Burnt Off (or Nadia P. Manzoor’s solo show) sees writer and performer Nadia P. Manzoor unravel a tidy victim narrative through a wild mix of hip-hop elements, python encounters, and family psychology. Ahead of the run, we spoke with Nadia to discuss subverting trauma tropes, dissecting how memory collides with blame, and creating a story that stubbornly refuses to behave itself.

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Would you mind giving us an insight into what your show/event/performance is?

Jerk Off! is a solo show that starts out looking like one story and ends up becoming another. On the surface it’s about a young British-Pakistani woman who, after her mother’s death, moves to Boston and falls into the underground world of street dance and hip hop. She falls in love with a Puerto Rican dancer from the Bronx and slowly finds herself in an abusive relationship. But that’s really just the entry point.

The play is actually interested in what happens when the stories we’ve been telling ourselves for years begin to unravel. I realised that the story I’d been performing about my life wasn’t the whole story. Once I started asking deeper questions about grief, family, inheritance, motherhood and violence, the play completely transformed. It became much less interested in who the villain is, and much more interested in how we inherit each other—our wounds, our love, our patterns—and whether it’s possible to break those cycles without flattening the people in our lives into monsters or saints.

It’s also very funny. People are always surprised when I say that, but comedy is how I understand the world. So alongside all of those themes you’ve got Pakistani weddings, underground hip hop battles, multiple characters, dance, physical theatre and a five-foot pet snake. It’s a show that constantly shifts under your feet, and I think that’s what makes it exciting to perform.

Tell us about the creative team and the process involved?

I’ve been incredibly lucky with this team. Over the last few months I’ve been working with director and dramaturg Suba Das on a complete reconstruction of the play. One of the biggest questions he asked me was: Why are you telling this story now? The events happened over twenty years ago, so where is the urgency today? That question completely transformed the play. The stakes are no longer simply what happened then, but why I need to tell it now.

Suba is also an extraordinary structural thinker. He’s pushed me to collapse timelines, uncover parts of the story I hadn’t recognised before, and deepen the theatrical language of the piece. He’s also the biggest Madonna fan I’ve ever encountered, deeply caring, and I feel so lucky to have found such a powerful collaborator.

I’m also working with movement director and choreographer Maleek Washington, who’s helped build the physical life of the characters—the transitions, the emotional weight they carry in their bodies, and of course the dance sequences. My dialect coach Liz Hayes has been instrumental in helping each character live in a distinct vocal world.

Alongside an incredible stage management and production team, we’ve spent months making something that’s unapologetically theatrical. The show blends stand-up, physical theatre, battle culture, storytelling, ritual and dance. The rehearsal room has involved a lot of dancing, a lot of laughing, a fair amount of crying, and probably more swearing than any of us would like to admit.

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How does it feel coming to (back to) the Fringe?

This is actually my first Edinburgh Fringe, which still feels surreal to say. I’m bringing my two young children with me, so it’s going to be a family adventure as well as a festival.

My previous solo show, Burq Off!, toured internationally before I had children and completely changed my life. It helped me discover who I was as a performer and as a storyteller. This show feels like the next chapter of that journey, and I’m incredibly excited to share it in Edinburgh.

With shows from all over the world at the Fringe, what sets yours apart?

I don’t want to pretend the answer is simply that I’m Pakistani. There are so many brilliant South Asian artists making extraordinary work.

That said, when I look through the Fringe programme, I don’t see many shows where Pakistani family politics, underground hip hop, grief, abuse and snake ownership all exist in the same universe.

I also think the show does something unusual in the way it approaches abuse. It isn’t interested in a traditional victim narrative. I’m much more interested in what happens after we’ve decided who the villain is. What if healing isn’t about finding someone to blame? What if it’s about recognising the complexity inside all of us?

Finally, I genuinely perform multiple characters onstage. Not as a gimmick, but as the language of the piece. Entire scenes unfold with multiple people present, even though there’s only one performer. That’s a craft I’ve spent years developing, and I’m really proud of what we’ve achieved.

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On that, is there anything in the production or production team’s backgrounds which influences the way the show is performed or told?

Absolutely.

Suba Das is also South Asian, and he’s a twin—I have a twin brother too—so there are aspects of the family dynamics that he understood instinctively. More importantly, he had no interest whatsoever in exoticising my experience as a Pakistani woman. He constantly challenged me whenever something felt like it was leaning towards performing my culture for white approval rather than telling the emotional truth. That has fundamentally changed the play.

Maleek Washington’s background in dance has shaped the movement vocabulary of the show in profound ways, grounding it in a physical language that feels authentic rather than decorative.

And my own background as a British-Pakistani performer means the piece is constantly moving between cultures, languages, performance traditions and different ways of telling stories.

Is there anything specific you’re hoping the audience will take away?

I hope people leave with more compassion—for themselves, for the people they’ve loved, and even for the people who’ve hurt them.

I hope they question the stories they’ve inherited about blame, family, identity and healing. More than anything, I hope the show gives people permission to see their own lives with greater complexity.

Your Ideal audience is in attendance, who’s watching? Or more importantly – who isn’t…?

Anyone who’s ever loved someone complicated, or been loved by someone complicated.

It’s definitely not for children.

Everyone else is genuinely welcome.

It’s an intense month, so where you’re able, how do you plan to relax, and are there any other shows you intend to see or want to recommend?

I’m actually quite lucky because my show is at 11.35am, so I get to begin the day with the performance rather than spending twelve hours anticipating it. I’ll meditate, move my body, warm up, perform, and then hopefully spend the afternoon with my children. Having them with me in Edinburgh feels incredibly grounding.

I’m also hoping to see as much work as I can. One of the joys of the Fringe is stumbling into shows you know nothing about and walking out completely changed. That’s the experience I’m hoping to have myself.

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Interested in being featured on our Have a Gander page? With many previews and Q&As lined up, we’re always happy to chat about including your show in future articles. Please do get in touch through the contact page to feature in an upcoming ‘Have A Gander’