Nothing else I’ve sampled at Fringe can touch IAHH’s the trifecta of lacerating wit, flawless delivery, and superb performances from the entire cast (Morogiello’s recurring Yeats was a highlight, as was Lori Boyd’s turn as Lady Gregory). You haven’t Fringed until you’ve seen Wilde clutch his chest at the sight of a “dark, rugged” jihadist bent over in prayer.

Each slaying has a surreal sort of Hannibal Lecter meets Elmer Fudd quality to it. You scream both in horror and delight—and you laugh, and laugh, and