There's Something in the Fridge That Wants to Kill Me!

As soon as Isabelel Gregson describes herself as a United Nations with periods, the audience divides. This kind of throwaway comment, however, is a rare occurrence in her bizarre ramble of a show. Gregson claims to be not one woman but several, and throughout the show she swaps, sometimes line-by-line, between her prim French side, her more rebellious Spanish side and her slutty American side, ostensibly in order to discuss an imaginary weight problem.

Gregson is one of the most averagely-shaped women I have ever seen. It is therefore bemusing why she should take weight loss and gain as her subject. Posing as a mirror in order to insult her own body on account of its fat thighs, she then obsessively recounts the weight of each different part of the body, including internal organs. She explains that losing six pounds was the condition on which her parents let her move from France to study in America. In another incoherent leap she bewails the presence of nibbles at networking events.

The show is punctuated by poorly executed songs with banal lyrics, and the occasional spot of (entirely unnecessary) nudity will only please a certain breed of forlorn festival male. There’s Something in the Fridge... fails to please whichever way it is pigeonholed: as comedy it is simply unfunny; as dramatic character study it is flimsy and fails to engage