Review: Eat The Rich (but maybe not me mates x) at Holden Street

Review by Michelle Fisher

At the Adelaide Fringe, audiences are spoiled for choice with bold new voices and inventive storytelling, and Eat the Rich (But Maybe Not Me Mates x) proves exactly why the festival remains such a fertile ground for emerging work. Clean, clever and thoroughly engaging, this autobiographically inspired solo show from writer-performer Jade Franks delivers a fast-paced hour that balances sharp humour with genuine emotional insight.

Franks has crafted a piece that moves at an exhilarating pace, charting her journey from working-class Liverpool to the cloistered halls of Cambridge. It’s a story she tells with remarkable stamina — barely pausing for breath across the sixty-minute runtime — yet the performance never feels rushed. Instead, it’s tightly controlled, energetic storytelling that pulls the audience along for the ride.

Growing up in Liverpool, Franks followed a fairly typical path: finishing school and starting a job - one where she is working in a call centre answering endless customer queries. But, armed with what she describes as “pretty solid school smarts,” she set her sights higher and successfully applied to Cambridge. What follows is a collision of worlds — and identities — as Franks attempts to navigate an elite university environment while hiding parts of the life she fears might make her a social outcast.

The anecdotes come thick and fast. There are the “mean girls” — Milly, Jilly and Tilly — whose polished confidence embodies the world Franks suddenly finds herself in, her new friend with the embroidered laptop bag with his name “Hermes," and the boyfriend who drapes his jumper casually around his shoulders like a uniform of inherited privilege. All the while, Franks is quietly concealing the details she fears might expose her: the school she attended, and the part-time cleaning job she holds at Cambridge itself.

The staging is pleasingly simple but cleverly utilised. A desk sits centre stage, its lid lifting to reveal props and costume pieces that allow Franks to slip between characters and moments with ease. A wheely chair becomes an unexpectedly versatile partner in the storytelling — at one point transforming into a bicycle as she recounts the chaotic challenge of transporting cleaning supplies after her colleague with the car abandons her mid-shift.

Her comedic timing is consistently sharp, and once the audience settles into her rich Scouse accent the narrative flows effortlessly. Franks maintains constant engagement, often locking eyes with the audience or breaking the fourth wall to ask for an opinion or reaction. These small moments of interaction keep the room invested and make the performance feel conversational rather than simply delivered.

While the show is buoyant and frequently laugh-out-loud funny, Franks threads deeper themes through nearly every story. Beneath the comedy lies a thoughtful exploration of class, identity and authenticity: the struggle to remain true to yourself in environments built on performance and privilege. There are moments that land with surprising emotional weight — the cleaner fired for stealing a watch that later turns up under a bed, and Franks’ own internal conflict about defending her colleague at the risk of exposing her own circumstances. Equally touching is the visit from her sister, a reminder of home and belonging that becomes complicated in a space where Franks suddenly feels caught between two worlds.

It’s rare to find a solo show that balances humour and honesty with such ease. Franks manages it through charisma and carefully crafted storytelling, ensuring that even the lightest anecdote carries a deeper resonance.

There is little to fault here. Perhaps some audiences will find the typically English references - Boots, Gregs, etc - leave them out of the joke at times but to contextualise each would slow the wonderful pace of the show down. Whilst in Australia, this may feel that at times you are out of the joke, but this is a very small quibble in an excellent hour of theatre and not something that I feel would be worth jeopardising the rhythm for.

It’s easy to see why the piece caught attention internationally, and Franks proves herself to be a performer worth watching. Eat the Rich (But Maybe Not Me Mates x) is sharp, warm and deeply relatable — an hour that leaves audiences laughing while quietly reflecting on the spaces we try to belong to.

One of the most enjoyable hours at this year’s Fringe, and absolutely worth seeking out wherever it pops up next.

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