Aug 7-30 (not 18 & 25)
Hoots @ Potterrow
I’d met Lilla Multipass a few days previously under rather peculiar circumstances. I was in the middle of joining the Lawrence Dodds cult, & at one point our room-guru instructed us to connect with the person in our immediate vicinity. Mine turned out to be Lilla. At the end of the show I discover’d she was a performer herself, took her flyer & duly turn’d up at Woman(33) a few days later—thus placing my reviewing schedule entirely in the hands of the magic of the Fringe.
Miss Multipass arrives from a rather different corner of the comedy universe. A London-based Hungarian performer with one foot in clowning, another in improv & probably a third imaginary one somewhere in experimental theatre, she moved to London in 2014 while maintaining strong creative ties with Hungary. Her first solo show, OhMyGod Inc, appeared at Camden Fringe in 2023; since then she’s become part of the house team at Hoopla Impro, reached the semi-finals of Leicester Square Theatre’s Sketch Off in 2025, performed regularly on London’s alternative-comedy circuit & joined Soho Theatre’s Edinburgh Lab.
Back home she also co-hosts the Hungarian podcast Távkapcs, which has topped Spotify’s national charts, while one of her recent comedy reels about the Hungarian elections sailed past 600,000 Instagram views. Woman(33) is her second solo show but her Edinburgh Fringe debut—a theatrical clown-comedy in which all those strands of Multipass’s increasingly peculiar creative life finally get bundled together.
Lilla’s venue is the hot-box that is Hoots’ Wee Container 2 at Potterrow—a place where one can comfortably lose a couple of pounds through the sweat glands during a 50-minute show. Hoots is slowly expanding Tesco-style across the Fringe these days, with four Edinburgh venues now under its banner, but Potterrow feels like the Lake Turkana of the Hoots civilisation: the primordial watering hole from which the species first crawled forth, before evolving, multiplying & colonising the city.
The show begins with Lilla singing Burnley FC’s glorious 2024–25 promotion anthem, Natasha Bedingfield’s Unwritten, before powering steam-engine ahead into smooth surrealism, slick absurdity & cutting-edge social commentary. I think it’s all meant to be some kind of therapy session—or perhaps, more accurately, a public act of self-therapy—for over the next hour we’re invited to go spelunking into the obscure cavities of our show-woman’s life experience. Relationships, expectations, womanhood & the peculiar pressures of thirty-dom are all drag’d blinking into the light, before being fed into Lilla’s cosmic comedy processor & fired back at us in increasingly strange & wonderful forms.
“I’m a little rascal!”
A major part of Woman (33) is getting the crowd to participate, & she does it effortlessly—no stress, no awkward coercion, just a natural ability to convince a roomful of strangers to join her peculiar universe. At one point she had a fella pull her out of a cardboard womb, while on another there came one of those classic, immortal bits of Fringe action. During the fantastic ‘Boss Bitch’ section, she gets everyone in the crowd to pull their finest Boss Bitch face, before selecting the best ones to compete in an actual Boss Bitch Face Competition. It was superb, like—the kind of gloriously ridiculous communal moment that could only really happen at the Fringe, when performer, audience & sheer August lunacy suddenly fuse into one.
With ineffable charm & relentless energy she is always up to something – taking a bath, running to work, & when she stretches her golden wings out that entire width of the room, she was completely hypnotizing. Its visual theatre as well as cutting edge comedy. As the title suggests, Lilla is 33, & throughout her lucid-dream performance space she gives us a wonderfully warped lexicon of her sexuality, her generation & her times. She hits her protein goals; she uses IKEA bags as Birkins; she knows it takes six bloody months to grow your eyebrows back after an over-rigorous plucking—stuff like that. These tiny millennial details accumulate into something larger: a portrait of modern womanhood assembled from beauty regimes, wellness commandments, status symbols, sexual expectations & all the other strange little instructions you’re apparently supposed to have mastered by 33.Best
Miss Multipass is one erratically brilliant performer. All that stuff just came out of her head, so God knows what interstellar frequency the woman’s tuned into. Whatever wavelength it is, she’s receiving transmissions the rest of us aren’t. Yet for all the cosmic absurdity, Lilla is also very much tuned into the zeitgeist—especially that peculiar psychological territory of the millennial woman entering her thirty-dom, where expectations of adulthood collide with the dawning suspicion that nobody actually knows what they’re doing. Woman(33) takes that anxiety, feeds it thro’ Lilla’s wonderfully peculiar imagination & fires it back at us as clowning, chaos & comedy.
Damo
