theatreprofileculture

From Liverpool to Cambridge: How Jade Franks’ One-Woman Show Turns Class Anxiety Into Comedy

ttheknow

2026-02-13

10 min read

How Jade Franks turns class anxiety into laugh-out-loud satire — a primer on Eat the Rich and why social mobility comedy matters in 2026.

From Liverpool to Cambridge: Why Jade Franks’ Class Anxiety Feels Like Your Own

Feeling overwhelmed by a flood of late-night culture takes, viral skits that miss the point, and a million creators shouting at once? You’re not alone. The best comedy cuts through that noise by being familiar — a mirror that shows you the awkwardness you’ve lived and the laugh you’ve been too embarrassed to make. That’s what Jade Franks has done with Eat the Rich, a one-woman show that turns the personal pain of social mobility into a communal, cathartic comedy.

Quick take: What this profile gives you

A close look at Jade Franks’ journey from Liverpool call centre to Cambridge student and stage star
An analysis of how Eat the Rich mines class satire and cultural shock for laughs
Practical tips for creators staging a one-person piece about social mobility
How audiences and producers can spot and support authentic, relatable standup theatre in 2026

Why Jade Franks matters in 2026: the wider cultural context

In recent years — especially through late 2024, 2025 and into 2026 — audiences and streaming platforms have leaned hard into authentic, voice-driven stories. The road from the Edinburgh Festival Fringe to a streaming hit is now well-worn: we saw it with Fleabag and Baby Reindeer, and Eat the Rich is following that pathway with a streaming adaptation in development. That trajectory signals two important trends:

Audiences crave specificity. Stories rooted in real places and accents — like Liverpool and Cambridge — feel fresher and truer than polished but generic dramas.
Class and social mobility are central cultural battlegrounds. Post-pandemic economic stress, rising costs of living, and the continuing spotlight on elitism make class satire both timely and necessary.

Jade Franks’ show hits that sweet spot: it's sharply personal yet wide open for anyone who’s felt the sting of being “othered” in a room that wasn’t built with them in mind.

Jade’s story: from call centre to stage

Franks grew up in Liverpool and worked in a call centre before winning a place at Cambridge University — the first in her family to attend higher education. The transition was a culture shock, from accents and fashion to unspoken codes of behaviour. To pay her way she worked part-time as a cleaner, which only highlighted the distance between her world and that of her privileged peers.

Small, specific moments stick in the show: students with sweaters tied around their shoulders, people who didn’t bother to get glammed up for a night out, snide comments about her accent and her home city. Those moments are played for laughs, but they also reveal a deeper tension: how much do you change to belong? As Franks herself puts it:

“If there’s one thing worse than classism … it’s FOMO.”

That line is the spine of Eat the Rich (but maybe not me mates x). It’s a comedy about liminality — the painful, funny space where aspiration collides with loyalty, where trying to fit in can feel like betrayal.

Not all class satire works. Some becomes moralizing; some is mean-spirited. Franks’ show succeeds because it balances three elements that every good piece of class comedy needs:

Specificity: The punchlines are anchored in details — cleaning schedules, the cadence of a Liverpool accent, the glaringly casual wealth of some Cambridge students.
Relatability: The show doesn’t lecture. It invites the audience into a feeling they probably know: wanting better but fearing you’ll lose who you are to get it.
Self-awareness: Franks gives herself as much ribbing as she gives her privileged peers. That self-deprecation keeps the satire humane.

These three pillars are why one-woman shows — at their best — can be more than theatrical stunts. They’re intimate, immediate, and flexible: a single performer can pivot from punchline to vulnerability in seconds, making the audience complicit in the joke and the revelation.

Performance choices that amplify class satire

Franks uses physicality and voice in smart ways. She morphs accents and postures to show class differences without caricature. She lets awkward silences breathe into comedy. And she uses the stage as both confessional booth and battleground. These choices are instructive for any creator tackling social mobility:

Let small social cues do the heavy lifting — an awkward handshake, a misread dress code, a nervous laugh.
Use contrast, not insult: show the different worlds rather than denouncing them.
Build empathy into the joke. If the audience laughs only at someone’s expense, the work ages badly; laughter that includes the performer ages better.

Eat the Rich as a primer on modern class satire

If you want to understand why class satire is having a mainstream moment in 2026, Eat the Rich is a great case study. Here’s what the show teaches us about contemporary class narratives:

Franks shows how class operates in codes — accents, clothes, mannerisms — as much as in bank balances. That’s a useful reminder: cultural sensibilities often police access as strongly as financial barriers.

Being the first in your family to do something (like attend university) is a superhero origin story and a source of imposter syndrome. That duality is perfect comedic material because it contains both triumph and discomfort.

3. Comedy is a tool for critique and connection

Satire can expose power structures and also build bridges. The laughter in Eat the Rich is a social lubricant: it helps audiences face uncomfortable truths without turning away.

Practical advice: Creating a one-woman show about class (for performers and writers)

Thinking of turning your own awkward social mobility story into a stage piece? Here are practical, production-ready steps drawn from how Franks shaped Eat the Rich.

1. Start with one clear story beat

Pick a scene that crystallizes the theme — a first day, a humiliating misunderstanding, a small victory that felt impossible. Build outward, not inward.

2. Collect micro-details

Accents, slang, music playlists, cleaning routines — these things create texture.
Record conversations (with consent) or keep a notebook of overheard lines that reveal class codes — and if you’re storing recordings, consider proper asset tagging and metadata workflows (producers increasingly automate this; see guides on metadata and DAM integration).

3. Workshop early and often

Try short runs at local venues. Fringe festivals remain a proving ground — but also test in smaller rooms where the intimacy of a one-person show can thrive. Veteran performers recommend iterative runs; read practical creator workflows and burnout advice in veteran interviews to pace the rehearsal process (veteran creator workflow tips).

4. Let the performance be a conversation

Engage audiences with rhetorical questions and pauses. A single performer can play multiple roles, creating a sense of communal witness rather than monologue-only isolation.

5. Protect the people you portray

If your story includes recognizable figures, anonymize details or combine characters. Satire lands when the target feels systemic, not petty. Also consider performer contracts and rider clauses: simple contract items (even adding allergies and care requirements) protect both the artist and the subjects of the piece — see a practical checklist on rider and clause tips.

For producers and adapters: How to take a one-person show from stage to screen

Streaming platforms are looking for voice-led properties in 2026. If you’re a producer eyeing a stage-to-screen transfer, here’s a pragmatic checklist:

Preserve the performer’s voice. The intimacy of a one-woman show is its asset; avoid over-expanding the world so that the core voice gets diluted.
Use cinematic techniques to amplify emotions — close-ups, controlled soundscapes, and textures that the stage implies rather than shows.
Consider limited-series formats. One-person shows often contain episodic beats that map neatly to short-run TV seasons; study formats that build watchability (lessons on watchability).
Consult the original performer on adaptation choices. Their lived experience is an editorial compass for authenticity — and remember to document agreements and consent as you adapt material (contract and rider guidance above).

How audiences can decode class satire (so you don’t laugh at the wrong thing)

Not every joke about class is wise. Here are quick heuristics to tell if the satire is punching up or down:

If the joke exposes structural power or snobbery, it’s often punching up.
Does the performer include themselves in the criticism? Shared culpability usually indicates a kinder satire.
Are marginalized voices centered in the narrative? If so, the satire aims to illuminate, not merely to ridicule.

Reception and ripple effects: What Eat the Rich signals for 2026

After an acclaimed run at the 2025 Edinburgh Fringe and a London stint at the Soho Theatre that extended through Jan. 31, 2026, Eat the Rich is more than a successful show — it’s a cultural marker. Here’s what its success suggests:

There’s a strong market for personal, class-conscious comedy that avoids didacticism.
Authentic regional voices — Liverpool accents, local humor — are commercially appealing, not niche.
Streaming services are likely to continue mining live festivals for adaptable, voice-driven content.

In short, Franks’ journey from Liverpool to Cambridge and beyond shows the cultural economy rewarding frankness, nuance, and theater that understands both pain and punchline.

Final thoughts: Why this show feels like a conversation you want to be in

At a time when culture often seems polarized — between gatekeepers and the gatekept, between polished prestige drama and rough online sketches — Eat the Rich offers a bridge. It’s both a laugh and a lesson: you can make a hard truth funny without flattening its meaning. For anyone who’s ever been the new person in a room, the mispronounced name, or the awkwardly overdressed guest, Jade Franks hands you a microphone and a mirror.

Actionable takeaways

If you’re a creator: Anchor your satire in specific moments, workshop constantly, and protect the dignity of those you portray.
If you’re a producer: Don’t over-expand. Keep the performer’s intimacy central when adapting for screen; consider low-cost tech and audio strategies to preserve clarity without blowing budget (bargain streaming tech, or guides on getting good sound on a budget: sound without premium price).
If you’re an audience member: Look for shared culpability in satire — it’s usually kinder and smarter. Support regional voices and one-person theatre; attend a live performance or stream the adaptation when it drops.

Where to see it and what’s next

As of early 2026, Eat the Rich has moved from the Fringe to a prominent London stage and into development for Netflix. That means the show’s themes — social mobility, cultural shock, and the comedy of belonging — are poised to reach a much larger audience. Keep an eye on festival circuits and streaming announcements if you want to catch the next chapter in Jade Franks’ story. For context on how pilot shows land and how critics respond to small-voice projects on screen, read recent pilot reviews like this pilot review.

Curious to go deeper?

See the show if you can, but if you can’t, look for clips, interviews, and the eventual screen adaptation. Pay attention to how the material is translated from stage to camera — that will teach you as much about storytelling choices as the show itself. If you’re preparing footage for online audiences, practical guides on reformatting long-form material to digital clips can help (reformatting for streaming and short clips).

And finally: if you’ve ever felt the awkwardness of moving between worlds, Jade Franks’ work is a reminder that your discomfort is often fertile terrain for connection — and for comedy.

Call to action

Liked this deep dive? Share this piece with a friend who’s obsessed with Fringe finds, follow Jade Franks’ progression from stage to screen, and subscribe to our newsletter for more profiles that cut through the cultural noise. Want a guide on adapting stage monologues for streaming? Tell us in the comments — we’ll publish a step-by-step playbook next.

theknow

Contributor

Senior editor and content strategist. Writing about technology, design, and the future of digital media. Follow along for deep dives into the industry's moving parts.