Month: August 2023

Scrapper

29/08/23

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Georgie (Lola Campbell) is just thirteen years old and, since the recent death of her mother, she’s managing to fend for herself in a council flat somewhere in London, all on her own. The neighbours know of her situation but turn a blind eye to it, not wanting to see her engulfed and spat out by the system. Meanwhile, with her best friend, Ali (Alin Uzan), Georgie is making ends meet by stealing second-hand bikes and selling them on to local shopkeeper, Zeph (Ambreen Razia).

Georgie is determinedly self-sufficient and precocious beyond her years, even able to smoothly talk her way out of trouble when a woman finds her trying to remove her bike-lock. But then one day, Jason (Harris Dickinson) climbs over the garden fence and introduces himself to Georgie as the father she’s never met. He’s been over in Spain working as a ticket tout, but has returned with the intention of getting to know his daughter. Georgie is initially suspicious of him, not allowing him to sweet-talk her, the way he’s already doing with Ali – but, bit by bit, her defences begin to crumble…

This is the feature debut of young writer/director Charlotte Regan and it’s been compared to Aftersun, with which it does perhaps share some DNA – though that’s perhaps unfair, because Scrapper is its own beast.

Steadfastly refusing to play to the usual poverty porn clichés, Scrapper depicts the estate where Georgie lives in bright, primal colours and offers us short, direct-to-camera comments from some of the other local inhabitants – even the spiders in Geogie’s house manage to have their say! Campbell’s performance is extraordinary, while Dickinson is totally convincing as Jason, a man who has never really matured but is doing the best he can to meet the demands of fatherhood.

I like too the scenes that are shown from Georgie’s own POV – the weird assemblage of bicycle parts she has constructed in the spare room, which in her mind’s eye assumes gigantic proportions: a dizzy ladder climbing to heaven, where she hopes her mother is waiting for her.

Sweetly sad and often affecting, Scrapper is a delightful low-budget gem from a young director with plenty of potential.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Edfest Bouquets 2023

August in Edinburgh, and the Fringe was back with a boom! As ever, after seeing so many brilliant productions, it’s been hard to select our favourites, but it’s (virtual) Bouquet time and so, in no particular order, here are the shows that have really stayed with us:

COMEDY

John Robins: Howl (Just the Tonic)

‘Raw and achingly honest….’

The Ice Hole: a Cardboard Comedy (Pleasance)

‘An inspired piece of surreal lunacy…’

Dominique Salerno: The Box Show (Pleasance)

‘One of the most original acts I’ve ever seen…’

The Umbilical Brothers: The Distraction (Assembly)

‘An amorphous mass of nonsense – but brilliantly so!’

THEATRE

Bacon (Summerhall)

‘A whip-smart, tightly-constructed duologue…’

The Grand Old Opera House Hotel (Traverse)

‘Part slapstick, part comic-opera, part mad-as-a-box-of-frogs spectacle, this is something you really don’t want to miss.’

Salty Irina (Roundabout at Summerhall)

‘Fresh and contemporary, all minimal props and non-literal interpretation…’

Dark Noon (Pleasance)

‘A unique piece of devised theatre, sprawling and multi-faceted…’

JM Coetzee’s Life and Times of Michael K (Assembly)

‘A gentle but powerful production…’

One Way Out (Underbelly)

‘The piece is brave enough not to offer a solution…’

SPECIAL MENTIONS

After the Act (Traverse)

‘We have to learn from what has gone before…’

Woodhill (Summerhall)

‘Though unnervingly bleak, this does offer a glimmer of hope…’

Things Hidden Since the Foundation of the World (Traverse)

‘The closest I’ve ever come to experiencing an acid trip in the theatre…’

Susan Singfield & Philip Caveney

John Robins: Howl

27/08/23

Just the Tonic Nucleus (Atomic Room), Edinburgh

I’m not usually drawn to introspection. My preference is for comedy that looks outwards to what’s happening in the big wide world – but there are exceptions to every rule. I don’t like sci-fi but I love Woman on the Edge of Time. I don’t enjoy watching sport unless it’s tennis. I only like chocolate ice cream if it comes from Mary’s Milk Bar.

And I can get on board with introspection when it’s as well-crafted as Howl.

In this raw and achingly honest show, John Robins talks about a mental health crisis that precipitates a life-changing realisation: he’s an alcoholic. Having spent years in denial about his problematic relationship with booze, things finally come to a head when he… tries to buy a slotted spoon.

It’s hard to convey how funny Howl is because there’s nothing intrinsically amusing about a man falling apart. But Robins is a gifted comedian; he knows just how far to push his tragic narrative before undercutting the misery with a well-aimed quip. He’s emotionally intelligent, connecting with the audience by making observations we can all recognise – and then demonstrating how, for him, these relatable foibles can grow into something monstrous and uncontrollable. It’s the extremes that make us laugh – but it’s also the extremes that have driven him to the edge. Robins walks the tightrope well.

As a committed PCD, I thought I knew Johnny JR’s skillset but I hadn’t realised he could act (DI Robbyns notwithstanding). Here, he expertly physicalises the awkwardness of an encounter with his ex’s mum, where he’s desperately trying to make his obsessive thoughts sound rational. It evokes a weird sort of protectiveness: I want to look after him even as I erupt into laughter, and I suspect I’m not alone. It’s rare for someone to expose their vulnerability quite so openly and with so little self-pity.

I’m glad Robins is sober – and long may it last. To have made it through an entire Edinburgh run without a drink is a big achievement. This show is an aptly titled howl of pain, but it’s also strangely inspirational -and thus we end the Fringe on a high and hopeful note.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

Bacon

27/08/23

Summerhall (Cairns Lecture Theatre), Edinburgh

Mark (Corey Montague-Sholay) wants to tell us his story…

When we first meet him, he’s standing behind the counter of the coffee shop where he works and he’s transfixed, frozen in terror, because Darren (William Robinson) has just walked in and he’s staring at Mark. It’s been four years since the two of them last laid eyes on each other.

And with that we go back to their very first meeting when they’re just fifteen years old. Mark is the new kid at school: reserved, studious, endearing – yet somehow entirely friendless. And Darren, he’s the quintessential troubled teen: rebellious, irreverent, dangerous in that indefinable way. He’s troubled by his own burgeoning sexuality, and the toxic relationship he endures with his father.

It’s clear from the boys’ very first meeting that something has sparked between Mark and Darren, something that begins to smoulder and which will eventually ignite with tragic consequences.

Written by Sophie Swithenbank and directed by Matthew Illiffe, Bacon is a whip-smart, tightly-constructed duologue that pulls me into its tenacious grip and holds me spellbound as the story unfolds, cutting back and forth between the two boys’ home lives, their developing relationship, their triumphs and disasters. The lines of dialogue run together, the two characters starting and ending each other’s sentences.

Natalie Johnson’s simple but effective set is a huge see-saw, rising and falling as the power dynamic fluctuates. The two performances are extraordinarily powerful and the play’s conclusion is quite simply shattering.

It would be hard to imagine a play more perfectly suited to the Fringe. Once again, I find myself wishing I had seen this earlier so I could trumpet its brilliance.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Public – the Musical

26/08/23

Pleasance Courtyard (Pleasance Two), Edinburgh

Heard the one about four strangers locked in a gender neutral toilet? The ones who make a proper song and dance about it? Well, believe it or not, that’s the premise for Public – the Musical – and before you say that sounds like a terrible idea, let me assure you that this breezy, heartwarming production is one of the most downright enjoyable things I’ve seen at this year’s Fringe.

Laura (Alicia Corrales) thinks they see their partner kissing another woman in the street and seeks refuge in a public toilet. There they encounter ditzy, super-privileged but somehow adorable Zo (Annabel Marlowe), ultra-macho Andrew (Andrew Patrick-Walker), dressed in tight-fitting bicycle Lycra and over-anxious Finlay (Hugo Rolland), who was due to attend a meeting at the DSS and may be penalised for his absence.

Forced to spend an hour together, the mismatched quartet set about alternately bickering and trying to get to know each other. Think of this as an updated Breakfast Club and you’ll pretty much have the measure of it. But of course, John Hughes’s protagonists didn’t have songs and Public has plenty of them, a mix of exuberant poppy bangers and plaintive ballads. All four actors have terrific voices (particularly Patrick-Walker, who hits some impressive high notes) and when their voices are joined in harmony the result is sublime.

The script, by Kyla and Natalie Stroud with Hannah Sands, is perceptive and inclusive – and if a short stretch starts to feel suspiciously like Educating Andrew well that’s no big deal: the message is an important one. The Strouds have also written the songs with Olivia Zacharia, and the fact that Public has been long-listed for the Popcorn Prize makes perfect sense. I’d originally planned to do this review as a series of puns about toilets – you know, ‘best seat in the house,’ ‘fighting the cistern,’ that kind of thing. But this is too darned likeable to make dumb jokes about.

I always hate to announce a must-see so late in the Fringe but, if you’re looking for a rousing, cheerful way to complete your visit to Edinburgh, grab some tickets while you still can.

It’s more than just a flash in the pan. (Sorry!)

4.7 stars

Philip Caveney

Pilot

26/08/23

Summerhall (Tech Cube), Edinburgh

Some time in the near future, an ex-detective attempts to piece together the fragments of an old manuscript, left behind by someone called Al.

The play, by Lekan Lawal, award-winning Artistic Director of Eclipse Theatre Company, is as fragmented as the manuscript at its centre. It’s ambitious, questioning the accepted way in which we structure our narratives and calling for a new method of storytelling. The title suggests that Lawal is aware that this piece does not provide the answer, only a suggestion for where we might start.

He is a genial host, introducing himself and his subject matter in a friendly, inclusive way. The room feels like a welcoming space, and I find myself warming to him, wanting to like his performance. We start off with a few audience volunteers engaging in a game of musical chairs (Philip comes third), the victor invited to share his experience of another time he felt like a winner.

And then we’re off, into a heady mix of music, live video projection, dance and spoken word. Lawal reads from Al’s manuscript, and from Chekhov; we touch on Icarus and Superman, Knight Rider and Dalston market, family weddings, race and feelings of failure. I enjoy all of it: it’s engaging and entertaining and each snippet makes sense while it’s in front of me. But I’m not sure what it all adds up to and can’t help feeling that, in the end, all the trappings serve to obfuscate rather than illuminate Al’s story.

Nonetheless, if you can’t experiment with something new at the Edinburgh Fringe, then I don’t know where you can, and I’m pretty sure that within Pilot there’s an idea that really does have wings.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

Matt Forde: Inside No. 10

26/08/23

Pleasance Courtyard (Pleasance Beyond), Edinburgh

Matt Forde has built his reputation on a canny combination of political commentary interspersed with impersonations of the people in power. He’s a seasoned, confident performer and, pretty much from the get go, Inside No. 10 has the sizeable audience at the Pleasance Beyond laughing it up. The over-riding message is that the country is being led by the biggest bunch of buffoons in history and our only hope is to giggle about it. No arguments there. I’ve always thought that Rishi Sunak would be a hard man to impersonate but Forde manages it with ease, highlighting his ability to sound inappropriately effusive, even when he’s delivering horrible news.

And it’s not just the Tories. There’s a brilliantly observed Keir Starmer in there too, austere and seemingly obsessed with tearfully mentioning his late father at every opportunity and, since we’re in Scotland, the recent woes of the SNP are duffed up too, even if Forde wisely keeps his Nicola Sturgeon down to a few one-liners.

Ironically, it’s when he steps outside of British politics that the show really takes flight. His impersonation of Donald Trump is, as ever, spot on, nailing the man’s petulance and his childlike habit of blaming everybody else for his misfortunes. It’s easily the funniest part of Inside No. 10, (especially after being handed the gift of that mugshot) but, unfortunately, it has the effect of making the remainder of the show feel slightly anticlimactic. The piece doesn’t conclude so much as peter out.

Perhaps a little restructuring would help, holding back Trump (if only such a thing were possible) and finishing the exercise on a high point. Or maybe having him as a guide, observing our political system from his jaundiced POV?

Mind you, it’s bit late in the day to be suggesting changes, when the Fringe has almost run its course; besides, if the object of the exercise is to make an audience laugh, Forde certainly succeeds in that respect, big time.

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney

Mrs President

24/08/23

C Venues (Aquila Temple), Johnston Terrace, Edinburgh

Sometimes at the Fringe, one show can lead to another. A brief mention of Abraham Lincoln’s wife, Mary, in Mystery House, alerts me to the poster for Mrs President – and I’m compelled to know more about her. 

When I enter the performance space at C Venues’ Aquila Temple, I find a tableau awaiting me: two figures frozen in position as the audience files in. They are photographer Mathew B Brady (Christopher Kelly) and Mary Lincoln (Leeanne Hutchison) – or rather, when they first speak, they are a camera and a 300-year-old chair. It’s that kind of play.

This earnest and thought-provoking duologue, written by John Random Phillips, is all about the iconography of the photograph, the way in which a talented photographer can somehow imbue a subject with a certain gravitas, turning them into living legends. Abe Lincoln always maintained that Brady’s photographs ‘made him the President’ – and it was Brady’s image of Lincoln that ended up on the five-dollar bill. Furthermore, his eerie final image of Mary, with the ‘ghost’ of her assassinated husband standing behind her, has endured over the centuries.

But right now, Honest Abe is still alive and Mary is seeking out Brady for another sitting, feeling that her image needs a little bolstering. The fact is that the American public are rather less enamoured with her than they are with her saintly husband. Mary has issues. She is perceived as a spendthrift and her delicate mental health has been the source of some speculation…

Mrs President is an intense, haunting play and both Hutchinson and Kelly submit powerful performances. I’m particularly impressed by Stefan Azizi’s simple but effective staging, and Kristine Koury’s ingenious costume design. I like too the parallels with the celebrated wildlife photographer, Audubon (who also makes a brief appearance here), a man who thought nothing of breaking the wings of his subjects in order to ensure that they didn’t move as he drew them.

As the Fringe rumbles inexorably to its conclusion, those looking for a change of pace from bright lights and brash comedy might like to seek out this quietly assured and authoritative production. 

4 stars

Philip Caveney

One Way Out

24/08/23

Underbelly Cowgate (Belly Button), Edinburgh

One Way Out by Theatre Peckham’s NO TABLE productions is a deserving winner of Underbelly’s Untapped award, “a game-changing investment in early and mid-career theatre companies wanting to bring their work to the world’s biggest arts festival”. Hats off to Underbelly: if we want the Fringe to be an inclusive event, one that celebrates vibrancy and creativity, then financial support like this is a must. And One Way Out is certainly worth backing.

Written and directed by Montel Douglas, this is the tale of four friends, poised on the brink of adulthood, awaiting their A level results and planning their futures. The performances are high-octane; the direction bold and energetic. The boys are nervous about leaving school, but excited too. Tunde (Marcus Omoro) is focused on getting to university, the first step towards his dream of “a job with a suit”. Salim (Adam Seridji) plans on expanding his family’s business; his Uncle has one shop, but Salim will have many. Meanwhile, Paul (Sam Pote) is struggling academically. He does like performing magic tricks though. Maybe he could do something with that? Of the four, Devonte (Shem Hamilton) is the least certain of what he wants. He’s too busy worrying about his mum, who is on dialysis. Tunde is concerned about him. “You’re clever,” he tells his friend. “You’ve got to think about yourself as well as your mum. You should at least apply to university.”

But Jamaican-born Devonte’s UCAS application is his undoing. He doesn’t have the relevant documentation, can’t prove his leave to remain in the UK. He’s been here since he was nine years old, but now he’s being sent away…

Inspired by Douglas’s own memories of a cousin who was given a deportation notice at nineteen, One Way Out is a deceptively clever piece. Beneath all the fun and banter, all four young men are preoccupied with the question of what will happen to them, what their futures will look like. They’re dizzy with possibility. Devonte’s misfortune sends shockwaves through the group – and through the audience. It seems impossible that he should be uprooted against his will, torn from everything he knows – his friends, his sick mother – punished, as if he is a criminal. It should be impossible. Tragically, it is not. The Windrush scandal shames Britain, and Devonte’s plight highlights the atrocity. “It’s seventy-five years since the Windrush arrived,” Devonte says. “And seventy-five years since the NHS was founded. That’s not a coincidence.”

I like that the piece is brave enough not to offer a solution. There isn’t one. Three of the boys move on, for better or worse, into their adult lives, but we don’t find out what happens to Devonte because he’s gone. His friends’ efforts to save him fail. The system is brutal and its consequences dire. The audience just has to hope that Devonte will find happiness, and that Jamaica treats him better than the UK ever did.

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

JM Coetzee’s Life and Times of Michael K

24/08/23

Assembly (Main Hall), Edinburgh

Based on JM Coetzee’s 1983 Booker Prize winner and adapted by Lara Foot, Life and Times of Michael K is a bleak and occasionally heartbreaking narrative, brought eerily to life by South African company, Baxter Theatre. While a nine-strong group of performers hurtle around the massive stage enabling the action, Michael K himself is portrayed by a puppet – though that’s rather underselling what’s delivered here. Devised by the Handspring Puppet Company, perhaps best known for War Horse, Michael is a character you’ll totally believe in from the moment he takes his first hesitant steps.

We see him as he emerges from the womb of his mother, Anna (another puppet), into a harsh world, where his cleft lip serves to alienate him from just about everybody he encounters. We watch him grow, share his early encounters with others and see how he eventually finds happiness working as a gardener in Cape Town. But when a violent civil war threatens to engulf the neighbourhood, Michael decides to take his ailing mother back to the family home she so often talks about, a place she knows only as Prince Albert.

They have no money for fares so Michael constructs a rickety handcart, piles Anna and her belongings into it and the two of them set off on the long and arduous journey to a place he isn’t really sure exists…

Their resulting experiences are hard and unrelenting, but the performers work their socks off to ensure that, despite a running time of two hours, the momentum never falters. There’s some exciting physical theatre to relish and sometimes the huge backdrop illuminates with location photography, into which the marionettes are convincingly incorporated.

Michael’s devotion to his mother – who actually does very little to deserve it – is humbling and the overarching themes of the value of human life and the evils of privilege are starkly written.

This is a gentle but powerful production that has the crowd up on its feet at its conclusion. If spectacle is what you’re looking for at the Fringe, this is definitely one to seek out. But you’ll need to move quickly: there are only a few more performances left.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney