a reminder that queer joy is political, and queer pain is poetic.

What set Queer as F*ck apart wasn’t just its talent (though it overflowed). It was the radical insistence on being seen—flaws, sparkle, sweat and all. This show isn’t afraid to be messy. It’s not here to cater, it’s here to claim space.

In a cultural moment where drag is under attack and queer expression is politicised, Queer as F*ck Cabaret is both a riot and a rallying cry. It’s a celebration and a protest—a reminder that queerness, at its most powerful, is defiant joy.

Reviewer Rating: A queertastic 5/5

Reviewer Verdict: Unmissable. Catch it while you can. And bring tissues. And oh yeah some glitter.