Sorry I’m Late (Sydney Fringe)

Written by Izzy Azzopardi. Jezebel Productions. Sydney Fringe. The Actor’s Pulse Playhouse. 1-5 Sep, 2026.

N.B. – I’m not giving star ratings to Sydney Fringe shows.

I’m going to be honest – if you’re thinking of seeing Sorry I’m Late, or already have tickets, then stop reading. It’s impossible to discuss without spoilers and it’s much better to go in knowing nothing.

You have been warned…

Okay, if you’re still here that’s on you.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Izzy Azzopardi (Traffic Light Party) pulls apart her own psyche in the 70-minute two-hander Sorry I’m Late, about a writer pulling apart their own psyche. Time is running out to make an impact, be an artist, build a career, build a life… it’s a shame she keeps getting distracted.

Directed by Rebecca McNamee (Abigail Williams/Dirty Rotten Scoundrels), the lights come up on a room mid-conversation (or is it?) between Dorothy (Azzopardi) and Mackenzie (Jessica Garnett). But Mackenzie has no memory of how the conversation began. Or how she got to be in the room. Or why her shoelace is tied to a chair. What is clear is that Dorothy knows more than she’s letting on, and for all her therapist-like prodding and questioning, something unusual is happening.

Told in a succession of short scenes with blackouts, we follow Mackenzie as she tries to find out what’s happening, and why Dorothy keeps talking about her life in the past tense. Is she in a hospital? Is she dead? Is this all happening in her mind?

After an intriguing start, Azzopardi’s script starts to ramble, before bringing itself back for a fun third act (the show was originally billed as being 60 minutes, and it feels like that would have been the ideal length). Like all “puzzle box” stories, there’s a risk that the secret will underwhelm when finally revealed, and there is a little of that here. This feels like a fun writing exercise that has taken on a life of its own, but after a bold, existential opening, what’s revealed to be the travails of a young creative in an early-life crisis feels less urgent.

Both Azzopardi and Garnett give solid performances in bringing the script to life, helped by Tait Gibbons’ sound design, Lila Browning’s lighting and Daisy Hughes’ production design, which all hit the brief.

Sorry I’m Late is an interesting look at the hurdles of living a creative life that feels like the stub of something deeper and more fun — like the central artist themselves, this story has room to grow.