Written by Lucy McIlgorm

Directed by Anastazie Toros

Review by Dominic Corr

Studio Five at Assembly George Square Studios

The more one thinks about the title, the stronger the production’s merits become. There’s a quiet power in REFUSE—a production that doesn’t shout but resonates. In a festival often saturated with spectacle, this piece from Just Bcoz Productions strips things back to the essentials: story, performance, and truth. And in doing so, it hits harder than most.

Set in a Ukrainian suburb on the brink of war, the play follows Maks, a bin collector whose routine is upended by conflict. What begins as a portrait of ordinary life—eccentric neighbours, marital tensions, fleeting flirtations—slowly unravels into a meditation on loss, resilience, and the fragility of community. The writing, by Lucy McIlgorm, is deceptively simple. Her script avoids melodrama, instead leaning into humour, tenderness, and the poetry of the everyday. It’s this restraint that makes the eventual rupture all the more devastating.

The cast—Vasyl Sydorko, Maria Shtofa (she/her), and McIlgorm herself—deliver performances of remarkable clarity and emotional depth. Their ability to shift between characters, genders, and ages with minimal costume or fuss is a testament to their craft. Every gesture feels intentional, every glance loaded. There’s a scene where Shtofa, playing Valentyna, simply folds laundry while recounting a memory—and it’s utterly heartbreaking.

Director Anastazie Toros keeps the staging lean but dynamic. Movement is used sparingly but effectively, guiding the audience’s focus and allowing for seamless transitions. A quick costume change in the shadows, a shift in lighting, and suddenly we’re in a different world. The design elements—lighting, sound, costume—are incorporated only when they serve the story, never as decoration. It’s a masterclass in restraint.

What makes REFUSE linger is its emotional honesty. It doesn’t preach or politicise. It simply asks: what happens when the familiar is torn away? How do we hold onto dignity, humour, and love when everything else is lost? The answer, it seems, lies in the small things—in bin routes, in shared meals, in the stories we tell to survive.

Half the profits from the show go toward rebuilding Ukrainian homes—a gesture that mirrors the production’s ethos: art as action, not just reflection. REFUSE may not be flashy, but it’s unforgettable. It reminds us that simplicity, when paired with sincerity, can strike straight into the heart. And at this year’s Fringe, that’s a rare and welcome thing.

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