Yes, of course we are all the heroes of our own story. It is why I resignedly accepted that I would have to marry Prince Charles when I grew up. But what happens when we realise that other people have contradictory stories in their heads that invalidate ours? And could AI (or AGI!) somehow, in the future, say 2030, make it possible to read their thoughts? 

It is curious how many of the dramatic offerings at Fringe 2025 seem to be set in the distant past (An Iliad), or in the future (A Year and a Day). I daresay that is because the present is too hideous to contemplate, what with the monstrous wars, invasions, genocides, and the monstrous hubris of certain political figures. As a species we are fatally lacking in empathy. What if we truly knew how other people, other countries, experience us?

When I got home from SBZ Productions’ quirky play, All Heroes, I immediately asked my handy bedside Google Assistant whether it would be a good thing to know how others saw us.

“It is important to know what the people you value are thinking of you. You can’t change what you don’t know.” That is the exact reply I got from my virtual assistant. I was interested that my tireless little friend assumed that when we knew the faults others saw in us, we would want to change. Quite optimistic, really.

All Heroes sets out to investigate whether technology is damaging our ability to communicate, but does not really pursue this theme. Somewhat ironically the human characters take over, and it is an awkward payroll clerk’s journey of self-discovery that becomes the focus. We are welcomed by a white-coated, German-accented psychiatrist, Blaise Barham as Dr Sonder, who addresses us as colleagues, and introduces us to the case of Jandoe (Jane Doe: everywoman) Wilkins, who is experiencing a very traumatic day.

Sarah Barham, who wrote the play, is Jandoe, the clumsy clerk whose only sensitivity seems to be her crush on colleague Sam Beckett. Sam is once again Blaise, this time with an appealing Scots accent. Gazing deeply into his eyes, Jandoe fails to comprehend that he is enrolling her in a software trial – her smartglasses will record her interactions with others, which will be replayed, with their thoughts now spoken aloud. As Jandoe is abrasive at best, these are not likely to be complimentary.

All those she interacts with, from her lonely mother to a surly passerby, are played as comic roles, occasionally verging on pantomime, by Blaise Barham, who is an energetic exponent of physical theatre, never missing an opportunity to hurl his rubbery body into the action. The Theatre of the Absurd vibe of All Heroes gives him licence to dance exuberantly anything from German schuhplattler to a tophat-and-cane Broadway number.

He gets away with this shameless opportunism because it is fun, and because the whole show is accompanied by the simply marvellous Sam Meikle on keyboard, subtly providing the perfect mood music for each scene. Director John Goudge has Blaise making quick costume changes just off the stage, which is a simple platform providing good sightlines, sometimes tricky in the NAT. The replays of Jandoe’s recorded scenes are muddy in execution though, and projections on the screen above don’t add much, though street scenes do remind us of our many daily encounters and missed opportunities.

Sarah Barham, like Blaise an experienced performer, drives the narrative as Jandoe, gaining our sympathy as she fears she is hallucinating. She delivers a recognisably cringe-worthy Pay Easy presentation to her boss. Jandoe is described as aggressive, but on the whole I feel she comes across as too nice to justify her self-description as ‘a bit of an asshole’. (Is it sexist to think the role may be more suited to a male??) 

Both Barhams can project endearing on-stage personalities, never more so than when they are working together, and there are some charming moments, like Jandoe’s confusion in her session with emergency department on-call psychiatrist, Dr Sonder, and the almost-kiss with her crush, workmate Sam Beckett. However, some characters are treated without the respect they deserve, Jandoe’s mother in particular being caricatured as foolish and techno-challenged, failing to recognise an obvious sexual dimension to an online conversation.

All Heroes does not ultimately examine future inventions and possibilities – indeed, apart from a sympathetic bartender who is actually a Chatbot, it often seems to be looking backwards, with a distinct Silent Movies vibe – but Jandoe’s story is one that could be developed more rigorously. Her encounters fall into a somewhat repetitive pattern, while we wait for a revelation that does not arrive. Clearly she is capable of change, of developing empathy. Might that make her worthy of Sam’s love reciprocated? Must we first recognise we are mostly anything but heroes?

Incidentally, my Google Assistant does not change, even when I tell it plainly I do not care for its sycophantic and insincere ‘I am honoured to serve’ response when I say ‘thank you’.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer