Playwright Giulietta Tisminetzky talks new upcoming show ‘How To Kill A Chicken’: “It’s a show that doesn’t pretend to have all the answers”

Following its original run at the Edinburgh Fringe, the show makes its way to Brighton this weekend – bringing back its passionate narrative of love, sex, and self-discovery. Guillermo Nazara chats with the author, to learn more about the development of the piece and how it sheds light and hope on such a dire subject.

After its world premiere at the Edinburgh Fringe, how does it feel to be bringing your play back to the stage?

It’s so exciting! We’ve made a few changes, so in many ways the show feels fresh and new. We now have a full musical ensemble, which brings a whole new energy and texture to the piece. One of the things I love most is how the show continues to evolve—thanks to the incredible collaborative spirit of the team. Everyone contributes something unique, and it really feels like the piece grows with each iteration.

I’m especially excited to be sharing it with a new audience in Brighton—this is our first time here, and the energy is amazing. I’m so happy to be part of the festival and can’t wait to see how the show resonates in this new context.

How did the idea for this show come about?

The show is based on true events, but it was really born as a response to the tragic rise in femicides happening across Europe. In November 2023, Giulia Cecchetin was brutally murdered by her ex-boyfriend in Italy. Her death sparked a nationwide outcry, with women taking to the streets to protest and denounce gender-based violence.

It was this wave of collective grief, anger, and solidarity that gave me the impetus to write. I felt an urgent need to be part of this conversation—not only as an artist, but as a woman. The play emerged from that emotional space, from a desire to contribute something meaningful to a wider call for change. It’s a creative response, yes—but also a personal act of resistance and hope for a safer, more conscious future for women.

What prompted you to write about this topic?

I felt a deep sense of urgency. The growing number of femicides across Europe—and the way these tragedies are often absorbed into the news cycle and forgotten—left me with a heavy, unsettled feeling. When Giulia Cecchetin was murdered, something shifted. The public response in Italy, the protests, the outpouring of collective grief and rage—it was impossible to look away. And I didn’t want to.

As a woman, and as an artist, I needed to respond. Writing How to Kill a Chicken was my way of processing that grief, of honouring the women we’ve lost, and of opening up space to speak about these issues with honesty and complexity. The piece isn’t just about violence—it’s about survival, resistance, sisterhood, and the messiness of living in a world where danger and desire coexist. It was born from pain, but it’s driven by a desire for change.

The subject of sexual abuse has been explored several times in fiction. What do you think separates your work from previous narratives?

How to Kill a Chicken blends magical realism and music in a unique, genre-bending way. It’s not just a drama—it slips between comedy, cabaret, constantly shifting tone to reflect the contradictions of lived experience.

One of the most distinctive elements is how music functions as a character in its own right. It doesn’t just accompany the action—it drives it. The original score underpins the narrative, guiding the emotional rhythm of the piece and creating moments of surrealism, rupture, and release.

This is not a linear trauma story—it’s messy, playful, and at times even joyful. That blend of tones allows us to talk about violence and survival in a way that feels alive, unexpected, and deeply human.

As an author, how do you manage to handle such a sensitive topic?

For me, it always comes back to why—why I’m telling this story, and who it’s for. It’s for the women. That grounding helps me move through the discomfort and challenges that inevitably come up, both as a writer and as a performer.

There have been moments where I’ve felt overwhelmed—where I’ve caught myself over-emoting or overthinking. When that happens, I have to pause and remind myself: this isn’t just about me. It’s about holding space for something bigger. It matters. And if I can stay connected to that, then I can keep going, even when it feels difficult.

Telling a story like this requires care, responsibility, and grace—but it also requires courage. And that’s what we’re trying to say, celebrating the courage of women who carry all this. And I try to show up with all of that.

Have you found any other creative challenges?

Absolutely—working with limited funding is a constant challenge. It means making tough decisions and often compromising on elements we’d love to explore more fully. If we had total creative freedom and resources, this would be a very different show—bigger and more ambitious.

But despite those constraints, I truly believe that the core message and emotional impact remain strong. The purpose behind the piece is clear, and that’s what matters most. Sometimes, limitations force you to focus in on what’s essential—and I think that has actually helped us find a kind of creative clarity and urgency in the work.

Has the gap between Edinburgh and Brighton given the opportunity to reshape the show in any way?

Yes—completely. We’ve brought in a new creative team, composed an entirely new musical score, and spent time rethinking what the core message of the piece really is.

Frankly, I was so exhausted after our Edinburgh run that I’m grateful we had some time to pause, recenter, and come back to the work with fresh eyes (and fresh energy!). That space has allowed the show to grow and evolve—it feels more grounded now, and more aligned with where we are creatively and emotionally.

What are the prospects for the show after the Brighton run?

We’re really excited about what’s next. Over the summer, we’ll be running an R&D at the Bush Theatre , involving a series of workshops with women. Our aim is to gather real testimonies and begin integrating them into the show using verbatim, deepening the work and grounding it even further in lived experience.

We’re planning for a London run in the autumn, and we’ll definitely keep you posted as things develop!

Why come see How To Kill A Chicken?

Because it asks big questions with an open heart. It’s a show that doesn’t pretend to have all the answers—but it invites you into the mess, the beauty, and the contradictions of what it means to survive, to remember, and to try to make sense of pain. It’s intimate and theatrical, personal and political. You won’t just watch it—you’ll feel it. And maybe, like us, you’ll leave with more questions than you came in with—and a little more fire in your chest.

How To Kill A Chicken plays at the Brighton Fringe Festival on 31 May and 1 June. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara