Given the show’s title, it’s apt the Fringe may have found one of its cult hits before it’s officially begun. You’re never sure what shows are going to strike a chord, but for such a late-night, potentially niche, show like Andrew Doherty‘s ‘Gay Witch Sex Cult’ to sell out on ‘day one minus two’ of the festival bodes well. Fortunately, it’s a winner; a rambunctious one-man show that playfully pastiches the tropes of folk horror while delivering a satisfying story.

Doherty plays Kaelen Trough, who’s eagerly awaiting the return of husband Jeremy so they can begin a gender reveal party for their unborn child. While he waits, Kaelen recounts the series events which took him to a sinister island off the coast of Norfolk in his capacity as an estate agent and into the clutches of the evil, and sexy, forces that lurk there. Seemingly safe back home, he doesn’t realise that he’s one cog in a larger, infernal machine.

Fans of folk horror will instantly recognise the staples being referred to here, with The Wicker Man being the obvious example, along with a dash of more modern fare like Midsommar and Apostle. Doherty gets a lot of comic milage in replacing the subgenre’s traditional holy innocent protagonist, like Edward Woodward‘s Christian policeman in The Wicker Man, with a flamboyant, catty narcissist. Oblivious to anything outside his own solipsistic bubble, Kaelen is both obnoxious and screamingly funny, stumbling his way through the increasingly absurd situation in which he finds himself. Doherty turns the dial inexorably towards high camp, with an exaggerated physicality that deepens as the narrative edges further into hysteria.

Occasionally, the comedy and the horror elements feel like they’re operating against each other, not an uncommon issue with the subgenre. Structurally, Doherty will build up a head of steam with his island story before abruptly returning to present. It gradually pulls together, but does feel jarring early on.  There is also a slight issue where the consistently gauche character of Kaelen settles into a groove and some of the jokes are accordingly somewhat telegraphed. It’s a shame when there are frequent brilliant gags and non-sequiturs littered throughout, which only make the more obvious, easy double-entendres more glaring. On the other hand, Doherty does a good job of lulling the audience into complacency with these moments before delivering the odd well-placed jump scare, the most show-stopping aspect of the overall wonderful sound design.

Along with shows like Lachlan Werner’s ‘Voices of Evil’, ‘Gay Witch Sex Cult’ is a modern marriage of queer themes with a deep knowledge of horror, part of the evolution of the genre towards explicitly LGBTQ+ narratives. Previously, the genre has buried such representation in the subtext, as in The Haunting or A Nightmare on Elm Street 2, snuck kink and cruising culture in through the back door in Hellraiser, or presented difference as aberration, as in Sleepaway Camp. ‘Gay Witch Sex Cult’ simply puts a queer protagonist into a recognisable horror situation, as in recent films like Knife + Heart, Knock at the Cabin, or I Saw the TV Glow. A welcome development.

Andrew Doherty pulls off quite a feat with ‘Gay Witch Sex Cult’. He manages to be consistently hilarious and ultimately sticks the landing with a tale that does illicit a sense of uneasy. It could easily edge too far towards parody, but Doherty hits a pitch-perfect note of moral fable common in the genre where the protagonist reaches a terrible epiphany just as it becomes too late. This gives the show a dramatic heft that seems unlikely to begin with. The framing device of the gender reveal is occasionally clunky, but the narrative unravels its own knots as it progresses in increasingly satisfying fashion.

One talks of a show finding its audience. Going by the evidence of the opening night, ‘Gay Witch Sex Cult’ (let’s be honest, the title itself does a lot of heavy lifting), hasn’t had to search very hard. You expect that trend to continue throughout August.

‘Gay Witch Sex Cult’ is at Pleasance Courtyard – Attic until Sun 25 Aug 2024 (except Mon 12), at 23:00