Review: COMA, Fringe 2026

If you have every questioned whether you may have a supressed fear of the dark, think carefully before buying a ticket to COMA. 

The vibe

You are warned – oh, are you warned – as you sign up for this 25-minute immersive experiment about the issues it could trigger.  It’s there in bold that it’s not suitable for anyone with PTSD, claustrophobia or a fear of the dark, and as I waited to enter the shipping container on the edge of George Square, we were warned again, not once, but twice. If we felt we were starting to panic just remove the headphones, we were told, a little too cheerfully. 

The premise is simple. Rows of bunk beds fill the container on which the audience lies in pitch darkness while the narrative of the piece is played through 360° headphones. We were told in no uncertain terms that once the lights had gone off there is no further option to leave. I had never wanted to ask for a safe word so much in my life. 

The experience

The bunks are low, and extremely claustrophobic, to the point that if you attempted to sit up you would give yourself a concussion intense enough that the concept of coma could become a self-fulfilling prophesy. Through the headphones, a sinister doctor paces back and forth, encouraging participants to take his harmless, experimental pill.

The sound quality is alarming good, good enough to make me take the headphones off just to check that there actually wasn’t anyone breathing in my ear. As the doctor approaches, vents release acrid wafts of an aftershave last favoured in the mid-1970s by drunken uncles at Christmas (another possible trigger warning for the ever-growing list).

It was in the first few seconds that I had the epiphany that I was much more claustrophobic and afraid of the dark that I had ever realised. I found myself focussing hard on remembering that I was metres away from several children’s shows and a fully stocked bar, and wishing that I was partaking of either of those options, or both. 

Overall

Much of my reaction to COMA falls into the, ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ category. It certainly created the desired level of physical panic it’s designed to inspire, but I still couldn’t help but feel that the storyline being fed through our headphones didn’t really go anywhere. The £15 ticket price for a 25-minute show is also enough to instil more than a mild feeling of unease.