WHY: Because a folk-horror rom-com ensemble musical is what you need to soothe your existential dread. Meredith (Carli Wright) is murdered by her ancestral home (Catherine Mack) and cursed to haunt it, unless she finds true love. The catch: anyone who hears her song and doesn’t belong perishes. After killing a few wayward folks, she forms a friendship with a haunting enthusiast and podcaster (Sean Faye) and finds a potential love interest with singer-songwriter Denis (Travis Cox). As writer/Director, Carli has crafted a snappy and darkly funny show with beautiful acoustic music. The house always wins, and so does the audience.
WHY: This is a show not here to entertain you. It deals with a societal topic that’s usually discussed in the quiet. There is no way around it – we immediately enter a tough conversation about being the child of rape.
I. We. Us poses a difficult question about identity and how a family handles an unspeakable trauma that has for years disrupted the lives of everyone involved. How do you make the hardest choice of your life while hanging by a thread? This is a story about fighting to protect and heal yourself. Do you ever actually move through and forward from trauma? At what cost do we use our intellect to ignore our heart? Is it too late to come to the realization that the acto of moving on hurt those you left behind? This one-act play asks hard questions. There are no easy answers, but the play serves as a reminder that with love, empathy and understanding family can always come together to face the toughest of challenges.
WHERE:Actors Company (Other Space Theater), 916 N. Formosa Ave.
WHY: Because a biracial daughter raised by an acerbic, “lioness” of an English mother with a flair for the dramatic in the 1960s Los Angeles/New York/London is a story that needs to be told. Let Bellina Logan take you by your little hand and walk you through her “Parisian adoption,” the chaos of her childhood, and the stability of her adulthood through humorous vignettes, genuine moments and heartbreaking reveals. Logan floats effortlessly about the stage, embodying every character she encounters with reverence and mischief. When the reveals hit, they hit hard. It’s a lovely night of solo theatre.
WHY: What does freedom mean when you’ve never been allowed to have it? Mozhdeh Rahmanzaei’s world premiere bilingual solo show takes us to the vulnerable space of creative limbo. The show begins before it begins with an authority barking orders at the audience in Persian. Once the authority determines the audience is American, she switches to English and tells us what is at stake: imprisonment or death.
Mozhdeh courageously pursues artistic expression, defies the rules, and acknowledges she can never return home. There is a difference between bravery and safety, and she pushes us through the limbo of defying her home country and securing her American visa. The show is raw and unflinchingly direct.
WHY: In this captivating piece of true storytelling, Roz Browne takes you from her childhood beginnings in Boston to a church group trip to Africa, always “In Search of Black People.”
Roz tells her story with such detail, humor and thoughtful reflection that the audience is left feeling like they have not just been told about the characters in the story, but actually introduced to them. First, in anecdotes from her early life, we meet her family as they move from one Boston neighborhood to another. Aided by real video footage, we then see the moment decades later when family members open the results of their DNA kits to find answers about their roots.
Inspired to travel to Africa, Roz, her sister and her mother do so as part of a church group. Here we are treated to the drama between church members and the daily proverbs of the tour guide as the group experiences the sights, sounds and tastes of the land. The payoff for this journey is an understanding and appreciation for family, community and a sense of belonging.
WHY: What happens when the cause you fought for to make a more equitable world is as corrupt as the system you abandoned? Processing center photographer May (Chiamaka Ikwuezunma) is about to find out. The organization has demands, and if they are not met, she’ll find herself on the other end of the camera. Her guilt haunts her, and she begins to see the people she is processing as human. Her enforcer, June (Anne Peyton Brothers), constantly questions her commitment to the organization. Sarah Grochala’s ensemble piece moves through vignettes, monologues and a minimalist aesthetic. She has crafted a raw and caustic dystopian tale that could happen anywhere.
WHERE:Actors Company (The Little Theater), 916 N. Formosa Ave.
WHY: What happens when a conservative late-night radio host in an abusive relationship finds herself pregnant? Writer/performer Ally Ibach’s Kentuckian DJ bounces hyperactively between playing the same song in different versions, Instagram selfies with loads of props, and humorously doling out bad advice to callers, all while using off-air breaks to call Planned Parenthood and schedule an illegal abortion. Ibach doesn’t flinch as she pushes the audience further into discomfort with each reveal. The stakes are real and the gap between what her character preaches and what she does is the whole point. This solo show is a mirror of the times.
Conversations with some of #HFF26’s compelling “Women on the Fringe”
Ten years ago, I conducted my first Fringe Femme interview out of a desperate need to hear and uplift the various works and voices of women of color during the Hollywood Fringe Festival. I selfishly wanted to bear witness and, in some small way, archive the multiplicity of beautiful voices and conversations women of color were exploring.
The reality was, I was having a hard time discovering and seeing the work of women of color. I knew I had a small network, no connections, and yet I still found a way. Who else was out there existing as outliers? The hardest part of manifesting a new work is finding a way to let people know that you have a show.
The 2026 Hollywood Fringe Femme Interview series is an ode to the women who find a way to tell their stories even when the odds are against them. Each year, a group of women dares to create work by any means necessary.
This year, I am beyond thrilled to introduce the first of this tiny but mighty cohort, Destiny Faith, actor + writer of The End of the World.
A solo show that is not afraid to address topics that are continually under-recognized, undiscussed or addressed without care, I was moved by the audacity and vulnerability Destiny brings to The End of the World… reminding us that our humanity, our capacity to hold emotions, feelings, fears and concerns are what makes up a healthy, forgiving and empathy-led community, society and culture. She reminds us that Black women are not monolithic, that we contain multitudes. She breaks stereotypes of staying silent and carrying the torch of Black women’s strength by boldly releasing, writing and sharing her perspective with the world. No longer allowing to go unseen.
Destiny Faith
Constance Jaquay Strickland: How long have you been sitting with this work? What led you to the Hollywood Fringe Festival and why now?
Destiny Faith: Hmm, this question is interesting for me because there are aspects of this work I’ve been sitting with for a long time. I’ve wanted to do a solo show for years, but had no idea what it would be about. The themes around mental health, existentialism and the loneliness of trying to connect in a disconnected world had been with me for a while, showing up again and again through different events in my life. A couple of years ago, I performed a seven-minute spoken-word piece at an open mic at Willie Agee Playhouse in Inglewood titled the Token Black Girl. It came out of a sudden awareness (almost a punch to the gut) of how subtle and constant the dehumanization of Black women is, and how little I’d actually let myself register it in my life.
That newfound awareness made me bitter and heartbroken, and I still haven’t fully gotten over it. After sharing that spoken-word piece and getting a strong response, people told me I should turn it into a one-woman show, and so I eventually did. Black women’s pain gets minimized so consistently that depression isn’t even on the table as a possibility for us. So I built a character who refuses that silence. She’s going to do the unthinkable, and she’s going to be loud about it. I wanted Hollywood Fringe first because it’s my backyard. I’ve been attending for years, and before I ran in Edinburgh, I wanted my own community’s eyes on it first.
Constance: Now, you’ve given the work away and it’s out there. How does that feel?
Destiny: It feels like it’s no longer just my own. I set out to tell my story, to be heard, to feel seen through art. And along the way, others have felt seen, too, and started sharing their own stories back. It’s humbling. It’s a reminder that whatever sits and persists in your heart isn’t just for you. It’s there, begging to be let out, because someone else needs it. That’s humbling, and it makes me want to make more.
Constance: What are you enjoying most as you create your show?
Destiny: I’m enjoying laughing and playing with the audience. I’m finally at a point where I feel more dropped into this role, into Desiree’s journey, which has let me really listen to and move with the audience. So every show has been different. I’m finally out of my head and can play.
Constance: What has been the most surprising discovery?
Destiny: I’ve been most surprised by how connected people are to little nuances in the story that I thought were so weird or so specific to me, that I almost didn’t put them in. I’m always shocked at how connected people feel to those exact moments.
Constance: What’s been your biggest challenge in terms of the Fringe?
Destiny: The biggest challenge, and I think a lot of other indie creators can relate to this, is having a vision much bigger than your pockets. I dream big, and I care so much about the integrity of the story, but you have such limited time and space to make everything the way you want it to be. I hated having to cut things that I felt would’ve made the show stronger, but cutting things has only made me get clearer and more specific about the experience I want my audience to have with the story.
Constance: What do you hope audience members take away from your show?
Destiny: I hope audiences get offline and look people in the eye. I’m begging us not to lose our humanity to social media and AI. It’s not real. These moments in the theater are real. The moments in nature, at the beach, are real. Everyone’s right and wrong about everything, but who we are as people extends beyond our 150-characters online. If we actually slowed down and sat with one another, and genuinely held space for one another, we’d feel less alone. (If we don’t learn to be human first, AI will do it for us…and take over our booooooddiiiiieeeeesssss :P)
Constance: How does spoken word help in telling the show’s story?
Destiny: I view spoken word in this show almost like a musical number. Sometimes we don’t have the perfect words to say, but a song always seems to do the trick. Music and rhythm can take something complex and full of nuance and help it land somewhere palatable, somewhere memorable. The spoken word isn’t just a peek into Desiree’s inner world; it also marks the significant milestones in her journey.
Constance: It’s not easy being a Black woman in any decade, but it sure is a privilege. How has letting go of the strong Black women trope freed you as an artist and woman?
Destiny: Such a good question, because I don’t know if I’ve fully let it go yet. But I’m learning to free myself more and more and allowing myself to be broken and vulnerable, imperfect. Allowing myself to not always work twice as hard, to not care about a trope that minimizes my humanity, just because I’m upset. The more I let go of caring how the world perceives me, the more I’m able to fully connect to myself. And connection to self gives us space for true healing. In this show, Desiree gets to be everything that Black women “shouldn’t be”: depressed, joyful, angry, scared, rude, bratty, funny, and hopeful.
Constance: What joy did you discover when creating your show?
Destiny: The joy I discovered was getting to play and be funny. Most people see me do drama, and a lot of my life I’ve had to be serious and responsible—but I have a dry, goofy side that only a few people get to see. It’s great to expose that part of me in an environment that’s safe, that’s my own, and in my own voice. I don’t often see my type of humor represented in Black characters, so there’s real joy in getting to be what I don’t usually get to be or see.
Constance: What has it cost you to bring The End of the World to life?
Destiny: It has cost me so much sleep! Lol.
Constance: What experience influenced this new work?
Destiny: This story is very personal to me. When I sat down to reflect on what my show should be about, I thought about major turning points in my life that I believe have contributed to who I am as a person. Two moments kept coming to mind in conjunction with each other, in parallel, even though they were fifteen years apart: the day my stepdad attempted suicide in front of my family and me, and one of the lowest moments of my adult life, during the lockdown in 2020.
I was fifteen when my stepdad attempted suicide, and that was the worst day of my life at the time. My family and I were never the same since. Everything I thought was true about the world, my life, and my parents was shattered. I have clear distinctions in who each of my siblings and my mom was before and after that moment. It was my own end of the world, so to speak. Everyone can relate to a moment in their life when their innocence was destroyed, when the world showed you its ugliest parts and broke your faith, when you no longer felt the illusion of safety. Trauma changes all of us, and it can be heartbreaking to recognize that in yourself. There are motifs in the show that allude to that feeling of loss of innocence.
Then in 2020, I had a second version of this. I was so brokenhearted by friends, family and humanity as a whole that it made me feel cold and bitter, and it took so much to get “me” back. But I’m grateful for experiencing both sides of the spectrum: such hope and faith in humanity, to such disdain for it and resentment toward God. The grace of God and the beauty in humanity have outweighed the bad in the end, and I can finally heal from that heartbreak. It’s an ongoing and ever-evolving process, which is what I hope also lands in the show.
WHY: Oh, what a mythical force. A Deity. A Priestess.
They Tend to Themselves is a beautiful, poetic show rooted in the magic of Africa, the memory of our ancestors, and the enchanting power of Black women. Gabrielle is a familiar vision. Immediately, I feel as though I know her, have seen her before.
I fully understood, embraced with open arms, and possibly even evoked Gabrielle as one of my ancient ancestors channeled to remind my spirit to think beyond my physical essence. As she grabbed the hand of a Black woman and spoke truth through touch, she erased years of pain, opened a portal for healing and made way for enlightenment.
Proud. Stunned. In awe. My solar plexus exploded each time Gabby’s voice reached back hundreds of years to bring us to this very moment in time, together.
My heart exploded during this show in the most affirming of ways. Not because I was a Black woman, but because it is a rare moment to witness the truth onstage. I was left Breathless. I left the theatre in tears but ready to not take on the world, but to tend to my spirit.
Words are not enough. Go see this show. Go support Black women telling stories.
WHERE:Hudson Theatres(Mainstage) 6539 Santa Monica Boulevard
WHY: There are some people who are just meant to be artists. From the moment that Dr. Dimple Kaur steps onto the stage, it’s clear to see that dance is an integral part of who she is. The hour-long solo show flies by as Dimple weaves together dance and her own personal journey as an immigrant.
As a former bharatanatyam dancer, I loved seeing Dimple perform, but I could tell that even the audience members who weren’t as familiar with Indian classical dance were leaning in – in large part due to the way she expertly explains the symbolism behind the dance from the beginning of the show. As Dimple says on her show page, this story does not bring an easy triumph – but it does bring something far more human and beautiful in the form of dance.
