Just like this play, I will be heading to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in August. There, I will indulge in a series of new writing and experimental pieces, exploring the untapped and even the mundane. The productions might be bare-boned, but they are always fuelled by the desire to create and to challenge. I have no doubt that Surrender will be well received there. A thoughtfully written monologue by Sophie Swithinbank, the play uses a simple premise to dare us to confront our obsession with judgement and our enjoyment of people’s downfalls – especially when it comes to women and those less fortunate. It is a bit rough around the edges, but that gives it some bite and grit, even if the piece is not completely satisfying.

We enter into a mostly bare Arcola studio space, just three coat hooks, a few strip lights, and a blue auditorium chair. But in walks a woman (a brilliant Phoebe Ladenburg), and we are quickly thrust into her world. She is in prison, and during a visitation, we witness her speak to her teenage daughter who we learn has been taken away from her at a young age, presumably due to her being an unfit mother. We jump through her past to discover the difficult moments that led her there – conversations with the in-laws, social services visits, and police interrogations. She addresses various characters, but she is always speaking to us – pleading for us to listen, to understand her and to see her.

Despite not knowing yet what exactly she did to be imprisoned, there is an immediate urge to deem her guilty and deserving of punishment. Of course, there is her brashness, her vanity (she is an aspiring actor, naturally), and her nonchalant attitude towards life – all portrayed through an impressively layered performance by Ladenburg. The cleverness in Swithinbank’s writing is that though the protagonist is an unlikeable person – and clearly an unreliable narrator – the immersive act of her telling her story, true or not, creates a sense of vulnerability and community, earning some sympathy from us. Familiarity should not erase actions, but we discover how easy it is to project harsher attitudes about someone than they deserve.

Indeed, a fringe production is a perfect vehicle to examine this notion. At 75 minutes, it does not overstay its welcome, nor does it overplay the importance of what it explores. While it might not have immensely lasting impact, I doubt Swithinbank is trying to make any bold statements about the legal system or to suggest that circumstances should vindicate careless actions. Surrender simply uses an intimate setting to encourage us to see the humanity in all people – it is theatre in its most stripped-down form, a person telling their tale in hope of seeking connection with others.