1984

27/10/26

The Royal Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

George Orwell’s 1949 novel is embedded into our cultural landscape, its ideas spreading far beyond the confines of the page. In the seven decades since it was published, its terminology has become ubiquitous: thought police, doublethink, Room 101 – and, most famously, Big Brother, who always knows what we’re up to, thanks to surveillance devices installed in our homes.

What time did you get in last night? Your doorbell knows. Hey, Siri. Alexa! Are you listening?

Of course, this means that it is endlessly adaptable (and endlessly adapted), horribly applicable to almost every political regime. So what’s a theatre-maker to do if they want to offer a fresh perspective? In this instance, playwright Chris Hannan has opted for a framing device highlighting 1984‘s Scottish origins, as Orwell builds his dystopia from a bed in Glasgow’s Hairmyres Hospital, where he’s being treated for TB. It works well, binding the fictional world to the real one, reminding us how easily Oceania could become our actuality.

The first act is impressive. Jack Tarlton convinces as both Orwell and his protagonist, the world-weary Winston Smith. It’s a demanding job (the actor is in every scene) and he handles it with aplomb, engaging us in the two men’s inner struggles: Orwell coming to terms with his physical decline, and Winston trying to retain his sense of self in the face of ruthless authoritarianism.

Tom Piper’s imposing design creates an immediate sense of oppression, with metal bars and grating dominating the prison-like set, where silent guards patrol an upper mezzanine. When Winston and his co-conspirator, Julia (Jessica Hardwick), venture out into the forbidden countryside for a tryst, the naif-style roll-on scenery is over-bright and fake looking, accentuating the couple’s wilful delusion. They’re not fooling anyone except themselves; Big Brother is just biding his time.

Unfortunately, the second act is not as successful as the first. Once Winston and Julia have been apprehended for their transgressions, the storytelling becomes more fragmented and we are afforded less insight into their characters. Winston’s torture is shown in a series of vignettes which, although visually arresting, are punctuated by long blackouts, which soon become tiresome. What’s more, although I like the idea of gender-swapping O’Brien, I can’t help thinking Irene MacDougall has been miscast here, exuding neither menace nor authority.

Perhaps the most disappointing element is the Room 101 sequence. I share Winston’s phobia of rats and yet I’m not at all moved. The box on Winston’s face means that we can’t see his reactions, while Heather Scott’s video design – a strength of the production up to this point – is too understated here, the images of the rodents too dark and close-up to really make out.

The hospital scenes ameliorate things somewhat, with Robert Jack and Irene Allan convincing as Dr Dick and Nurse Rankine respectively. Director Dominic Hill creates a palpable sense of Orwell’s desperate situation in these moments, illuminating both subtle and not-so subtle links to the novel.

All in all, this co-production between Glasgow’s Citizens’ Theatre, Dundee Rep and Edinburgh’s Royal Lyceum offers an interesting and uniquely Scottish take on a modern classic. Despite some mis-steps, it’s nonetheless well worth seeing, especially in these post-truth times.

3.6 stars

Susan Singfield

Wildwood

25/10/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

As someone who grew up watching the fantasy films of Ray Harryhausen, I’ve long had a soft spot for stop-frame animation – that slow, painstaking process where little model figures are shot and subtly manipulated one frame at a time until persistence of vision gives the semblance of actual motion. Wallace and Gromit? Yes, bring ’em on!

But the release of Laika Animation’s Coraline in 2009 announced the arrival of significant new players in the game. With each successive release, their abilities have grown ever-more sophisticated, ever-more assured until, with Wildwood, they have achieved something jaw-dropping: a fantasy adventure on such a scale that it feels at times as though it’s about to burst out of the screen – a film so full of urgency that it’s sobering to reflect that it represents sixteen years of work for its huge team of animators.

This contemporary tale is set in in Portland, Oregon (where Laika is actually based) and it’s the story of Prue McKeel (Peyton Elizabeth Lee), a truculent teenage girl who lives with her ex-hippie parents in a house on the edge of the titular forest, a place she’s expressly forbidden to visit. She’s often charged with looking after her baby brother, Mac, and is told to ensure that he “stays in the house.” But one day, with her parents away from home, she can’t resist the impulse to take him out on the back of her bike for a hair-raising ride around town – and we start to get a feel for the scope of the film as we see a pretty accurate representation of the Pacific Northwest’s coolest city. Along the way, Prue bumps into Curtis (Jacob Tremblay) a video-game enthusiast she has always dismissed as an annoying nerd. He insists on tagging along with the siblings when they go to visit a local playground.

It’s at this point that Mac is abducted by a huge flock of crows and carried off into the forbidden woods. Prue and Curtis have no other option than to follow in hot pursuit, and it’s here that they discover an entire world of talking animals…

And if, so far, this sounds like yet another Narnia-influenced tale, well don’t be misled. Wildwood has a dark, disturbing narrative and the film has a 12A certificate. Parents expecting a joyful Pixar-style experience should be warned that some younger viewers may find much of what’s on offer here quite unsettling. For example, the film begins with the suicide of a young boy – he’s the son of Alexandra, the dowager governess (voiced by Carey Mulligan), and the sequence provides the key to unlocking the adventure. What’s more, some later scenes involve a massive battle in the forest between the various factions that dwell there and some of the close combat is unapologetically savage in nature. So if you’re taking youngsters along, please ensure they can handle it.

What makes Wildwood stand head and shoulders above what’s gone before is its epic sense of scale. We are dazzled by incredibly realistic model work depicting vast landscapes, aerial views of towns and cities and labyrinthine underground lairs. And this time out, Laika, under the direction of Travis Knight, have used CGI to augment the traditional stop-frame. Where previously we could only have a limited number of animated figures in any particular shot, now there can be hundreds, thousands of them, each one rendered so perfectly that at times I feel that I can’t possibly be looking at beings built from modelling clay, but at real characters with movements and expressions as complex as anything in our world. (Anyone sitting near me during the screening I attended must have heard me gasping aloud every few minutes. Sorry, but I just couldn’t help myself.)

It’s been a long road to get to this point but I suspect that Laika have just set a new gold standard for stop motion. The film has a budget of a hundred million dollars and I don’t know what chance it has of ever earning earning back that investment, but all that dedication, initiative and experimentation is up there in every frame. I urge everyone reading this to go and see this incredible film at your earliest opportunity. The word ‘masterpiece’ can sometimes be overused but in this instance, I can’t think of a more appropriate word. I just wish Ray Harryhausen had lived long enough to see it.

Oh, and if you’d like a quick glimpse at how such wonders are achieved, stay in your seat for a little while as the credits roll.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Thrice

24/10/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

“Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, and thrice again, to make up nine. Peace! The charm’s wound up.”

Thrice is a visually compelling hour of dance theatre, set – according to Al Seed Productions – in the aftermath of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. The king is dead; long live the witches!

Lina Limosani’s choreography is impeccable, the nine-strong ensemble moving with eerie precision, first in perfect unison, then spinning out of control. They writhe, they twist, they play – and they march. These women are moving from the margins and claiming centre stage.

Although there is no clear narrative, Judith Milligan has directed some arresting scenes. I like the repeated chanting of Lady Macbeth’s lines (“The Thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she now?”), suggestive of the way that nursery rhymes often originate in response to turbulent times before being stripped of their context and transformed into children’s songs. The sequence where the witches re-enact Macbeth’s beheading is another highlight.

Set, lighting and sound design (courtesy of Frankie Collier-Prickett, Alberto Santos Bellido and Guy Veale respectively) are the keystones of this piece, creating a suitably weird environment for the witches to inhabit. The set comprises two huge tree-like sculptures, as well as a circular stone structure, which seems to symbolise both water well and burial cairn. All the while, the pulsing soundscape ebbs and flows from pretty birdsong to pulsing menace. It’s a compelling mix.

However, without the anchor of a story arc, this feels fragmented and untethered, too slippery for me to hold on to. It’s like the films they show in art galleries: cleverly conceived and fascinating to watch, but a little of it goes a long, long way. Some of the later sections overstay their welcome, particularly the one where the women perform a kind of never-ending progressive folk dance.

Despite these misgivings, the production has much to commend it – and I’d truly love to see these particular witches as part of a production of Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

3.2 stars

Susan Singfield

Tenzing

23/10/26

Apple TV

When I was a young lad at primary school in the 1960s, my teachers were forever banging on about an event that had happened more than a decade earlier. A British expedition, we were proudly told, had ‘conquered’ Everest in 1953 and the first man to climb to its peak was called Edmund Hillary. There was no mention back then that Hillary was actually a New Zealander – and even fewer references were made of a certain Sherpa Tenzing, who had ‘accompanied’ him. The implication was that Tenzing was little more than a servant, someone who set up the equipment and made the meals – but of course he was much more than that, an equal climbing partner, whose skill and tenacity helped guide the expedition to success.

It’s shameful that it has taken over seventy years to set the record straight. This Apple Original film, written by Luke Davies and directed by Jennifer Peedom, offers a more truthful account of the historic climb and it has Tenzing Norgay (Genden Phuntsok) as its central character. We first meet him as a young boy (Sandrup Dorje Lama) staring up at the peak of ‘his’ mountain, Chomolungma (as it’s called in Tibetan) ,shortly before having an encounter with legendary climber, George Mallory (Johnny Flynn), a brief event which sets Tenzing on tbe long path to his eventual role in that 1953 triumph.

In between these two events, we witness Tenzing (now played by Tenzin Dalha) as he relentlessly goes about securing a place on successive expeditions, aided and abetted by his wife, Dawa (Thinley Lhamo) – but by the time he finally has the opportunity to embark on that eventful climb led by John Hunt (Willem Dafoe), he’s a widower with two young daughters. It’s on this climb that Tenzing meets and befriends Edmund Hillary (Tom Hiddleston).

The era has been faithfully recreated and, while the jaw-dropping climbing sequences were actually shot in New Zealand, you’d never know that it wasn’t Nepal. Of course, in a time when there are literally lines of people queuing up to ascend the infamous world’s highest mountain, it’s staggering to witness the gruelling nature of that fateful expedition and the ever-changing fortunes that determine who will be the duo chosen for the final ascent. The growing friendship between Tenzing and Hillary is nicely portrayed as we see the mutual admiration and respect the two men have for each other – and the film makes no attempt to disguise the unfair treatment that the Sherpas often received from their white employers.

Handsomely produced and occasionally downright thrilling, Tenzing hasn’t received much in the way of a theatrical release, but it’s right there on Apple TV whenever you’re in the mood for some vertiginous viewing.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Clayface

23/10/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

DC’s ever more frantic attempts to revive its ailing superhero franchise takes an interesting turn with that most unlikely of things, a comic book movie with an 18 certificate. While it’s still set in Gotham City (with Liverpool standing in on this occasion), there’s not a caped crusader in sight, and not so much as a glimpse of spandex. The film takes a minor character that originated in a detective comic in1940 (and which was later featured in a Batman animation) and makes him the star turn. Well, Todd Phillips’ Joker took a similar approach and that reaped big rewards at the box office, so worth a punt, yes?

Very much so. This is the most fun I’ve had with a DC film in a very long time – though I should perhaps add that I’m using the word ‘fun’ loosely. More squeamish viewers may find themselves traumatised.

Our titular villain first appears as Matt Hagen (Tom Rhys Harries), a handsome young actor who (much like Harries himself ) appears to be on the verge of major stardom. All fired up after receiving an Oscar nomination, he heads off with his best friend, Corey (Joshua James), for a hedonistic weekend away and, on a disco dance floor, he encounters and romances Mia (Joana Ribeiro). But it turns out she’s the girlfriend of vicious crime boss, Markos (David Dencik), who takes a very dim view of this flirtation and, to teach Matt a lesson, decides to rearrange his face with a razor – a scene which pulls no punches.

Matt is snatched from the heights and plummeted into the depths of despair. With his handsome features mutilated, he loses his agent, Hildie (Nancy Carroll), and his manager, Frank (Eddie Marsan), in swift succession. Attempts at facial surgery are not successful. In desperation, Matt turns to Caitlyn Corr (Naomi Ackie), a scientist who has been working on a breakthrough nanite procedure which she believes can heal damaged skin cells. At first she’s reluctant to use her experimental techniques on Matt, but she can see that he’s desperate so, throwing caution to the wind, she starts some trials.

The first results are very encouraging, almost miraculous – but then Matt begins to realise that his new skin cells seem to react to his different moods. And when he’s angry…

With a screenplay by Mike Flanagan and Hossein Amini and astute direction by James Watkins, Clayface is compelling stuff. While it has no interest in exploring those comic book links, it does step confidently into the world of body horror. Some of the strongest sequences here recall the work of veteran directors like David Cronenberg and Brian Yuzna, utilising gnarly practical makeup effects and dollops of gore. An episode set in a public toilet on an airplane, which involves turbulence, fused eyelids and a pair of nail scissors, has me literally squirming in my seat.

As the story continues and Matt’s abilities develop to the point where he is able to replicate the features of other characters, I find I’m willing to overlook the fact that he can somehow also create perfect copies of their clothing (er, how, exactly?) because the twisty-turny sequences are so outrageous and so perfectly timed I barely have time to think about it.

A warning, though: that 18 certificate is there for a reason and it’s pushed to the limit.

4.3 stars

Philip Caveney

Ottolenghi Edinburgh

22/10/26

George Street, Edinburgh

We mainly know Yotam Ottolenghi from his Guardian food columns, where he publishes the kind of recipes we drool over, despite knowing we’re never going to attempt to cook them (the ingredients lists are long and intimidating; the processes time-consuming and complex). We’re not expecting to actually taste his food – he has restaurants in Geneva, Amsterdam and London, but none elsewhere in the UK. So when we hear he’s venturing north of the border and opening a new place in Edinburgh, we know it won’t be long before we try it out.

It’s a perfect Autumn day: the sky clear and blue, the air cold and crisp. We’re booked in for a late lunch, so we take our time walking from our Old Town tenement to the New Town, where Ottolenghi sits between two clothing shops, its windows vibrant and enticing. The interior is light and bright with splashes of red and yellow, a long central bar dominating the space. The ceiling is double height, with a mezzanine over the back third. It’s not exactly a calm environment but neither is it overwhelming. There’s just the right amount of buzz.

We’re quickly seated and given our menus, as well as an allergy guide (because I can’t have gluten). I’m pleased to see that there are lots of dishes I can eat. While we consider our options, we order drinks: an alcohol-free cherry Americano for me and a 0% Cold Town lager for Philip. They both slip down very nicely.

We opt to share a single portion of the starter selection, which comprises six little dishes: roasted peperonata; miso butter bean mash with kalamata olive preserve; Fasolakia beans with feta cream; cucumber achar; burnt aubergine; and beetroot with cherry and sour cream. Neither of us likes the burnt aubergine, but the rest of it is delicious, especially the beetroot and Fasolakia. There’s a nice mix of the creamy and the acidic but, while Philip is able to slather the various dips onto a delightful flatbread, there’s no gluten-free equivalent available for me, which diminishes the experience somewhat.

For our main, we have one of the menu’s ‘claypot sharers’ – a lamb and aubergine rice pie, served with chopped dill pickle. This is an absolute triumph. Essentially a pimped-up shepherd’s pie, it consists of a richly flavoured lamb, lentil and aubergine filling, topped with rice, pecorino cheese and sour cream. It’s comfort food dialled up to eleven.

The pudding menu looks appealing but only two of them are available to me. No matter: I’m sold on the idea of the miso clotted cream fudge, and as happy as Larry (whoever he is) nibbling on the five pieces of sweet, salty goodness that come my way. Philip selects a kumquat marmalade steamed pudding, served with a delectably light sabayon. He declares it the star of the show and eats it slowly, savouring every mouthful, not wanting the pleasure to end.

Executive chef Neil John Campbell can be proud of what he’s achieved here, and so can the front of house staff, who are all friendly and attentive in a relaxed, authentic way. When we enthuse about our main course, we’re informed that the recipe is in Ottolenghi’s latest cookbook, Simple Too – and that all the dishes in this book are, as the title suggests, relatively easy to make. We waste no time in buying a copy.

And then we leave, replete and satisfied, back out into our beloved city. I can’t think of a better way we could have spent this afternoon.

4.6 stars

Susan Singfield

Tristan & Yseult

21/10/26

The Royal Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

We’re taking our seats in the Lyceum and the place appears to be full of train spotters – well, no, ‘Love Spotters’ to be more accurate, as one of the balaclava-clad members informs us. He’s one of ‘The Unloved,’ who even have their own nightclub in which to bewail their plight. It turns out that every member of the twelve-strong cast takes a turn in these hallowed ranks, slipping in and out of costume so cleverly that I’m sometimes convinced that there are actually many more actors than listed in the programme.

Emma Rice and Kneehigh have reinvented their original 2003 production of Tristan & Yseult and the fruits of their collaboration race, dance and leap across the stage like wonderful mirages conjured from a fever dream. Based around a 12th century Cornish myth, T&Y tells the story of two star-crossed lovers and, like most myths from that era, it’s batshit crazy.

But here it is in a nutshell: Prince Tristan (John Leader) saves the life of King Mark of Cornwall (Edward Rowe) by defeating the Irish night Morholt (Tom Fox) in battle. The Irish are attempting a full scale invasion of Cornwall, so I guess that’s fair enough? Mark then sends Tristan (who has been badly wounded) to Ireland in order to collect Morholt’s daughter, Yseult (Nandi Bhebhe), who Mark now intends to marry. What could possibly go wrong?

On the journey back, the two leads mistake a bottle of wine for a powerful love potion (as you do) and… well, it gets complicated.

Got that? Good, because now you can pretty much forget about it and just enjoy the dazzling vigour and the off-the-charts level of invention employed to depict the ensuing chaos. What we are offered is a feast of wild dance routines, breathless fights, circus skills, knockabout humour, moments of heart-stopping drama, dazzling lighting effects and stirring musical interludes. The hefty running time seems to evaporate as the action unfolds and I just sit there, utterly spellbound.

Every now and then, I’m able to appreciate particular elements of this intricate human mosaic: Bhebe’s astonishing vocal range; Leader’s incredible athleticism; Fox’s perfectly judged comic asides – and I also particularly enjoy Matthew Churcher’s depiction of Mark’s henchman, Frocin, as he attempts, ever more desperately, to capture the respect of his King.

We’ve long had a soft spot for Emma Rice but this shows her at the height of her powers. The late Bill Mitchell’s original set and costume designs have been ‘refreshed’ by Vicki Mortimer and hats should be raised to choreographer Etta Murfitt, who sets this wonderfully inventive piece into constant motion.

The standing ovation that greets this magnificent production is heartfelt and exuberant, and my advice is to get yourselves down to the Lyceum before this wonder packs up its bags and sets sail for new destinations.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Bottom’s Dream

20/10/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Bottom’s Dream is the last of this season’s A Play, A Pie and A Pint productions (boo!) but, as final flourishes go, this one is rather fabulous (hurrah!).

Writer/performer Martin O’Connor plays Nick Bottom. You know the one: Shakespeare’s rude mechanical, the amateur player who’s turned into an ass for the fairies’ amusement, the butt of all the jokes. In this iteration, he’s still a weaver and wannabe actor, but it’s 2026 and he lives in Glasgow. Oh, and he speaks in iambic pentameter. In Scots.

The monologue opens at an audition, where Bottom is trying out for Hercules. He doesn’t know the protocol; heck, he’s not even sure how to pronounce the character’s name. Still, what he lacks in experience, he makes up for with enthusiasm. He’ll give anything a go if they’ll offer him a chance. But there’s the rub: they won’t. He doesn’t fit the industry’s idea of an actor. The only parts he’s cast for are junkies and thugs.

O’Connor imbues Bottom with both a weary dignity and a righteous anger, illuminating his frustration with a world that pigeonholes him as a tradie and blocks him from fulfilling his dreams. He’s proud of his work – there’s a gloriously lyrical section about weaving as the bedrock of language and art – but he doesn’t want to be reduced to it. He attends acting lessons, but he doesn’t fit in with his middle-class peers, who assume he got his place because he “ticked a box” (as if they’re not there because they tick all the invisible boxes). Why are there so many obstacles?

Debbie Hannan’s direction keeps everything building. By the time we get to his end-of-term showcase, we’re fully invested in Bottom’s dream – and devastated for him when it all goes wrong. There’s a lot resting on the performance: the grande dame of casting agents, Titania Peaseblossom, has deigned to leave London for her native Glasgow in order to offer feedback to the students. Bottom is disappointed to have been cast as a donkey, but he tries to make the most of it, desperately pushing himself further and further into the role. He gives it his all.

To no avail. No one gets it. They think he’s ridiculous. So ridiculous, in fact, that one of his classmates films him and posts a clip online. He goes viral – and not in a good way. He’s meme fodder.

But it takes a lot to keep Bottom down. Working-class actors don’t have many routes in – and it turns out being a social media ass can open doors. There’s a lot of snobbery about influencers and reality TV celebs, but there aren’t many other ways in for the dispossessed, for those aspiring creatives with neither family money nor industry connections. O’Connor’s bravura one-man performance illustrates just how un-level the playing field is, and how the working-classes often have to abase themselves to get a foot on the first rung.

There’s a lot to this play. The script is clever, combining wit with sharp political commentary. And in the end, Bottom roars loud enough to “do any man’s heart good to hear [him].”

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

Whalefall

19/10/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

As high-concept movies go, Whalefall is right up there with the highest of them. It’s hardly a spoiler to say that this is a story about a guy who gets swallowed by a whale. Based on the bestselling novel by Daniel Kraus (and inspired, I suspect, by the story of Pinocchio), this is a gruelling, claustrophobic tale of survival against all the odds. Whether such a thing is actually possible is hard to say – to my knowledge, nobody has ever managed to escape from the belly of such a beast – but director Brian Duffield (who co-wrote the screenplay with Kraus) does make it all feel horribly plausible.

The guy in question is Jay Gardiner (Austin Abrams, an actor clearly on a roll since working with Zach Creggar on Weapons). Abrams is likeable enough to make us care about Jay’s fate and to identify with him in the film’s early scenes, where he’s mourning his seafaring father’s suicide. Mitt (Josh Brolin) was an Alpha-male, forever pushing his son to ‘grow up’ and ‘be a man’ but Jay has always kept a cautious distance from his macho influence. Grief and a sense of lost opportunities motivate him to don a wetsuit and an oxygen tank and swim out to the area where Mitt was last seen, looking for answers.

Which is when a sperm whale comes along, mouth wide open, chasing a giant squid…

I’ve never been inside a whale (I know this will come as a surprise to many) but the cramped pulsating chambers of the whale’s gut depicted here feel all too believable and the fact that Jay’s oxygen supply is running out is apparent from the very start. Inside the whale, Jay recollects his father’s teachings and it begins to dawn on him (and us) that any hope of escape from his situation depends entirely on Mitt’s rambling observations from across the years… oh, and did I mention that the giant squid is also in the same space and still very much alive?

Weighing in at one hour and forty-six minutes, Whalefall manages to keep me in its tentacle-like grip for the film’s duration – indeed, at times, I’m actually holding my breath as an already bad situation grows steadily worse. Abrams, who recently went through hell in Resident Evil ,goes through an entirely more realistic hell here, while Brolin proves once again that he’s capable of making the most unsympathetic character likeable.

While I remain unsure as to whether the story’s resolution is possible, it’s expertly handled and I leave the cinema feeling that I have just undergone the equivalent of a storm-tossed odyssey, with a side helping of emotional distress.

This isn’t exactly a feelgood film, but its conclusion is weirdly uplifting after all the trauma that’s just played out. Now excuse me while I cross ‘swimming with whales’ off my bucket list.

4.2 stars

Philip Caveney

Hadestown

18/10/26

Dominion Cinema, Edinburgh

For a very long time now, my musical-mad daughter has been urging us to check out Hadestown, declaring it to be ‘the best musical ever.’ Of course, seeing it would necessitate a trip to that London and the eye-watering cost of a couple of seats in the West End, so this cinematic release, featuring the original Broadway cast, really couldn’t come at a better time. As ever, the Dominion cinema offers the most luxurious surroundings for watching it.

Based on the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, this two-act musical is set in the titular town, situated somewhere on the railway line to hell. (As any estate agent will tell you, location is everything.) The place has an energetic nightclub feel with a superb live band fully integrated into the action. Our master of ceremonies is Hermes (André De Shields), an elderly gentleman who never allows his years to get in the way of his spectacular vocal abilities. He introduces us to the various players. Orpheus (Reeve Carney) is a humble barman and musician, who has a winning way with a song, while Eurydice (Eva Noblezada) is a wandering woman seeking refuge and a place to belong. Orpheus is, of course, instantly smitten with her.

Then there’s the high-spirited Persephone (Amber Gray), enjoying her annual holiday from her all-powerful husband, Hades (Patrick Page). She loves him but he can be rather demanding. Persephone is all ready to kick up her heels and make a song and dance about her short-lived liberation. But wouldn’t you just know it, Hades unexpectedly drops by for a quick visit and his avaricious gaze falls upon Eurydice – and pretty soon she’s taking that downward journey to the Underworld…

Everybody knows the central story and its sad conclusion, so it’s to this production’s credit that it all feels so fresh, so spirited, so unfettered. With both book and blues-inflected songs by Anais Mitchell, this takes off at a gallop and never falters, delivering a mix of uptempo belters and soaring ballads with absolute authority. Carney’s lilting falsetto offers genuine thrills and he’s nicely contrasted with Page’s deep baritone, which is particularly effective on Why We Build the Wall – a song with eerie connotions to Trump’s America, even though this show originated way back in 2006 and had a long, slow transition to its first Broadway run in 2019.

It’s clear from glimpses of the spellbound audience at this recent reunion that Hadestown’s audience is predominantly young and that they are avidly hooked on every detail, applauding exuberantly when Page manages a dance routine despite the orthopedic boot he’s wearing after a recent accident. Choreographer David Neumann has the whole cast leaping and whirling with precision across the crowded stage and special mention should be made of the three Fates (Bella Brown, Madeline Charlemagne and Allie Daniel), who all have voices to beat the band. Rachel Hauck’s ingenious set, which makes full use of its circular design really comes into its own during the centrl couple’s journey through the underworld.

The only real criticism I have of this filmed version, directed by Brett Sullivan, is the absence of an interval between the two acts, which means that those in need of a quick toilet break do risk missing a few minutes of the action before they can get back to their seats. But that’s a minor niggle. Hadestown is an exquisite, inspired and downright thrilling musical experience that revitalises a familiar story – and it’s easy to see why it has acquired such a devoted following.

While I hesitate to agree with my daughter that this is the ‘best ever’, it’s certainly up there as a contender and I’m really glad she put me on to it – and if it shuffles its way into a cinema near you, don’t miss your opportunity to see it.

5 stars

Philip Caveney