The theatrical originator of colossal hits Fleabag and Baby Reindeer, Francesca Moody is ready for her next act. She talks to Cheryl Caira about the future of the Fringe, a love of horror, and having a nose for a breakout hit

Interview: Cheryl Caira. Lead image credit: Rich Lakos

‘Shedinburgh’ is launching its inaugural live season at Edinburgh Fringe this year. What is your hope for the impact of this wee venue-come-shed?

It’s a statement of intent. I’ve been part of the Fringe for a long time, so I’ve seen a fundamental shift – it’s become supersaturated, over-commercialised and inaccessible for artists. My dream for Shedinburgh 2025 is that we show there’s another way of doing things. There are some fundamental things we can do to make sure artists come to the Fringe, like paying for people’s travel and accommodation, so we’ve started a Shedload-of-Future Fund awarding grants to debut Fringe artists.

I’m hoping people will gravitate towards the space – we have a really amazing programme, and I want it to feel like the fun, secret gig at Glastonbury. I also want it to be a safe haven in a festival that is inevitably mad and relentless, where you can come and ask questions and be more provocative.

Richard Gadd performing Baby Reindeer. Credit: Andrew Perry

Your production company, FMP, is bringing two diverse shows to the Fringe this year: Crybabies: The Scaring and Ohio. Do you relish having an eclectic slate?

I just love great stories and storytelling. We don’t take ourselves too seriously, but there is a seriousness to our work – we definitely draw on stories that have a comic edge to them. Ohio and Crybabies couldn’t be more different, but they share a sense of levity. Ohio is not a comedy, but there’s a wryness to it. It feels like a story from a very original point of view, which we’re always drawn to. Whereas Crybabies is laugh-out-loud funny. 

We’re quite well known now for helping people bridge the gap between comedy and theatre. Obviously the best example would be our work with Richard Gadd and Baby Reindeer. It sounds silly and obvious to say, but you have to think about the audience whenever you’re taking work to Edinburgh, because people often think about the art first. It’s such a word-of-mouth market. 

You’ve produced multiple sell-out shows, but is there still an apprehension when the curtain goes up for the first time?

You definitely feel the pressure, and there’s an expectation around our work that’s very particular, so that can be hard. We’ve now become a bit of a curator at the Fringe. It’s amazing, and I’m grateful people do it, but people just book our shows because we produce them. I would never put my name to something I didn’t love, so even if people come to see something and they don’t like it, that’s OK with me. As long as I’ve committed us to something we believe in, that’s what matters. Anyway, people should be allowed to f**k up in Edinburgh. That’s what it’s for – experimentation. 

Fringe show, Ohio

How do you get that nose for a breakout hit?

Gut instinct drives all of my decision-making – sometimes to my detriment. I’ll commit myself to things that we don’t have the money to do, then we have to find it somehow. You have to try and be uncynical in the way that you pick things, and totally led by what gives you excitement. Then some shows are really successful off the back of that.

Baby Reindeer – a show you originated at the Fringe – became stratospherically successful and one of Netflix’s most-watched series. Could you ever have anticipated that?

I don’t think you can legislate for that level of success. Gadd and I are still good friends, so I’ve been privy to the process of making the TV show and talked to him lots about it, without being directly involved. When I read the pilot episode I thought: ‘This is going to be good.’ 

Gadd is such a mercurial talent, and the story he’s telling is so raw and original. He’s a true artist. I thought it was going to be successful, because it wasn’t something I’d ever seen on television. In the same way with Fleabag, I always thought the TV show was going to be a success, even from when I read the tiny bit of writing that would turn into the play. 

There seems to be a thread with some of your characters – in Fleabag, Baby Reindeer and recently Weather Girl – where there’s comedy masking trauma, then an unravelling.

Weather Girl [which touches on the California wildfires] is so intense – it’s a bit like you get on the train and you can’t get off. You’re very confronted by everything, and there’s no escape for an audience member. But you’re right – they all feel authored from a specific and original point of view, and share that commonality of comedy and tragedy. They’re complex, but they’re not over-intellectualised. I hate the idea of anyone ever feeling like an idiot or alienated in the theatre.

Phoebe Waller-Bridge in Fleabag. Credit: Matt Humphrey

You got your Fringe start flyering on the street team. What was your ambition then?

I wanted to be an actor really badly. My dream was to do a play at the Fringe. Then I ended up meeting so many people and some of those relationships helped me bridge that gap into producing. The first place I ever produced was in Edinburgh. It was called The Ducks. It was at the Pleasance and never heard of again… Actually, it was a really good play.

The street team is such a good way to get to know the city, and you get to see all the work. I never knew until I’d been to the Fringe that theatre could be one person with a microphone in a dingy theatre, or five people running around a stage naked, or cabaret at The Bongo Club.  

What stories are you keen to spotlight going forward?

The shows that I want to make are the ones that feel bold, political with a small p, with comedy at the heart, and entertaining without being populist. I’m really interested in how we extend the life of a story, which is why so much of our work has gone on to be made on TV. We’ve got our TV deal with Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s production company, Wells Street, and Amazon, and we’re building out a podcast department at FMP.

I also have my own personal obsessions about what I want to make – horror in particular. In the broader sense, I want to make sure that we’re working with more diverse stories, creatives and especially women. That’s why the Fringe is so addictive, because it’s such a great opportunity to connect with future talent.

See Crybabies: The Scaring and Ohio at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe