Content warning: this review mentions drugs, addiction, and other themes which some readers may find upsetting.

Anybody who knows me will know that yellow is my favourite colour, so upon entering the Drayton Arms Theatre last night and seeing the stage scattered with bright yellow props and sunshine-soaked chaos, I had a feeling I was about to love what I was about to witness. This pre-Fringe period is always one of the most exciting points in the theatrical calendar, with smaller London venues overcome with bold, inventive new work before the summer festival season properly begins. Yet amongst the endless sea of comedy shows and one-person performances, Lizzy Sunshine manages to distinguish itself almost immediately. What initially presents itself as an hour of silliness, audience participation, and relentless optimism slowly reveals something far more emotionally complex: a deep exploration of grief, addiction, perseverance, and the fragile necessity of joy.

Lizzy Sunshine follows the eponymous Lizzy (embodied by Liz Coin) when her performance partner, Jamie Storm, fails to appear for their scheduled two-hander. What unfolds is a surprisingly expansive piece of theatre, encompassing themes of positivity – toxic and otherwise – alongside darker explorations of addiction, loneliness, perseverance, and hope. It is a show of astonishing emotional breadth, succeeding remarkably in balancing silliness with sincerity. This theme of positivity was remarkably established before the show had even begun, with Coin greeting audience members as they entered, ensuring everybody had a name badge. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, blurring the line between the show and real-life in a way which proved astonishingly effective in setting up the entire production.

Much of the show’s resounding success lies in this set-up, and in the way the audience are implicated throughout. With Jamie Storm absent, the audience become responsible for filling the gaps wherever needed. Expect to laugh, sing, dance, participate, and be drawn directly into the world of the performance. An opening “bit” reassuring us that we were “all in the show” immediately reinforced this sense of communal responsibility; it felt intimate, immersive, and genuinely atmospheric. Audience participation can often feel intimidating or forced, but Lizzy Sunshine fosters such a warm, supportive energy that every moment of involvement feels entirely willing. Crucially, participation is never once at the audience’s expense; instead, it serves only to deepen the show’s sense of joy and connection. That welcoming atmosphere makes the room feel safe enough for people to genuinely let go – something which massively benefits the production as a whole. Much of this deserves to be credited to the assured direction of Makena Reynolds.

This involvement extends brilliantly into the use of props. One particularly hilarious sequence saw an unsuspecting audience member pulled into an improvised scene using the script of another attendee’s text messages, all while dressed in delightfully ridiculous fancy dress. Elsewhere, every audience member was handed a pair of pink, rose-tinted glasses. On the surface, it is simply a fun visual gag – but beneath it lies one of the production’s sharpest metaphors. These removable, temporary rose-tinted glasses become deeply symbolic as the show gradually takes a darker tonal turn in its second half. It is genuinely ingenious.

At the heart of Lizzy Sunshine lies its comedy, and Coin absolutely delivers. Her writing, comic timing, audience engagement, physicality, and quick-witted improvisation all prove testament not only to her talent, but to her obvious love of live theatre. One standout section featured a bizarre but hysterical series of impressions, gifting the audience the holy trinity of Barbra Streisand, Rachel Berry, and Peppa Pig. Coin’s repeated riffing on Sacha Baron Cohen’s infamous “my wife” gag sent the room into absolute fits of laughter.

Yet the production also resides within an intentionally ambiguous tonal space. This is subtly foreshadowed early on through a PowerPoint slide informing the audience that “this is a show about meth.” Initially brushed aside as a joke, the statement later reveals itself to be devastatingly sincere, as Coin discloses that much of Lizzy Sunshine’s boundless positivity functions as a defence mechanism against the reality of loving someone struggling with addiction. For the first time in the entire show, Coin sits down, delivering an extended monologue detailing the emotional devastation of navigating her relationship with her brother. The tonal shift is immediate and startling. After so much movement, laughter, and audience interaction, the production suddenly forces the room to stop and simply listen. It is a masterclass in controlling an audience, with Coin’s ability to manipulate the emotional atmosphere of the room proving genuinely astonishing.

The emotional payoff lands with utter precision in the show’s final moments. At the beginning, Lizzy Sunshine offers the audience her own sunshine through streamers, smiles, eye contact, affirmations, and tiny acts of affection – I myself was gifted sunshine directly in the form of a lipstick love heart on my cheek. By the end, however, the exchange has reversed. As karaoke lyrics for Tomorrow from Annie fill the screen, the audience collectively sing back to Lizzy, reminding her that the sun will, in fact, come out tomorrow. In essence, the audience return the sunshine they had been given throughout the evening. It is mesmerising to watch this emotional exchange come full circle, rounding the show off with a gentler, more honest reminder that through community, shared joy, music, and hope, there is always some light to be found amidst suffering.

What makes Lizzy Sunshine so special is not simply that it is funny – though it absolutely is – nor that it is emotionally devastating in places. Rather, it is the production’s remarkable ability to hold both of those truths simultaneously without ever undermining either. Coin understands that humour is not the opposite of suffering, but often the very thing which allows people to survive it. By the time the audience are collectively singing Tomorrow back to Lizzy in the show’s final moments, the atmosphere within the room feels almost tangible: warm, communal, vulnerable, and hopeful all at once. Lizzy Sunshine emerges as one of the most inventive, heartfelt, and emotionally intelligent pieces of fringe theatre I have encountered in quite some time – a celebration of the strange, complicated ways people continue finding light for one another even amidst darkness.

Lizzy Sunshine is running at the Drayton Arms Theatre until Saturday 23 May, 2026 – you can get your tickets here. It is then running at the Edinburgh Fringe – you can get your tickets here.

Image credit – Luke Stage.