Month: March 2023

Life of Pi

31/03/23

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Yann Martel’s novel, Life of Pi, was published in 2001 and won the Booker Prize the following year. In 2012, it was adapted into an impressive film, directed by Ang Lee. Of course, the inevitable next step was to adapt it for the stage, but that’s a very tall order. Would it be possible to convincingly present such a fantastical story in a theatre? Well, never underestimate what can be achieved with a suitable budget and state-of-the-art special effects. This version, beamed direct from London’s Wyndham Theatre as part of the NT Live season, is absolutely eye-popping.

The play opens in a hospital ward in Mexico, where our eponymous hero is being interviewed about his extraordinary survival in an open boat for 227 days, but his recollections are suddenly punctuated by a scene change so slick, I barely notice it happening, – until it has. 

It’s the 1960s and Piscine Molitor Patel (Hiran Abeysekera) lives in Pondicherry, India. Named after a swimming pool in France, he prefers his adopted nickname ‘Pi.’ His parents run a small zoo and Pi and his sister spend much of their time looking after the animals – including the latest arrival, a fierce Siberian tiger called Richard Parker.

And now it’s 1976 and, due to violent political unrest, Pi’s parents have decided to relocate their animals to a zoo in Canada. Pi, his family and all the animals board the Japanese freighter Tsintsum, and set off on a sea voyage. What could possibly go wrong? Well, plenty, as it happens. Pi ends up stranded in a lifeboat with only a zebra, a hyena, an orangutan and er… Richard Parker for company. 

Which is awkward, to say the very least.

To give him his due, Abeysekara offers an extraordinary performance in the lead role but, as you might expect, his efforts and those of his fellow performers are somewhat dwarfed by the aforementioned puppetry and special effects, which are quite frankly, off the scale. 

Let’s begin with Tim Hatley’s ingenious set designs, particularly those that deal with Pi’s adventures in the fateful lifeboat tossed upon stormy seas. Raging torrents of water appear to flood across the performance space, while shoals of fluorescent fish speed along just below the surface. I even gasp out loud at one point when Pi takes a nose dive onto an apparently solid stage… and disappears right through it, only to resurface in an entirely different spot a moment later. How have they done that? (With trapdoors, obviously, but it’s astonishing nevertheless.)

As are the animals – or, more accurately,  the puppets, designed by Nick Barnes, which are so intricately made that I actually keep forgetting they’re mechanical, which is ridiculous because I can quite clearly see the people operating them… and yet… and yet, I still believe they’re real, which is some accomplishment. Richard Parker is, of course, la bête du jour, the very essence of feline power, even able to switch into a comedic role as a fan of haute cuisine and back to a snarling, powerful predator, but – to be fair – every creature I see, right down to the swarms of multi coloured butterflies, is an astonishing creations.

Adapted by Lolita Chakrabarti and directed by Max Webster, Life of Pi is like a magician’s box of tricks. There’s a small part of me that feels sorry for the cast of (mostly excellent) actors struggling to make themselves seen amidst all that sturm und drang, but I guess it’s just – ahem – the nature of the beast.

4.3 stars

Philip Caveney

How Not To Drown

29/03/23

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

The first thing that captures my attention as I enter the auditorium is Becky Minto’s extraordinary set: a raised island of wooden planks, stark, powerful, simultaneously ramshackle and magisterial. There’s no other set dressing here, just two high towers of lighting on either side of the island, leaving lighting designer Zoe Spurr and composer/sound designer Alexandra Faye Braithwaite to layer on the atmosphere. Onto the dramatically sloping set climb the performers, five actors led by Dritan Kastrati, whose real life story is the inspiration for what we are about to watch (and who co-wrote the script with Nicola McCartney). But it’s clear from the outset that this will be an ensemble piece, as each of the actors in turn – Ajjaz Awad, Esme Bayley, Daniel Cahill and Sam Reuben – step forward to announce that they too are Dritan.

The drama unfolds, as the cast move back and forth on that precarious island, each actor in turn slipping into the role of Dritan, and skipping nimbly out again to portray a whole selection of other characters. There is never a moment’s confusion as to who is who. Director/ choreographer Neil Bettles has the cast drilled to perfection, as – with a modicum of props – they evoke a series of diverse locations and situations… and then, in a jaw-dropping coup de théâtre, the island begins to move.

Dritan’s story is one of abandonment and survival. At the age of eleven, he’s despatched by his well-meaning father from the family home in Albania, as war threatens to engulf the country. What follows is Dritan’s arduous attempt to get to his older brother somewhere in England, a difficult and sometimes dangerous journey. A sequence that portrays a perilous sea crossing feels horribly immersive, capturing the panic and uncertainty of the situation.

 Once in the UK, Dritan is confronted by the punishing series of hurdles faced by all young asylum seekers – a thankless procession of foster families, social workers and interpreters, each trying to give this boy whatever he asks for, but failing to provide him with the one thing he really needs: a family. We watch as his hopes and expectations crumble into dust.

How Not to Drown isn’t easy viewing, yet I wholeheartedly recommend it. It’s a powerful and affecting examination of the failure of bureaucracy, demonstrating all too clearly the problems that occur when it comes to caring for a child, cast adrift from everything he knows. Dritan Kastrati is only one of millions of people who have survived this awful situation, but his play brilliantly illuminates the experience like a beacon shining in a storm.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Heathers: The Musical

28/03/23

Cameo Cinema, Edinburgh

In 1988, I was seventeen – and so was Veronica Sawyer. “You’re right; it really blows.” Luckily for me, high school in Abergele wasn’t quite as combative as it was in Sherwood, Ohio, and I never had to murder anyone. I did love Heathers though, and not just because Winona Ryder starred in it.

Written by Daniel Waters and directed by Michael Lehmann, the gloriously anarchic Heathers soon gained cult film status, so it’s no surprise that it morphed into a musical a decade or so later, nor that this stage version also has longevity. Here we are in 2023; unlike me, Veronica is still a teenager, still navigating the halls of Westerberg High, still trying to fit in.

The plot is sprawling and bonkers, the humour dark. Tired of being bullied, Veronica (Ailsa Davidson) comes up with a cunning plan: she will use her excellent forgery skills to bribe the three most popular girls at school into letting her hang around with them. In return for a fake hall pass or two, Heathers Duke, McNamara, and Chandler (Vivian Panka, Teleri Hughes and Maddison Firth) give Veronica a makeover and the status she craves. And sure, she feels bad about turning her back on her best pal, Martha (Mhairi Angus), but it’s a matter of survival, right?

Except not everyone survives. Heather Chandler’s cruelty becomes too much for Veronica, and she longs to escape the stifling ‘friendship’. Enter bad boy JD (Simon Gordon). He takes an interest in Veronica’s problems – and offers some pretty drastic solutions. For a while, Veronica is drawn to his sexy brand of nihilism, but soon realises he is dangerous. Can she extricate herself before even more damage is done?

It’s no easy feat to make a rambunctious, feelgood musical about murder, attempted rape, homophobia, suicide and school shootings, but writers Kevin Murphy and Laurence O’Keefe seem to have done just that. Despite its age, the show clearly still resonates: tonight’s screening is full, and the audience is mostly young women – who probably only know Winona from her role in Stranger Things. It’s an unabashedly schlocky piece of theatre, as camp as Christmas and – despite the body count – just bursting with life. I like the slight softening of JD’s character (he’s less sympathetic in the film, without as much backstory), and the constant presence of Heather Chandler’s kimono-clad ghost works well: she’s the most dynamic character in the play, and it would be a shame to lose her in the first act.

Directed by Andy Fickman, the chorus numbers are vibrant and the choreography suitably zippy, maximising the potential of The Other Palace Theatre’s small stage. Davidson shines in the lead role, her vocals impressive and her characterisation spot on. With its bright colour palette and bold delivery, Heathers provides the same kind of high-octane girl-power as Six.

“I know who I’m eating lunch with on Monday. Do you?”

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

Variant

28/03/23

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

The latest in this A Play, A Pie and A Pint season is Variant, written by Peter Arnott and directed by Kolbrún Björt Sigfusdöttir. It’s a distinctly Beckettian slice of absurdist theatre, a slippery two-hander that seems to question the very essence of identity. Who are we? Are we who we really think we are? And are the people we believe we are closest to, actually who they appear to be? Such heavy questions are just the tip of the iceberg in this taut and unsettling play.

A woman (Meghan Tyler) and a man (Simon Donaldson) saunter into the circular performance space, dressed in muted tones that perfectly match the simple setting. The woman begins to write in a notebook, the man reads a novel, but the silence is almost immediately broken by the arrival of a fly, buzzing annoyingly around the man’s head, interrupting his reading. He kills it. And then he pauses to make a remark to the woman.

‘I see you’ve changed your hair.’

But she quickly questions what he means by this. Was there something wrong with her hair before? Does he approve of what she’s done to it? Or would he have preferred something else? What’s wrong with her hair?

At first the conversation seems innocuous, the bickering of a long-married couple – but as it progresses, it becomes increasingly complicated, loaded with allusions to other things. I find myself asking questions. Are the two people actually married? Because isn’t this beginning to feel distinctly like an interview? And why does the woman keep steering the conversation into darker waters? Why are the images she refers to so violent?

Arnott’s play is cleverly constructed, raising many questions but offering no answers, and – just as we’re beginning to think we have a handle on it – the piece resets itself, and pursues another line of thought, steering us in a different direction. All credit to Tyler and Donaldson, who inhabit their complicated roles with absolute authority. If I’m not always entirely convinced that the piece has as much substance as it has ambition, it’s still nonetheless an engaging, and wryly amusing play, weighing in at a taut forty-five minutes, during which it switches back and forth like a cerebral rollercoaster. 

Did I like the play? Well, let me ask you something. What do you mean by the word ‘like’? Are you asking if it entertained me? Or puzzled me? Or even baffled me? Do you think I should review it? But then, what is a review? And perhaps more to the point, who’s writing this one? Oh, hang on a minute. I think it must be me. Whoever I am.

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney

Write-Off

21/03/23

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

The A Play, A Pie and a Pint season continues its cracking run with this intriguing two-hander, written by Aodhan Gallagher and directed by Irene McDougall. It’s a play about writers and writing, so naturally I’m fascinated to see what it has to say about the subject – and, as it turns out, it has plenty. What’s more, I’m delighted to note how many unexpected twists and turns are packed into a brisk fifty-minute running time.

Freddie (Richard Conlon) is a long-established fiction writer, currently preparing to start work on a new novel – most of which is already a stack of crumpled notes in his wastebasket. He’s never seen the necessity for incorporating elements from his own life into the gritty psychological thrillers he’s made his reputation on. These are brutal tales filled with violence and action. But lately, Freddie’s publishers have become a little twitchy, pointing out that his earlier work is increasingly being perceived as ‘problematic’. 

With this in mind, they’ve suggested that this time around, he might want to employ a ‘sensitivity reader’, somebody more attuned to contemporary issues. Enter Ben (Bailey Newsome), the promising student of one of Freddie’s literary acquaintances. Ben is young, gay and confidently in touch with the zeitgeist. He sports a beanie hat and trendy footwear. He also has an unpublished novel of his own that he’s very keen to get noticed…

Write-Off’s acerbic dialogue hooks me from the get-go and my sympathies bounce from character to character as the two men, by turns adversaries and allies, discuss their respective ambitions, beliefs and motives. One moment I’m laughing out loud at Freddie’s caustic observations, the next I’m gasping at some new revelation from Ben, which I genuinely haven’t seen coming. Can these two men ever hope to settle their differences enough to work together on a project?

The performances of the two actors are utterly believable and while it could be argued that this is a piece that’s completely predicated on its quickfire dialogue – and might work just as effectively as a radio play – it’s nonetheless a compelling and challenging production that maintains its propulsive edge right up to the final scene.

I head straight from the play to The National Library of Scotland where – inevitably – I’m working on my new novel. Who says life doesn’t imitate art?

4 stars

Philip Caveney

To Leslie

20/03/23

Now TV

Ryan Binaco’s script for To Leslie doesn’t have a lot of plot: woman wins lottery, pisses the money and years away on booze, then finds her way to recovery. But that doesn’t matter, because this is essentially a character study – an examination of the impact of sudden wealth and (local) fame on a person ill-equipped to deal with it.

Andrea Riseborough is magnificent in the title role. Her best actress Oscar nomination might have come as a surprise, but it makes sense. She’s utterly compelling, embodying that recognisable mix of grit and vulnerability we’ve all seen in addicts. Under Michael Morris’s direction, we’re shown what lurks beneath the glamorous exterior of the world’s richest country – the shameful underbelly of the rural blue-collar folk, with their dilapidated, no-hope towns and miserable motel lives. When, having exhausted all other avenues, Leslie has to come ‘home’, it’s to a community that’s furious with her, because she’s exposed the lie they all live by. A winning ticket isn’t enough if you’ve already lost in the lottery of life. And Nancy (Alison Janney) isn’t going to let her off the hook.

It’s not a great film: there’s nothing here we haven’t seen before, no fresh insights or profound revelations. What’s more, there’s something a little uncomfortable about the spectacle of Leslie’s decline; it feels a bit like poverty tourism. “You wouldn’t want people watching you,” her son, James (Owen Teague), tells her, when she suggests going to the zoo. “They do,” she says. And we are – but there is much to admire too. I like the way that Leslie’s problems are solved within her own community, not by a middle-class outsider, or a big organisation. Instead, it’s down to her to make the change, to begin to see the possibility of a future where she can make peace with her failings. In this, she is aided by the kindly Sweeney (Marc Maron), who offers her a job cleaning up in his motel, and the quiet, non-judgemental friendship she so badly needs.

Riseborough veers between desperation and fury, hurt and vitriol, and the depiction is always nuanced and believable. Leslie’s burn-it-all-down attitude is heartbreaking to watch (there’s a clear exposé here of why a simple ‘roof over their head’ approach isn’t enough to solve the homelessness problem), and her redemption, when it comes, feels very well-earned – even if it is too heavily signposted early on.

In the end, To Leslie is a rather ordinary cautionary tale, elevated by an extraordinary performance. And that’s all I’ve got time to say, because I need to pop to the shops for a ticket for tonight’s lottery…

3.6 stars

Susan Singfield

Dulse by Dean Banks

19/03/23

Queensferry Street, Edinburgh

We rarely return to a restaurant so soon after reviewing it for the first time, but when we saw that Dulse was offering a five course seafood tasting menu for just £35 per head, it was a no brainer. Besides, we wondered, could anybody do the concept proud at such a great value price? Well, the answer to that question is a resounding ‘yes!’ Little wonder that the venue has started offering the menu on more nights of the week.

We start with some oysters – is there any better way to begin a seafood medley? There are just two apiece: fine, fleshy specimens, one doused in a citrusy sea buckthorn sauce, the other in a Bloody Mary mixture. Heads back, mouths open – they slip down perfectly, refreshing, appetising and redolent of the ocean. It’s an excellent start to the meal.

Next up there’s trout pastrami, finely-sliced slivers of smoky fish, served with whipped crème fraîche and crispy rye toast that supplies a satisfying crunch. Arranged on the plate it looks disconcertingly like a smiling clown, but that’s as far as the comedy goes, because this is seriously good, perfectly prepared and absolutely mouthwatering.

The next course is a bowl of Singapore mussels. For me it’s the standout, a rich fiery broth with that tantalising catch at the back of the throat – but then I’ve always been a pushover for those Asian flavours. This is when I’m glad we’ve opted for a side order of a miniature wholemeal loaf, which is absolutely perfect for mopping up the garlic and ginger-infused liquid at the bottom of the bowl, because you don’t want to miss any of that flavour, right?

Can it get any better? Well, how about a chunk of cod, meltingly soft underneath and perfectly seared on top to provide a crispy crunch, the whole thing nestled in a vivid green wild garlic sauce? Yep, once again, this is absolutely spot on.

Any pudding that can follow this needs to be light and appetising, so a deconstructed Eton mess seems the perfect answer – and so it proves to be, with a delightfully fizzy sorbet. It provides the final piece in a faultless tasting menu.

It’s hats off, once again, to Dean Banks, who gets another five star review from us. We make a mental note to visit Haar, his restaurant in St Andrews, when an opportunity arises, because that’s where he began his career and it will be interesting to see what’s on offer there. Interested parties should note that, at Dulse, there’s also the option of adding a half lobster to the selection for just £25 per head and that last orders for this menu are at 7 pm.

So don’t hang about.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Pearl

18/03/23

Cineworld, Edinburgh

The opening scenes of Pearl have the look of a 40s Technicolour Hollywood feature, right down to the swirling calligraphy of the titles. The remote farmstead where the main action takes place is eerily reminiscent of The Wizard of Oz. But it doesn’t take long to establish that the magic generated by rising horror star, Mia Goth, is going to be of a much darker variety than anything witnessed by Dorothy and the Munchkins. What might have happened to the girl from Kansas if she hadn’t been swept up by that whirlwind?

It’s 1919 and teenager Pearl (Goth) is struggling to come to terms with the harsh realities of the Spanish Flu pandemic. Her immigrant mother, Ruth (Tandi Wright), is constantly worried about anti-German sentiment from the people in town, and spends much of her time scolding Pearl for her fanciful notions. Pearl’s unnamed father (Matthew Sunderland) has suffered a stroke and is confined to a wheelchair, unable to move a muscle, while Pearl’s own husband is fighting in occupied France. She’s left with repetitive chores around the farm and, in her spare moments, some powerful fantasises about becoming a star of stage and screen. She’s convinced that she has what it takes to get there, if only somebody will give her a chance.

In town to pick up supplies, she meets a handsome young man (played by David Corenswet), a projectionist at the local cinema, who takes the opportunity to show her some of the pornographic clips from his private collection. He assures her that a girl with her looks has everything she needs to become a sensation. When a church in town announces that they are looking for a dancer for a new travelling show, Pearl senses an opportunity to shine – and Lord help anyone who gets in her way…

Pearl is a prequel to director Ti West’s earlier offering, X (which I confess I haven’t seen), and it’s eventually destined to be part of a trilogy, but it hardly matters because this assured film, co-written by Goth and West, is strong enough to stand alone. Essentially a vehicle for Goth to strut her stuff, it’s a simple but affecting tale of a young woman afflicted by mental health issues, who becomes increasingly unable to separate reality from dreams. She also has an unfortunate predilection for doing unspeakable things with a pitchfork, aided and abetted by a friendly local alligator – a useful addition when it comes to disposing of evidence.

There are some genuinely unnerving scenes here – a sequence where Pearl enjoys leisure time with a scarecrow is a particular stand out and I also love the dance sequence where what Pearl sees in her head is markedly different from what’s actually occurring. It’s this stark contrast between the real and the imagined that is the true strength of this remarkable feature, and it’s clear from the outset that Goth – if not Pearl – is destined for stardom.

Pearl won’t be for everyone – there are some bloodthirsty scenes in the mix that are not recommended for those of a nervous disposition – but the film is horribly compelling and maintains its momentum right up to its extraordinary final scene.

4.2 stars

Philip Caveney

Allelujah

17/03/23

Cineworld, Edinburgh

This film boasts a starry cast. Indeed, with comedy queen Jennifer Saunders in the lead role, alongside British acting legends such as Judi Dench, Julia McKenzie, Derek Jacobi and David Bradley – not to mention the brightly-hued, smiling posters – it promises to be a clever-but-gentle affair, something pleasant for a Sunday afternoon.

It’s not.

Adapted (and updated) by Heidi Thomas from Alan Bennett’s 2018 stage play, Allelujah is an ode to the NHS, as gnarly and wonderful, inspiring and infuriating as the institution itself. I feel like I’ve been lured in by the publicity, before being punched in the gut by a polemic – but I’m not complaining. This is the movie equivalent of a protest song; it’s timely and vital.

Sister Gilpin (Saunders) and Dr Valentine (Bally Gill) work at ‘the Beth’ – a small, crumbling, Yorkshire hospital, specialising in geriatric care. They’re fighting a losing battle against closure, despite the fundraising efforts of local volunteers, but they forge on anyway, doing their best for the elderly patients who need them, offering them compassion and dignity in the last stages of their lives.

Joe (David Bradley) likes it in the Beth. He doesn’t want to go back to the Rowans, the care home where he’s miserable. But his son, Colin (Russell Tovey), is the film’s antagonist, the malevolent Tory hatchet man, who views the hospital dispassionately, from a purely numbers perspective. His relationship with his dad is thorny, but – as they soften towards one another – will he change his mind about the NHS?

Actually, it’s not as clear cut as that. Nothing here is. Under Richard Eyre’s directorship, Allelujah‘s narrative arc is awkward and jarring; it never leads where I anticipate. Instead, it keeps confounding my expectations, pulling me one way and then another, wrong-footing me. Some of the political grandstanding is a little clunky – there are speeches occasionally, in lieu of dialogue – but all of this adds up to something really impactful.

If Sister Gilpin is a microcosm of the Beth, embodying its best and worst, then the Beth is a microcosm of the NHS, encompassing its triumphs and its disasters, its shortcomings and its accomplishments. The final scenes, depicting the heroic work our doctors and nurses did during the pandemic, provide a stark reminder of why we have to fight to keep our health service. It might be troubled, but it’s glorious and it’s ours. “You dismantle it at your peril.”

As the credits roll, there’s a stunned silence in the cinema. Then someone begins to applaud. And we all join in.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

Rye Lane

15/03/23

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Imagine, if you will, a Richard Curtis style romcom, where two young people meet, have a whirlwind romance and celebrate whichever part of London they happen to live in. But with a big difference, because in this film all the leading characters are Black, while a few well-known white actors are relegated to tiny cameo roles. What’s more, the area where the story is set is depicted in such exquisite detail it almost becomes a character itself. That is essentially what Rye Lane is: a love letter to Peckham, previously immortalised onscreen in er… Only Fools and Horses.

The film opens in a unisex public toilet stall at an art gallery, where Dom (David Jonsson) sits weeping loudly. He’s bewailing the breakup of his six year relationship with Gia (Karene Peter), who – it turns out – has been cheating with Dom’s best friend, the handsome but dim-witted Eric (Benjamin Sarpong-Broni). The cause of the breakup? Dom has spotted Eric’s distinctive private parts in the background of a Messenger call to Gia. Awkward.

Into the toilet wanders Yas (Vivian Oparah), a vivacious young woman with an unconventional worldview. She believes that people can be divided into two basic categories: those who wave at boats and those who don’t. Yas overhears Dom’s distress and notices his footwear, so when she encounters him later, she feels impelled to become involved in his situation. At first the two of them seem to have absolutely nothing in common, but when Yas comes to Dom’s rescue during an awkward conciliatory meeting with his ex, their budding friendship is given a considerable power charge. Throwing all caution to the wind, he and Yas head off for a wild, adventurous day out…

If this all sounds depressingly familiar, don’t be fooled. Debut director Raine Allen-Miller has crafted a delightful odyssey across South London, backed up with vivid cinematography and a witty (sometimes downright hilarious) script by Nathan Bryan and Tom Melia. But the film’s real trump card is its vibrant depictions of everyday life in Peckham, throwing a whole set of dazzling locations and eccentric local inhabitants into the mix. What we get is a riot of open-air markets, street performers, public parks and an adrenalin-charged karaoke session. The film never allows one set-up to overstay its welcome, but keeps moving restlessly onwards to its heartwarming conclusion.

Okay, at the end of the day, Rye Lane may just be a slice of entertaining fluff but it is realised with such vigour and ingenuity that, long before we hit the end credits, I’m totally sold (and talking of end credits, stay in your seat for a brief but very funny outtake!). Anybody looking for a recharge should check this out without further delay. It’s utterly charming and the best fun I’ve had in the cinema for quite some time.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney