Written by Ross MacKay

Directed by Joe Douglas

Review by Dominic Corr

The Scottish Storytelling Centre

High School can be a nightmare. The hierarchies and trauma, the bullying and the stress. It can be a ruthless time which leaves long lasting scares for even the toughest of first years. There’s little which could make a tough situation worse. Well, maybe if one something slips out during P.E…

Ross MacKay’s Cringe, developed alongside director Joe Douglas and producer Sarah Gray at Scottish Theatre Producers, arrives at the Edinburgh International Children’s Festival with bold, disarming confidence that feels entirely in step with Imaginate’s appetite for brave storytelling. Drawn from a painfully specific (semi-)autobiographical incident, MacKay’s writing flips a moment of adolescent humiliation into something far more universal: a sharp, funny, and moving exploration of shame, identity and survival in the social ecosystem of school.

And the writing is all over this piece, quite literally, with the set design constructed as tiled blackboard enabling live drawings, graffiti, and projections to add that chalk-dusted realness. What begins as a wince-inducing anecdote rapidly reveals itself as a carefully engineered piece of theatre which, while primarily for pre-teens, speaks to anyone who is embarking on, and has survived, high school. MacKay’s writing is deceptively simple but tightly structured, moving with confrontational clarity through the emotional aftermath rather than lingering on the punchline. MacKay understands his audience—young people who recognise the stakes of embarrassment as life-defining—and refuses to patronise. Instead, Cringe leans into discomfort, allowing it to breathe before reshaping it into something empowering. The pacing is particularly well judged: brisk enough to hold attention yet punctuated with pauses that allow moments of recognition to land with real force.

It’s about so much more than a slip of the junk though, as the trio of Scott Fletcher, Kirsty McDuff, and Scott Hoatson are a well-balanced triumph under Douglas’ direction. Whether they’re playing leads, like Reid or Gordon (Feltcher and Hoatson’s chemistry is pitched perfectly as two pals on the outskirts of ‘cool’), or giving caricature silliness to larger-than-life teachers (McDuff a master in inflating the scale of a teacher, to match the overblown view from a younger perspective) the trio form a continuous rapport which carries the story. 

Visually, the production is a gift. Sonya Smullen’s set and costume design roots the show firmly in a pre-digital 2000s classroom landscape, cleverly utilising now-obsolete technology; the infamous overhead projectors, CDs, and chalk, as both nostalgic artefact and theatrical device. What could have been a gimmick becomes a playground for invention, each object introduced with clarity before being reimagined in playful, often ingenious ways. The design never overwhelms the story but works in concert with it, supported by Kate Bonney’s precise lighting and Ben Fletcher’s evocative sound design, both of which heighten the emotional texture without tipping into sentimentality.

As the show presses on, something marvellous happens in Cringe; the transition from laughter to sincerity. As nostalgia gives way to something more genuine from the adult audiences. There’s a crossroads moment where young audience members, who laugh at the humour and rude words, and the new experiences ahead of them come to a pass with the older generation’s memories and giggles. As the narrative becomes more ‘serious’, there is a slow in pacing as it goes head-to-head with a plethora of topics, but with refinement, likely to be smoothed over in further life – something the show deserves, and most likely will have.

Any familiar with MacKay’s writing, will not be surprised that Cringe never loses sight of its core proposition: that vulnerability can be a form of strength (see their equally exquisite adaptation of Treasure Island). In reframing its central humiliation as something almost heroic, it offers a quietly radical message for its young audience. By the end, there’s a palpable sense of release—of shame confronted, dismantled and repurposed. It’s theatre that doesn’t just reflect adolescent experience but actively reshapes it, leaving its audience not just entertained, but fortified. This is a piece MacKay should, and hopefully is, proud of. One of Scotland’s finest contemporary writers, championing theatre for younger audiences; treating them as the big kids in the creative seats of the future.

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