The Circle
The Henry Murray Stage
7657 Melrose Ave, Los Angeles, CA 90046
Written by Derek Brooks
Directed by Max Pitegoff
Produced by Rogue Machine Theatre and David Roman
Performed by Krosby João Roza
Tickets and information: Available here​

Three chairs sit in the middle of the small stage. A suit jacket hangs on a rack in the corner. The room is quiet, close, and intimate. Then our actor steps into view, and Greg begins telling us his story, one that many in Los Angeles can relate to. He is a young actor who has not booked in years, still trying to believe his moment is coming, even as the city keeps teaching him the hard lesson that talent is only part of the equation. Sometimes it is timing. Sometimes it is luck. Sometimes it is being in the right room when someone finally decides to see you.

The Circle stands out as one of my favorite productions at Fringe thus far, and it is unquestionably among my top choices for Pick of Fringe.

Before attending, my knowledge was limited to the fact that the show had previously run at New Theater Hollywood and represented Rogue Machine Theatre’s entry in this year’s Hollywood Fringe Festival. I did not anticipate encountering such a powerful, unnerving, and profoundly affecting esoteric experience.

Written by Derek Brooks, directed by Max Pitegoff, produced by David Roman, and performed by Krosby João Roza, the play begins when Greg receives an email from a mysterious producer named Pat around midnight. Pat and her team have formed a new production company and want to put Greg front and center. After years of being ignored, maybe this door is finally opening. Maybe this is his break. Maybe this is the moment he has been waiting for.

What follows is an intense and unpredictable hour of theatre. I truly mean that as the highest form of praise.

Brooks’ writing feels incredibly grounded and relatable at first, which is exactly why it works so well. You do not realize you are being mesmerized until the story has already swept you into something much stranger. At first, everything feels recognizable. Then the floor drops out from beneath you, and you realize the show has been leading you somewhere far stranger all along.

The play is set in 2020, and that timing matters. Greg is not only an actor waiting for work. He is isolated by the fallout of the COVID-19 pandemic, hungry for connection and purpose, and desperate to believe his life is still moving toward something.

As the performance progresses, the show gradually sheds its skin. What begins as a story about aspiring for success in Hollywood becomes a surreal exploration of manipulation, obsession, and the danger of confusing attention with salvation. Greg is not merely pursuing an opportunity. He is drawn into an unhealthy dynamic by someone who understands exactly how badly he wants to be chosen.

The production takes place inside The Henry Murray Stage, a 45-seat attic theatre off Melrose. That space matters. There is little distance between the performer and the audience, and at times that closeness feels almost claustrophobic. You are not watching Greg from a safe distance. You are right there alongside him for every moment.

Krosby João Roza delivers an exceptional performance, showing charm, menace, humor, vulnerability, and a commanding stage presence. Throughout the show, he makes direct eye contact with audience members, creating the impression that he is speaking to each person personally, like a confidant trying to make sense of an unfathomable situation. He does not just perform for the audience. He pulls us into Greg’s mind and makes us sit with him, no matter how uncomfortable it feels.

That is what makes the piece so effective. Greg is not simply an unreliable narrator. He is vulnerable and earnestly human. Pat enters his life at the exact point where hope and desperation are almost inseparable. As their relationship deepens, the play becomes about how easily an artist can be flattered, recruited, consumed, and left behind by the very system promising to make them whole.

I do not want to give away where the story goes. Part of the thrill is feeling it break from reality in real time. By the end, it becomes a sharp reflection on media, digital life, and how art is consumed, reproduced, and distorted.

Max Pitegoff’s direction makes excellent use of the tiny space. The production is minimal but never empty. The sound and lighting design are subtle, making the more disturbing moments even more effective. Nothing feels overdone. The room shifts slightly, and suddenly, you are not sure if you are still hearing Greg’s story or being pulled into it.

By the end, I was completely enthralled by Greg’s unraveling. Not because I believed everything he believed, but because the show made me feel how badly he needed someone to believe him. His story serves as a warning to anyone so desperate to achieve what they want that they may not recognize the trap until it has already closed.

That is the horror of The Circle. It shows how opportunity can become a trap, how validation can become control, and how easily someone desperate to be seen can become another casualty of the machine.
Go in knowing as little as possible. That is my sincere recommendation. Run, do not walk, to this production. If this is the caliber of writing Derek Brooks is bringing to the stage, I will be first in line for whatever they do next.

I SUCK: A Vampire Comedy
Written and performed by Derek Heeren
Directed by Guy Picot
Produced by Jessica Glassberg
The Hobgoblin Playhouse on Gardner, Main Stage
1516 N. Gardner St., Los Angeles, CA 90046
Runtime: 60 minutes
Tickets and information: Available here

Dracula has his castle. Lestat de Lioncourt has centuries of charisma, influence, and decadence. The Cullens have their beautiful homes, expensive cars, and enough money to make eternal life look remarkably comfortable. Eric Northman owns a nightclub and carries himself with the confidence of someone who has survived for more than a thousand years.

Fiction is filled with vampires who seem to have figured it all out. When time is no longer an obstacle, imagine what you could accomplish. You could earn multiple degrees, learn several languages, acquire property, collect priceless treasures, and build a fortune beyond the reach of ordinary mortals.
Then there is Stan, who has spent roughly eleven hundred years doing almost none of that.
Born Æthelstan of Northumbria, he began life as a commoner who craved power and dreamed of becoming something greater. More than a millennium later, he has no castle, hidden fortune, or collection of ancient artifacts. He is a burned-out middle manager in Toledo, living paycheck to paycheck and wondering how it all went so completely wrong.

Written and performed by Derek Heeren, I SUCK: A Vampire Comedy turns that wonderfully absurd premise into an hour filled with laughter, supernatural chaos, and surprising emotional depth.
In this one-vampire comedy, Heeren brings an entire cast to life. Over the course of the hour, he shifts between roughly half a dozen distinct personalities, including members of Stan’s family and his imposing sire, the larger-than-life figure who cursed him with this dark gift. The ancient vampire possesses the wealth, confidence, and influence Stan once imagined eternity would bring. We also encounter several delightfully strange figures from heaven, hell, and everywhere in between. Small changes in posture, voice, and rhythm make each role immediately recognizable while allowing the story to move effortlessly between them.

At the center of it all is an exhausted immortal who is nothing like the powerful creatures of the night we have come to expect. He is tired, lonely, deeply depressed, and unsure of where he fits in. He complains, spirals, and repeatedly finds himself overwhelmed by the consequences of his own choices, yet he remains remarkably easy to root for. Heeren’s comedic timing keeps him funny without reducing him to a single joke. They give his loneliness enough weight to prevent him from becoming cartoonish or an absurd parody.

Director Guy Picot makes excellent use of the intimate stage at the Hobgoblin Playhouse. The set consists primarily of a table and chair, but the space continually transforms. Through smart staging, sound, and acting choices, we move through a therapist’s office, an Applebee’s, a hospital, the pearly gates, and even hell itself. With very little scenery, the production creates a surprisingly immersive landscape.

The writing is playful and consistently clever, finding laughs in vampire mythology, historical references, and the enormous gap between the existence Stan wanted and the one he created. The audience remained engaged throughout, but the quieter moments are equally important, and there are some very tender, sincere moments.

Stan may be immortal, but his struggle is deeply human. He has spent centuries chasing power without recognizing the value of the people beside him. His journey becomes a reminder that our most precious resource is not money, influence, or even endless existence. It is time: how we choose to spend it, who we share it with, and whether we appreciate the people who matter before that time slips away.
Eternal life means very little if you never learn how to live it.

This show was an unexpected delight and a clever twist on the supernatural gothic horror genre. I had a wonderful time watching this deeply flawed vampire stumble through his existential crisis, and I would happily spend more time with him. He is funny and sympathetic enough that I could easily imagine his misadventures expanded into a larger format, such as a television series or a movie.

For a vampire who has spent eleven hundred years struggling to get his life together, Stan makes a remarkably strong case for spending one hour with him. The production delivers plenty of laughs before driving an unexpected stake through the audience’s hearts

A Role Playing Game
Presented by Street Rat Media
Written and directed by Trey Reinheimer
Produced by Nicole Ohara
The Hobgoblin Playhouse on Gardner, Main Stage
1516 N. Gardner St., Los Angeles, CA 90046
Runtime: Approximately 60 minutes
Content advisory: Flashing lights
Tickets and information: Available here

You find yourself just off the busy streets of Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood, stepping inside the appropriately named Hobgoblin Playhouse. The air is still, broken only by the quiet rustling of an audience settling into their seats. As the lights rise, a basement slowly comes into view.
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At the center of the room, four players gather around a table crowded with character sheets, dice trays, snacks, and drinks. A Game Master sits behind a screen, guarding the final secrets of a fantasy realm months in the making. The space feels comfortably lived in, like the kind of basement where side quests, running jokes, and late-night debates over the rules have already unfolded.

Months of adventuring, shenanigans, and the occasional bit have all led to this moment. The party has battled monsters, defeated bandits, and overcome perhaps the greatest challenge facing any tabletop group: finding a time when everyone is free to play. After four months of storytelling, they have reached the final session of their Caverns and Creatures campaign, facing one last confrontation with the Evil Emperor. In tabletop role-playing games, the main antagonist is commonly known as the BBEG, or Big Bad Evil Guy or Gal.

A Role Playing Game does not follow the quest itself. Instead, the play begins right after the campaign ends, shifting its focus to what comes next. Writer-director Trey Reinheimer's debut at the Hollywood Fringe Festival follows these four friends as they complete their long-running adventure. Once the emperor has fallen and the kingdom has been saved, the players begin imagining the future. Who should lead after the fall of a tyrant? What would a fair and just society actually look like? How do you create something better without repeating the failures of the old system?

What begins as playful post-game riffing gradually becomes far more personal. The fate of an imaginary kingdom opens the door to a difficult discussion about the real world, reopening wounds from the 2024 election and exposing frustrations that have clearly been simmering beneath the surface.

The writing is excellent and timely because these characters are not political opposites. They largely want the same things, but they disagree about what meaningful action looks like and how much compromise is acceptable along the way. The result resembles the kind of uncomfortable conversation that can unfold between close friends who know exactly how to get under one another's skin. That tension feels especially relevant as I write this, just days after California's primary elections. 

The stage at the Hobgoblin Playhouse is used to great effect, making the audience feel less like spectators and more like quiet guests invited into a game night already in progress. Nothing about the scene feels forced. One player absentmindedly stacks dice while waiting for their turn. Another reaches for a refill of pretzels, while someone else tops off their drink. The group seems to know one another genuinely. They trade jokes, celebrate victories, and fully commit to the dramatic stakes unfolding in their imaginations. Their chemistry suggests a history extending well beyond the hour we spend with them.
It is these small details that make the production feel lived in rather than staged, and that authenticity is one of its greatest strengths.

I have spent dozens of hours playing tabletop role-playing games. My personal game of choice has been Dungeons & Dragons, both as a player and as a Dungeon Master. I recognized the rhythm immediately. This cast doesn't feel like a staged performance or a game for an audience. It feels like an actual party, concluding a story they have shaped one roll at a time.

The entire ensemble deserves credit for making that illusion look effortless. Julie Amuedo, Francis Kemper, Miles Bryant, Klenn Harrigan, and Bek Suoma are not simply portraying people seated around a basement table. They are also slipping in and out of the heroes they created, reacting to dice rolls, committing fully to ridiculous choices, and giving one another room to have their moment.

Suoma is especially impressive as the Game Master, guiding the game and driving the story while bringing the many characters populating the fantasy realm to life with a variety of voices and accents. Anyone who has ever sat behind a GM screen knows how much the role demands. A Game Master simultaneously serves as narrator, referee, improviser, scene partner, and guide through a collaborative storytelling experience, sometimes all within the same breath. They shine in the role and seem like an absolute natural. I would gladly play at their table.

The ensemble's political arguments are personal, rather than theoretical. Each performer brings a distinct energy to the group dynamic, allowing disagreements to grow out of recognizable relationships rather than reducing the characters to generic mouthpieces for competing ideas. The argument matters because the friendships matter.

The gaming table is not merely a clever backdrop for this political drama. It is what makes the entire piece work. Role-playing games give people room to imagine possibilities that can seem much harder to reach in everyday life. They offer a safe environment to explore feelings, ideas, and difficult choices. Eventually, however, things become all too real as this group of friends must confront the complications of the world they actually inhabit.

Late in the performance, the discussion turns toward a very important topic: healthcare. In a fantasy realm, our heroes can heal someone by casting Cure Wounds or Greater Restoration. Outside the game, the problems are far more complicated. There is no simple spell powerful enough to fix a healthcare system that still leaves too many people without equal access to the care they need. The strongest adventuring parties succeed because of their differences, not despite them. Each member brings something the others may not have.

I think that is the core message of A Role Playing Game. The people gathered in this basement do not agree on everything. They challenge one another. They frustrate one another. Their exchange becomes messy because the questions they are asking do not have easy answers. But disagreement does not have to mean disconnection. You can argue about the path ahead while still recognizing the value of the people walking beside you. You can challenge one another honestly without forgetting that the person sitting across from you is still part of the same party.

The production offers no easy answers. Instead, it underscores that building something better requires listening, honest engagement, and a shared sense of purpose.

Do not feel discouraged if you have never played a TTRPG. You do not need to know the difference between a d20 and a dexterity saving throw to enjoy the show. It is funny, charming, smartly written, and accessible even if you have never created a character or joined a campaign. Its hour-long runtime moves quickly while still leaving audiences with plenty to discuss afterward.

I hope the play leaves audiences with two things. First, a reminder that even when our ideological differences feel deeply personal, political discussions should remain centered on the issues that unite working people, Economic, social, and cultural rights, rather than allowing division to become the point. Disagreement is essential in a democracy, but respect and kindness toward our fellow human beings must remain part of the conversation. That being said, those disagreements must also be rooted in facts, not misinformation.

Second, I hope the play inspires a few people to gather some friends and embark on an adventure of their own. Starting a tabletop role-playing game can feel intimidating from the outside. Still, there are many wonderful options for everyone, whether the system is Dungeons & Dragons, Vampire: The Masquerade, Daggerheart, or something else entirely. At their heart, these games are about trusting the people beside you and shaping a story no one could have created alone.

A Role Playing Game rolled a natural 20. This is one adventure worth joining.

Curious about starting your own campaign? Here is a helpful guide to get started with Dungeons & Dragons: D&D Beyond Beginner Guide

Club Clown
Presented by Sacred Fools Theater Company
Created, directed, and hosted by Will Thomas McFadden
Produced by Sidney Edwards and Scott Leggett
The Broadwater Main Stage
1076 Lillian Way, Hollywood, CA 90038
​Featuring a rotating cast of Hollywood Fringe performers
Tickets and information: Available here

“We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment.”
Jack Gilbert, “A Brief for the Defense”

When you walk into Club Clown, you are handed a neon glowing wand, your magic tool for interacting with the show and its performers, and greeted with a warm welcome to what is billed as the most exclusive nightclub in Los Angeles. At least, that is the premise of Sacred Fools Theater Company's latest offering at this year's Hollywood Fringe Festival.

What happens next is harder to describe, mostly because this is the kind of show you should experience with an open mind and a willingness to get caught up in its delightful absurdity. Will Thomas McFadden created, directs, and hosts the production, a surreal and highly interactive clown experience featuring a rotating cast of some of Los Angeles's most talented improvisers and Fringe performers.

Produced by Sidney Edwards and Scott Leggett, the show promises a different lineup each night, meaning no two performances will ever be exactly alike. McFadden serves as the master of ceremonies and the audience's guide through the chaos. A masterful raconteur, he has the difficult task of making an increasingly unpredictable evening remain cohesive. He keeps the room engaged from the moment the audience arrives, confidently steering the night through more than an hour of comedy, music, audience interaction, and wonderfully strange characters.

I am hesitant to reveal too much because discovering the world of Club Clown is part of the fun. The less you know going in, the more rewarding it will be to surrender yourself to the experience. What I can say is that the show is consistently funny, impressively constructed, and completely committed to its own joyful sense of nonsense.

Less a traditional show and more of an effervescent, slightly fever-dream-like experience, that is to say, this doesn't still have all the makings of a great production. The rotating cast is excellent. The direction is confident. The technical cues are timed well and keep the evening moving smoothly, while the superb music keeps the vibe intact. Even when the show seems to be gleefully spiraling out of control, it never feels off the rails. The performers make great use of the Broadwater Main Stage, and the audience becomes an essential part of the performance rather than a group of passive observers.

To my delight, I found it exceedingly wholesome and almost healing to be in a room full of strangers who had collectively agreed to wave glowing wands, laugh loudly, embrace the ridiculous, and fully participate in the experience together. The phrase "joy is an act of resistance" has not left my mind since seeing the show. For about an hour and a half, the production allows you to push back against the terrors of the world outside the theatre through laughter, music, play, and the simple act of being present with the people around you.

We are living through a moment when many of our neighbors are afraid to walk outside their doors because of ICE enforcement. Trans people and the broader LGBTQ+ community are being targeted by a government increasingly comfortable using fear, exclusion, and Christian nationalist rhetoric as tools of control. The world gives us no shortage of reasons to feel exhausted, angry, and overwhelmed. In that context, Club Clown feels like balm for the soul. I left the theatre feeling renewed and in a much better mood than when I arrived.

By the end of the show, the separation between the performers and the audience disappears. The room begins to hum in unison, feeling almost like an impromptu congregation. Not an act of worship per se, but something certainly adjacent to it: a group of strangers briefly gathered together in celebration of the strange, the silly, and the deeply human need to experience joy together.

If this message resonates with you and you are curious about how you can participate in joy as an act of rebellion against the world around us, Club Clown is a must-see. Each performance features a different rotating cast of Fringe performers, making it worth visiting more than once for a fresh, unique experience.
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For anyone interested in exploring these ideas more deeply, I also recommend the NPR podcast Code Switch episode "Is Joy an Act of Resistance?" hosted by Leah Donnella and B.A. Parker. The episode thoughtfully explores what it means to treat joy as a tool for social change, especially when joy itself can feel increasingly difficult to access. I also enjoyed diving into adrienne maree brown's Pleasure Activism: The Politics of Feeling Good, a thoughtful exploration of pleasure, joy, and liberation.