EdFringe Review: Lions

Grief is rarely a neat or entirely solemn affair; more often than not, it partially transforms into a logistical obstacle course. In Lions, created by Scott R. Sheppard and Alice Yorke for the Philadelphia-based ensemble Lightning Rod Special, the loss of both performers’ fathers within a single year is transformed into a somewhat manic, cathartic comedy. Staged inside TechCube 0 at Summerhall, this rather unusual production turns the painful, bureaucratic nightmare of end-of-life care into a high-voltage, compassionate farce.

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The play situates Sheppard and Yorke as surreal “clerks of death,” trapped in the liminal three-week window spent in intensive care units making impossible decisions on behalf of dying parents. The stage is dominated by an enormous trestle table stacked high with the random detritus of two masculine lives—obsolete gadgetry, record players, baseball bats, and a bicycle helmet. Through this clutter, the duo tackles the relentless “sadmin” of bereavement: the frantic list-making, the endless phone trees, and the sheer existential despair brought on by trying to crack a deceased parent’s computer password.

Under Sarah Blush’s lively direction, the staging leans into clowning, physical theatre, and absurdism. Clad in suits from yesteryear and sporting terrible wigs alongside fake moustaches, Sheppard and Yorke tear around the space with buddy-movie energy. They cycle through a smorgasbord of performance styles, flitting from object theatre to slapstick skits and dark, hilarious Dickensian spoofs.

The production’s clever sound design anchors this bedlam, layering melodramatic film scores and sudden silences to mirror the emotional volatility of shock and loss. The message was clear: far easier to parse such weighty matters in character than face them head-on.

Deconstructing Paternal Legacy and Lingering Grief

Yet beneath the bedlam and Pythonesque silliness lies a frank interrogation of paternal legacy and flawed masculinity. The comedic mask allows both performers to disassemble the myths surrounding their fathers without sanding off their edges. They honour these men precisely as they were: finicky, imperfect, and human, interrogating the traits they inherited while grappling with the realisation that no physical possession will ever make a parent’s life add up completely.

As the frantic pace of the opening half begins to ebb, the production executes a handbrake turn in tone. The clowning yields to quiet elegy, as Sheppard and Yorke begin the tender, painstaking process of removing their costumes, packing away possessions, and confronting the silent reality of what remains. Though somewhat sudden, the unvarnished sincerity on display ensures the emotional payoff lands with quiet authority. Do they, perhaps, overstep the mark when revealing their loved ones’ private thoughts? Maybe, but there is no question they are doing it with love.

Ultimately, Lions is a riotous, tender, and lovingly crafted exploration of mortality. By confronting the messy, administrative reality of death with comic timing and profound vulnerability, Sheppard and Yorke deliver physical theatre that makes you cherish life a little more and allow yourself to see heroes despite their clay feet.

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