This is it. Their big break. Goody Prostate: a drag-clown landing in a new city, a fresh start with a debut performance. But just as it all seems to come together, hell unleashes as Goody comes to realise that they may have misinterpreted the venue and performance specs. Ryan Stewart’s Kinder, a spiralling maelstrom which thrusts an interrogation about children, the stories we tell them, books (the burning of) and parents, is a declaration. Melding flamboyance with fury and political bite with wit, Goody comes to realise this isn’t a comedic roast but a drag storytelling, complete with protestors.

From the opening moments, it’s evident the production’s visual design is more than embellishment; it is dramaturgy in motion. Lighting is wielded like a mood conductor, shifting from visceral bursts of crimson to spectral blues and, naturally, lavenders that stretch emotional resonance across the stage. Sharp, intentional fades and flash cues punctuate the storytelling with cinematic elegance. Costuming is equally arresting. Silhouettes skew towards the excessive, rich in texture and symbolism. Think headdresses laced with rebellion, gowns built for confrontation and makeup that functions as mask and manifesto; colour is always present but don’t for a second think its playful veneer is childlike.

Unabashed and necessary queer rage, with the tongue-flicks of revenge, Kinder speaks with incandescent poise on gender and generational trauma as Goody prepares for the reading: a searing, erudite speech tracing queer lineage through trauma and resilience. It’s articulate without being aloof, impassioned without slipping into polemic. The script pulses with frustration and love, offering a refusal to sanitise, while also refusing to perform suffering for the comfort of the room. Yet, there is performance, as the mediums of drag, theatre and clowning converge intimately: drag here is not an aesthetic garnish but the show’s engine. Satirical clowning and comedic beats break through theatrical gravity with cabaret’s signature mischief. Even audience interaction is deftly managed: moments of communion and disruption amplify the emotional stakes rather than dilute them. There’s an intimacy here that feels earned, not imposed.

Transitions are razor-sharp, choreography fluid but deliberate. Musical numbers riff on tradition while skewering it, shifting from torch-song gravitas to punk-inflected protest. Not a moment feels arbitrary: this is cabaret as refined fury, drag as academic thesis and theatre as resistance. A ferocious elegance in a queer cabaret storm, Kinder garbs itself in sequins, but they cut deep. A riotous triumph.

Kinder, Underbelly Cowgate, until 24 August, 6.40pm; main picture: Alex Winner.