Month: August 2024

I Sell Windows

12/08/24

Assembly George Square (Studio 4), Edinburgh

Actors Daniel Blinkoff and Tamlyn Tomita, founders of LA Theatre Company Outside In, are committed to making a space where diverse voices can be discovered, evolved and shared. With its almost unimaginable variety of shows (more than three thousand, every day), the Edinburgh Fringe is a perfect match for such an endeavour, and Kacie Rogers’ I Sell Windows is an impressive addition to the programme.

Directed by Jaquita Ta’le, Rogers presents a monologue about love, trauma, thwarted ambition – and selling windows. Casement, sash, bay, awning: ‘Kacie’ can make your dreams come true. But first, you have to stop waiting to be ready and really start living…

The fragmentary structure of the play reflects Kacie’s uneven mental health, as she struggles to come to terms with the death of her grandfather and the realisation that she may never earn a living as an actor. Reeling from the impact of these twin losses, she begins to implode, jeopardising her relationship and spinning out of control. Her breakdown is beautifully illustrated by the use of intricate shadow puppets (courtesy of Brittaney Talbot and Perry Daniel), as well as a sequence of recurring dreams, lit like the Northern Lights. Along with Rogers’ heartfelt a cappella rendition of Tracy Chapman’s iconic Fast Car, this amounts to both a profound character study and a rumination on the ways in which we are taught to value (and undervalue) ourselves.

Performed with verve, wit and absolute precision, I Sell Windows is a thoughtful play, ostensibly about one young Black woman’s experience, but applicable to every one of us.

4.2 stars

Susan Singfield

One Sugar, Stirred to the Left

12/08/24

theSpace @ Surgeons’ Hall (Grand Theatre), Edinburgh

Jon Lawrence’s One Sugar, Stirred to the Left is an affecting drama, set in a hospice. Stephen Corrall plays Henry, an elderly man with terminal cancer, living out his final few months under the tender care of Doctor Choudry (Kareem Nasif), Nurses Carol (Eleanor Healing) and Bronwyn (Anne Yeomans), and tea lady Amala (Jiang). From his death bed, Henry muses on his complex past, his painful present and his ever-shrinking future. He wants to leave something special for his son, Justin (Dom Fraser). And maybe – just maybe – Bronwyn can help.

This ‘play with songs’ has some really interesting things to say about the human need to make peace with ourselves and others before we die. Corrall convincingly portrays Henry’s growing acceptance of his situation and, under David Kettle’s direction, the calm and tranquility of the hospice seems to expand, extending its solicitude to the whole audience. Kettle also provides the guitar accompaniment, while Jiang is the comic relief. But it’s Yeomans who provides the emotional heart of this piece, her plaintive vocals encapsulating a poignant mix of nostalgia, regret and love.

Perhaps some of the plotting is unnecessarily convoluted. It would be simpler and also make more sense if Henry were the one to hear Bronwyn sing, rather than learning second-hand from Justin that she “has a lovely voice.” As it stands, we have to suspend a whole lot of disbelief to accept that anyone would entrust fifty years’ worth of personal writing to someone and ask them to set it to music without knowing anything about their style or ability. I’m also not sure that the sub-plot – about Hamish (Duncan Airlie-James) – has enough space to breathe in this short play. Although Hamish is a well-drawn character and Airlie-James delivers a likeable performance, imbuing the former comic with a roguish charm, this strand feels like it belongs to a longer piece with a wider focus. I can’t help but feel that the large cast and sprawling storyline dilute the message.

On the whole, I like the naturalistic set, the cold, clinical room belying the hospice’s geniality and warmth. However, there are so many props that the space feels cluttered, the stage business sometimes distracting me from what’s being said.

Despite some minor criticisms, there’s no denying the emotional impact of this piece, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t crying at the end. Like so many, I’ve witnessed firsthand how important hospices are; I will be forever grateful to the staff at St Kentigern’s in St Asaph, North Wales, who provided so much succour to my parents when my dad was diagnosed with MND.

This production illuminates the importance of affording people dignity at the end of their lives, and of not being afraid to talk about death.

3.2 stars

Susan Singfield

Through the Mud

11/08/24

Summerhall (Main Hall), Edinburgh

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. 

Apphia Campbell’s Through the Mud is a chilling reminder of how little has changed over the years when it comes to Black liberation in America. Campbell plays Assata Shakur, the 1970s civil rights activist, who – convicted of murder – escaped from jail and has been living in exile in Cuba ever since. In a parallel storyline, forty years later, college student Ambrosia Rollins (Tinashe Warikandwa) finds herself caught up in the beginnings of the Black Lives Matter movement.

This is a powerful piece of theatre, as much a call to arms as anything else, and it feels especially apposite as racist riots are breaking out just over the border in England. Of course, Through the Mud pertains specifically to American politics, but bigotry and prejudice aren’t confined to one continent and we have just as much blood on our hands.

Co-produced by Stellar Quines and Edinburgh’s Royal Lyceum Theatre, the production values are as high as you’d expect, and director Caitlin Skinner deftly leads us through the intertwining timelines, allowing the women’s individual stories space to breathe as well as highlighting the connections. The characters contrast and complement one another perfectly: Campbell imbues Assata with a fierce dignity and a fighter’s strength, while Warikandwa’s Ambrosia is altogether sweeter and more naïve – until her first weeks of college coincide with the fatal shooting of Michael Brown by a white police officer, and she can no longer cling to the fair-world fantasy that her parents built for her. 

The sense of outrage at the heart of the play is brought to life by the music, where spirituals and gospel songs give voice to the protest. The women’s vocals are impressive: Campbell deep and powerfully resonant, while Warikandwa’s more plaintive tones offer an enchanting counterpoint. When the two harmonise, the effect is positively thrilling.

In the face of all the awful evidence, it’s to Campbell’s credit that Through the Mud feels somehow hopeful rather than dispiriting. The women’s indefatigable spirits spur us into thinking we ought to act too. 

Not enough has changed – but the fight goes on.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

VL

11/08/24

Roundabout at Summerhall, Edinburgh

Are you a VL? It stands for ‘Virgin Lips,’ which means you’ve never kissed a lassie (or a laddie, for that matter). Max (Scott Fletcher) belongs in that forsaken category and he’s dreading the approach of the end of term, because that’s when people like him have to endure an embarrassing ordeal at the school disco. Luckily, his best pal, Stevie (Gavin Jon Wright), is on hand to give him some expert guidance. After all, Stevie has managed to achieve that all-important step-up by actually kissing a girl in full view of the rest of his class mates.

Sort of.

This is one of those plays in the Blue Remembered Hills tradition, where adults play kids. Written by Kieran Hurley and Gary McNair, two of Scotland’s finest playwrights, VL is a blisteringly funny account of a couple of hapless boys trying to pick a precarious path through the minefield of their own burgeoning sexuality. We are told about ‘diesel penis’ and the perils of ‘having a pinger.’ It’s an education.

Fletcher stays within the character of Max, bringing out his vulnerability and inner turmoil, a decent lad determined to get things right and to ignore the pressure to stray outside the bounds of decency. Wright plays Stevie with aplomb and also takes on the supporting roles: Wee Coza, a self-styled rap artist, whose enthusiastic but hopeless efforts are hilariously bad; the sleazy guy who Max’s Mum is running around with, happily dispensing toxic advice; and Sheila, the girl who Max has long been in thrall to and who he hopes might be the one to grant him that all-important first kiss.

But first, of course, Max is going to need some practice…

VL is a total delight from start to finish, a whip-smart comedy that also has some incisive things to say about the difficulties of adolescence and the importance of friendship. It explores the powerful pressures that can be heaped upon young men by their peers, that push them to behave in ways that are miles away from their true selves. Hurley and McNair walk their chosen tightrope with considerable skill, exposing the boys’ unwitting misogyny without ever endorsing it.

Cannily directed by Orla O’ Loughlin, VL is that rarest of things, a laugh-out-loud comedy with added depth. Pop it onto your Fringe bucket list without delay; it’s a delight.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Lost Girl

10/08/24

Underbelly George Square (Wee Coo), Edinburgh

Tracey Emin… stereotype… train wreck. Oops! Sorry. Wrong notes. Let’s try again…

Amy Lever’s Lost Girl is a fascinating monologue, charting nineteen-year-old Birdy’s search for self-acceptance. She’s never been particularly clever (as her A level results confirm); she hasn’t any special talents and she doesn’t know what she wants to do with her life. Until now, none of this has really mattered, because she’s had her best friend Bex by her side, and they’ve been battling the world together. So what if Birdy didn’t make it into uni? Neither did Bex – or Jeremy Clarkson, for that matter – and they’re both doing okay.

But now Bex – resolutely Catholic – has unearthed some hitherto unknown Portuguese Jewish ancestry, which means she can claim an EU passport, and so she’s gone off travelling. Birdy, meanwhile, who is actually Jewish, has no such useful connections. “Hey, Siri,” she asks. “Is Syria in the EU?” Even Siri, who surely hears all sorts, isn’t programmed to deal with this level of ignorance. “Don’t be stupid,” he responds.

So Birdy feels lost. She’s plagued by recurring nightmares and angry with Bex for deserting her. She’s angry with her family too because… well, because they’re her family. Who else is going to bear the brunt of her frustration?

But when Birdy gets a job working in the archives of a local Jewish museum, she begins to unearth some secrets that make her see her relatives in a whole new light…

Lever is an accomplished actor, quickly earning our sympathy with her heartfelt performance. Her depiction of wannabe actor Bex’s disastrous one-woman show is very witty, as is her portrayal of the monosyllabic Sammy Morrison. The writing is good too, often causing us to laugh out loud, as well as giving us plenty to think about.

The simple, unfussy staging is well-suited to the piece, the frame of documents and photographs symbolising both cage and portal, illuminating Birdy’s contradictory impulses for stasis and for flight.

As much a character study as a play, Lost Girl offers a fascinating insight into the mind of a teenager seeking validation and coming to terms with her cultural identity.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Werewolf

09/08/24

Summerhall (Former Women’s Locker Room), Edinburgh

I’m a drama teacher by day (emerging as a theatre critic under a full moon) so I am au fait with the game Werewolf – the teenagers I work with are obsessed with it. For those less familiar with the concept, it’s a role-playing exercise set in a remote village, where the titular lupines feast on one unfortunate inhabitant each night. Every morning, the villagers (who include a doctor, a detective, a chief and – randomly – a Cupid) meet to try to work out who among them is a killer. Think The Traitors or Among Us, depending on your demographic. It’s a little bit like that.

New Zealand’s Binge Culture theatre company brings a heightened version of the game to this year’s Fringe, with extra layers of drama and complexity, and the immersive experience is a lot of fun. Before we’re ushered into Summerhall’s Former Women’s Locker Room, we’re told that we will each find a card on our seats. We should read them and follow the instructions without revealing their contents to anyone else. 

Once we’re seated, three wardens (Joel Baxendale, Hannah Kelly and Stella Reid) inform us that we’re in a containment bunker, and that we need to stay here for seven days to avoid – whisper it – “the contagion.” Post-Covid, this doesn’t actually feel like such a stretch, but things soon start to go awry. Obviously, I can’t give too much away because the element of surprise is key to this production. Suffice to say, the tension steadily mounts…

I love it. The wardens do an excellent job of inhabiting their characters at the same time as managing the narrative, expertly drawing what they need from the participants. The sound design (by Oliver Devlin) is crucial to the piece, creating an unsettling atmosphere and perfectly enhancing the horror elements. Everyone in the room appears committed to the game; we’re all determined to uncover the danger in our midst.

I highly recommend this piece, especially to families with teenagers in tow. If you want something entertaining and immersive, then Werewolf is surely what you’re looking for. It”s an absolute howl.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

I’m Almost There

09/08/24

Summerhall (Main Hall), Edinburgh

Todd Almond hails from New York City and I’m Almost There, a song cycle inspired by The Odyssey, begins with him sitting at the piano, his fingers pumping out an urgent and propulsive rhythm – and then his plaintive voice soars over the music as the tale begins.

A friend phones to invite the storyteller to a party in trendy Tribeca, and at first he’s reluctant to venture out from the sanctuary of his apartment block, but his friend is very persistent and eventually he agrees to go. Amongst the ranks of strangers, his friend is nowhere to be found, but the storyteller’s gaze meets the eyes of a man and, almost before he knows it, the two of them have left the party together and are walking through the streets of the city. Eventually they part ways, but the next morning, the storyteller hears his doorbell ring. The stranger is waiting for him below with two cups of coffee and all he needs to do is go downstairs and let him in. But so many things get in the way.

There’s the weird upstairs neighbour who is looking for her lost cat; the odd but sexually-attractive guy across the hall who keeps telling the storyteller that he hates him. And don’t even mention what’s waiting for him down in the basement….

Accompanied by Erin Hill’s distinctive harp and Lucas Macrosson’s slinky bass guitar, Almond weaves an intriguing and compelling tale of urban mystery. It’s a distinctive approach to storytelling and its premise puts me in mind, for some reason, of the short stories of Armistead Maupin, which are themselves so inspired by the author’s adopted city. I’m also thinking of the Australian performer Wil Greenway, who used to be a regular fixture at the Fringe, who is also adept at weaving whimsical tales of everyday existence.

And perhaps too the weird sequence of events is reminiscent of the ways in which authors, chasing that new narrative, find themselves continually distracted by other ideas bubbling to the surface at inopportune moments.

There’s a packed crowd in the Main Hall at Summerhall, hanging on to Almond’s every word and, when the last chord dies away, the applause is heartfelt and appreciative. Those who have yet to experience the talents of this distinctive musical storyteller should grab tickets before they sell out.

4.2 Stars

Philip Caveney

Playfight

08/08/24

Roundabout at Summerhall, Edinburgh

At first, Julia Grogan’s Playfight seems like a pretty straightforward coming-of-age story. The three protagonists, Keira (Sophie Cox), Zainab (Nina Cassells) and Lucy (Lucy Mangan), are fifteen years old, fizzing with adolescent energy and trading wide-eyed misinformation about sex. The characters are nicely delineated and the dialogue is lively and witty. Keira is the bold one, the most sexually aware, proud that she’s lost her virginity before starting sixth form. Lucy is struggling to reconcile her Christianity with her longing for an orgasm, while Zainab is worried about coming out as lesbian. She’s not scared about her friends rejecting her, but she is nervous about revealing exactly who it is she has feelings for. So far, so ground-well-trod.

But there are darker elements at play in Grogan’s script, and – under Emma Callander’s direction – these are gradually revealed. The insouciance with which the girls share news of their sexual exploits and fantasies belies the enormity of some of what they’re saying, the banal and the shocking met with the same innocent acceptance. “It was great,” says Keira about having sex for the first time. “Except for the awkward bit, where he asked to hit me in the face.” My heart aches for these youngsters, whose yearning makes them so vulnerable.

This is nuanced stuff. A movement sequence (choreographed by Aline David) marking the end of their school years recalls The Crucible, as the trio remove their clothes and dance in the woods. Like Abigail Williams and her friends, they are never just victims; they’re also active participants in their own (and others’) destruction. Keira’s lover, Dan, might be eighteen, but he’s as defenceless as she is; Lucy’s masochism is signalled from the start, but does she know enough to give informed consent? If there’s a message here – and I think there is – it’s that we’re failing our young people when it comes to sex education. It’s 2024, but they’re still learning from rumour and porn. Where are the open, frank discussions with well-informed, non-judgmental adults?

Playfight feels authentic. The girls’ home lives exist just out of sight, rarely discussed. What is there to say? They already know each others’ circumstances; of course they’re keener to talk about masturbation – or GCSE results. Still, we glean snippets of information, enough to contextualise their actions. Cox, Cassells and Mangan utterly convince in their portrayal of the kind of all-consuming friendship that means so much when we are young – but often fails to survive into adulthood.

Hazel Low’s simple set design works well: a bright pink ladder surrounded by wood chippings represents the girls’ favourite tree. I like the stylised image, and the connotation of ascension.

Playfight has real emotional heft – and is yet another winner from Roundabout at Summerhall.

4.8 stars

Susan Singfield

Diva: Live from Hell

08/08/24

Underbelly Cowgate (Belly Button), Edinburgh

The dank environs of Belly Button somehow make an apt setting for Diva: Live from Hell. If there is a hell, this is surely what the place must look like. It’s here in the Seventh Circle that former high school musical theatre star, Desmond Channing (Luke Bayer), is obliged to re-enact the story of his fall on a nightly basis. Back in the day, Channing was the all-singing, all-dancing star of The Ronald Reagan High School’s drama society. Camp and undeniably talented, he is also the society’s president – something he never lets his co-stars forget.

And then along comes Evan Harris, a new recruit recently transferred from California. Despite his bluff ‘aw shucks’ attitude, everybody seems to like Evan and Desmond dutifully takes him under his wing. Evan soon lands a plump role in the society’s production of Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Pirates of Penzance and, pretty soon, he is making moves on the young actress who Desmond has had his eye on for ages.

Naturally, there’s going to be hell to pay.

Triple-threat Bayer is a tour de force in this supremely entertaining riff on the high school musical genre. There’s just him and three backing musicians (two of whom have to work very hard not to keep laughing out loud at his snarky asides to the audience). Bayer is quite simply astonishing, singing and dancing up a storm, slickly slipping from one character to another with absolute assurance, even delivering a frenetic tap dance routine at one point.

Channing (the name is obviously a reference to Bette Davis in All About Eve) is a delightful character, supremely self-obsessed, deliciously callous and intent on achieving stardom at any cost. The songs by Alexander Sage Oyen are insanely catchy and Nora Brigid Monahan’s script is packed with references to the stars of musical theatre. Given the modest size of the performance space, the presentation is really inventive, a line of metal lockers providing Bayer with costume changes, props and even a mirror in which to check his makeup. A scene involving a death by automobile is simply but ingeniously depicted.

Diva: Live from Hell deserves to be shown on a massive stage with an equally massive production budget, but this is the Fringe, baby and, up in the modest setting of Belly Button, Bayer and his team are creating theatre to die for. Literally.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Mutant Olive 2.0

08/08/24

Gilded Balloon Patter Hoose (Nip), Edinburgh

Mutant Olive 2.0 is a wild ride of a show. Adam Astra (Mitch Hara) is auditioning for a part in Hamilton Unplugged and he’s determined to stand out from the crowd. Sure, he’s an ex-addict, his headshot is twenty years out of date, and he’s left his props on the kitchen table but, as the audience becomes a room full of directors, producers and casting agents, we are urged not to let any of this cloud our view. He’s going to wow us with a Shakespearean monologue. What could be more appropriate?

Except, would we mind waiting just a minute, because his Dad’s calling? Sorry about that. The problem with his Dad is… “Okay. Puck. I am that merry wanderer of the night…” His phone rings again.

Hara is a kinetic performer, almost sparking with energy. He dazzles with his smile and prowls the small stage, lurching from sly camp to devastating emotion, somehow keeping us with him all the time. The stories of Astra’s childhood – his speed-freak alcoholic mother; his hitman father – seem utterly fantastical, but it turns out they are largely autobiographical, based on Hara’s own experiences. 

The audition, of course, careens out of control, like the seventeen cars Astra has crashed whilst high. And in amongst all of the gloriously riotous, outrageous tales, we see the man emerge, scarred but intact, resolute in his determination to succeed on his own terms.

Directed by Carlyle King, Mutant Olive is a true delight. I’ll certainly be seeking out more of Hara and King’s work, starting with Smothered, their short form series on Amazon Prime. Meanwhile, do yourself a favour and head to the Gilded Balloon for a chance to see a fairy goblin in a whole new light. 

4.6 stars

Susan Singfield