EdFringe Review: Amanda Knox: Cartwheel

Amanda Knox is a free woman. Italy’s highest court cleared her entirely in 2015. Despite this legal reality, her arrival at the Edinburgh Fringe generated a predictable cloud of outrage. Some commentators insist she ought to keep quiet. They argue her mere public presence is distasteful. Such criticism, however, rests on a subjective dislike of her character rather than hard facts. She has every right to tell her story; and she does it very well indeed. Frankly, if you cannot stage this kind of show at the Fringe, the festival has lost its soul.

(Editor’s Note: There has been some argument in the press about this show being listed as a comedy. It is a comedy; so is much of Shakespeare. Despite mis-billing by some parties, this isn’t Stand-Up, but a tragicomic one-woman show.)

She delivers the material with care and, considering the obvious damage she suffered, surprising humour. She recalls a hospital visit where a nurse glanced at her chart and complained that the ‘other’ Amanda Knox ruined the name. She compares her public identity to the infamous optical illusion of the gold and white dress; people simply see what they want to see. The media spent years painting her as a murderous villain. She counters this by standing before the audience as a tired, anxious mother just trying to get through the day.

Smartly, Knox opts against an empty stage; this is not a lecture, it’s a Fringe production, complete with simple, domestic staging. Scattered toys and a fresh basket of children’s laundry surround Knox as she takes the stage. She spends the hour methodically folding clothes and tidying the space. It is a smart, deliberate directorial choice. The physical task keeps her in motion, preventing the delivery from stalling. When the tidying is done, the show is over…maybe.

Universal Fears

For a woman who lost her early twenties to a highly publicised trial, her script avoids melodrama. She roots the narrative in the anxieties of modern motherhood. Now with two small, adventurously-named kids, she ponders how to prepare them for a world she can no longer trust. She illustrates this vividly by recounting trips to parks, watching her children play prisoner and prison guard, and surveilling the other adults on the lookout for danger. How much to tell them about mummy’s life; how much can you translate into Dr Seuss-esque verse?

“She has every right to tell her story; and she does it very well indeed.“

She threads such knowing, subversive humour through most of the show, categorising her younger self as a thirteen-year-old weirdo with the confidence of a lesbian with a power drill. She deploys this pointed comedy perhaps as much for her own benefit as for the audience’s entertainment. Maybe the show wanders into some repetition here and there, but you can understand why Knox would studiously avoid feeding her trolls.

Having her own children, she explains, has deepened her appreciation for her mother’s ordeal during her trial and incarceration. Having made little Amanda sign a contract (in crayon) not to have a baby before the age of 30, she couldn’t have predicted a 25-year jail sentence to potentially enforce it. Again, Amanda is able to find fun in the carefree fearlessness of the ‘before’, but it’s perpetually in the shadow of what was to come.

She avoids a chronological recount of that coming storm, the script providing a broad reflection on trauma, agency, and family. Her sharpest critique is reserved for the Italian justice system. She highlights how the prosecution (and Reddit threads ever since) built a case entirely on her demeanour, securing a conviction reliant on ‘vibes’ rather than substance. She contrasts this absurd fixation with the grim reality of the actual killer. Rudy Guede left overwhelming physical evidence at the crime scene, yet remains a footnote in the public consciousness, far less famous than the woman wrongly accused of his crime. She was the one with the ‘unfortunate’ nickname, and there would be no escaping it.

When she does address the murder of her friend Meredith Kercher, she waits until the narrative pressure reaches its absolute peak. She handles the subject with immense care and compassion, refusing to exploit the horror for theatrical gain. You get the strongest feeling she would rather not discuss her friend on stage, but feels it’s unavoidable. Amanda, not Meredith, was the reckless one; her friend did everything right and still died – Amanda’s sin, she suspects, was surviving. It’s hard to say she’s wrong.

It remains hard to see why this hour proves so controversial. Knox is not a PR creation. She spent four years in an Italian prison for a crime she did not commit. Her script is well-structured and punchy, offering minimal but sufficient context. She does not ask for pity. Instead, she extracts knowing, gently witty humour from her own history (there’s a surprising amount of ‘anal’ – go if you want an explanation). There’s defiance when she celebrates the meet-cute with her now-husband, and delight when being interrupted by recorded chat from her daughter.

The result is a quietly optimistic hour; true crime addicts coming for saucy details on the case will leave dissatisfied. They will, however, learn that she has a pretty good singing voice. Knox emerges not as a broken victim, but as a mother determined to control her own life. The public might still debate her innocence, but she no longer cares to participate in that argument. The laundry is clean and folded; Amanda Knox is moving on.