Month: August 2024

Weer

07/08/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Natalie Palamides’ burgeoning reputation has evidently preceded her. Traverse One is packed to the gills with an exuberant crowd, many of whom have clearly seen her Netflix special. I have to admit that thus far her name has eluded me, so I really don’t have the first idea what to expect. But whatever wild imaginings I might have had beforehand are nothing like the slice of unhinged genius that I witness onstage tonight.

Weer (the name is explained somewhere in the chaos) is the tumultuous tale of Mark and Christina, two star-crossed lovers, who have been falling in and out of lust with each other since 1996. Now it’s New Year’s Eve 1999, the world is poised for the ensuing havoc and the two of them are having a violent altercation, mostly prompted by Mark’s inability to fully commit to Christina. Palamides plays both Mark and Christina, using the old music hall technique of donning a series of bisected costumes, and presenting the resulting interchanges by twisting from side to side. On paper, it sounds a bit hack and it shouldn’t work for a full-length play… and yet, against all the odds, it really does.

The opening events are simply an introduction to a whole series of demented scenes, Palamides racing back and forth across an increasingly cluttered stage, using weird Heath Robinson-like props to help tell the story. There are chases and spills, rampant love making (in an actual shower at one point!). There’s bloodshed and slapstick, a loaded gun with a penchant for discharging bullets – even though it isn’t loaded. There are spurts of bodily fluids, frantic costume changes, audience interaction, meaningful sideways glances, tears, laughter, death – and a great big fucking deer.

I – like most of the others in the theatre – spend large amounts of my time alternately laughing uproariously and staring in wide-eyed astonishment at Palamides’ next unexpected rug pull. Essentially, Weer is a just a great big slice of the absurd, expert clowning performed with such reckless abandon that you can’t help loving it. Palamides is now well and truly on my radar and I’m already looking forward to what she does next.

Meanwhile, those in need of some laughter should get the to The Traverse to see Weer and be grateful that you’re not one of the team of people who have to clean up the stage after the show.

5 Stars

Philip Caveney

Rita Lynn: Life Coach

07/08/24

Pleasance Dome (Ace), Bristo Square, Edinburgh

“My suicide note was so good, it made me want to live.”

Enter Rita Lynn, life coach extraordinaire. After all, who better to advise the rich and foolish than a woman at rock bottom with a penchant for hard drugs? 

Imogen Wood (Louise Marwood) used to be a dancer, but it turns out no one wants to employ an addict, who disappears for days on end, then turns up drunk, hungover or high. Stuck in a codependent relationship, she can’t see any way out – until a chance encounter with a wealthy worrier sparks an audacious thought and Imogen’s alter ego, Rita Lynn, is born. For just £250 per hour, she’ll counsel ‘Helen’ – and all her well-heeled friends.

Loosely based on Marwood’s own experience with addiction, this is a cleverly crafted tragicomedy. Not only is her performance a real tour de force, the writing is mightily impressive too; Marwood is clearly a talent. 

She’s extraordinarily engaging, one of those actors who seem to carry their own light, and so we’re irresistibly drawn to Imogen despite her bitchiness, able to see beneath the brittle façade she’s constructed to protect herself from her inner demons. We want her to beat her addiction and emerge happy on the other side.

Marwood also plays a raft of supporting characters, including her toxic boyfriend, her therapist, her clients and her best friend, switching from one to the other, sometimes mid-sentence, never leaving us in any doubt about who she’s meant to be. This is a heightened, almost melodramatic piece, the humour emanating from Imogen’s outrageousness, as well as her biting criticism of the way society wants her to behave. She’s caustic and dismissive, bold and fearless – and as fragile as can be. 

At once laugh-out-loud funny and desperately sad, Rita Lynn: Life Coach is a must-see show. Just don’t be tempted to employ her to sort your problems out. 

4.8 stars

Susan Singfield

How I Learned To Swim

07/08/24

Roundabout at Summerhall, Edinburgh

Jamie is 30 years old and is having her first official swimming lesson. What took her so long? Well, there was that incident back in her childhood that instilled her with a powerful dread of diving into the water, not to mention the old stereotype that Black people can’t swim. But now, more recent events have driven her to take on the challenge in the hope that she can rectify something that’s been haunting her…

How I Learned to Swim by Somebody Jones is a engaging monologue, compellingly narrated and acted by Frankie Hart. The play was shortlisted for The Women’s Prize in 2023 and it’s easy to see why. Jamie’s story is compelling (and not just because I share her fear of being submerged). Her quiet determination to overcome old fears is both empowering and inspiring. Hart conveys Jamie’s emotions with aplomb, allowing glimpses of the anxious woman that hides behind a calm façade. She also slips effortlessly into a couple of other characters as the story unfolds: her indefatigable English swimming coach, Molly, and a spliff-smoking spiritual guide she goes to for advice.

This feels like a perfect play for Roundabout. The set is simply but effectively realised, the swimming pool location so convincingly evoked you can almost smell the chlorine. Lighting director Ali Hunter and composer Nicola T Chang work together to make the water sequences completely er… immersive.

There’s no great revelation here – at least, not one I haven’t already guessed at – but there is a genuine sense of peace and fulfilment at the play’s conclusion, the sense that long-held terrors are finally being laid to rest.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Síomha Hennessy: 30 Under 30

06/08/24

Gilded Balloon Patter Hoose (Nip), Edinburgh

Síomha (it’s pronounced Shiva) is 35 years old and somehow, against all her expectations, she’s still ‘unexpectedly unfamous.’ She’s bewildered by this and, to be honest, I’m as mystified as she is. From the moment she prowls confidently into the room and launches into her first song, she has the crowd at the Patter Hoose in her tenacious grip. That opening pop song is terrific, wonderfully catchy and with lyrics that make you laugh out loud. It’s an impressive start.

The ensuing patter is just as perfectly crafted: canny observations about growing up in Ireland, her disastrous relationships, the minefield of social media and some outrageously outspoken views about sexuality. A ‘folk’ song from the POV of her contraceptive coil is wonderfully surreal. Presented in the style of Luke Kelly of The Dubliners, it’s an absolute hoot, the premise being that – at 200 euros – the device isn’t earning back its investment.

And then, just when you think you’ve got the measure of Hennessy’s schtick, she delivers a soulful ballad about Instagram, which shows off her soaring vocal range to the full.

The hour positively flies by until a final song – which has the entire room happily singing along with the chorus – brings the show to its conclusion. We missed Hennessy at last year’s Fringe but I’m glad we caught her act this time. She’s definitely one to watch and, on this evidence, she won’t remain ‘unfamous’ for very much longer.

4.8 stars

Philip Caveney

Lynn Faces

06/08/24

Summerhall (Main Hall), Edinburgh

There’s no denying it’s an original premise. After all, there aren’t many bands inspired by the facial expressions of Alan Partridge’s long-suffering assistant, Lynn.

But Lynn Faces are here and they’re ready to perform. Leah (Madeleine Macmahon) is turning forty tomorrow, and – after splitting up with her boyfriend, Pete – she needs to do something big to mark the occasion. Encouraged by her friends, Shonagh and Ali (Holly Kavanagh and Peyvand Sadeghian), she’s booked a gig for the hastily-formed titular punk band. Okay, so the drummer they’ve never met is AWOL and – with the exception of Shonagh’s recorder – none of them can actually play an instrument, but how hard can it be? Leah did meet Viv Albertine from The Slits once; she’s bound to have absorbed some talent, right? 

Er, wrong. 

While silly on the surface, Laura Horton’s sophomore play also has some serious points to make about domestic abuse. Leah is devastated by her break-up with Pete,  eagerly awaiting messages from him and reminiscing fondly about how they met. But piece by piece the jigsaw builds until we have a clear picture of what he’s really like and how much damage he has done to her.

Unfortunately, the problem is that the gig really is as bad as it purports to be. Unlike say, The Play That Goes Wrong, where the apparently shoddy is actually perfectly drilled, Lynn Faces is an hour of non-musicians performing bad songs. The poignancy of the final stretches doesn’t feel earned and so it doesn’t land for me. It doesn’t help that I’m sitting next to an air conditioning unit, so any dialogue that happens away from the mic (or behind a Lynn mask) is hard to hear. 

There are some genuinely funny moments – Shonagh’s recorder solo and the Cunt x 40 song, for example – and Summerhall’s Main Hall is sold out, full of people laughing and enjoying the show.

For me though, this feels a bit dialled in. 

2.7 stars 

Susan Singfield

The Transcriber’s Tale

06/08/24

Gilded Balloon (The Patter Hoose), Edinburgh

American actor/ musician Joanna Parson relates the story of the years she spent working for “Transcribers’ Express” (not their real name) in New York City, typing up news reports and magazine bulletins previously recorded on tape. It takes a special skill set to do the job effectively but Parson, armed with her ergonomic keyboard, quickly discovers she has a knack for it. At first it’s just a temporary solution, a way of earning easy money in between auditions for shows that never seem to come off. It’s also a way to finance her grocery and bar bills.

But the short term fix soon develops into long years of service, the day job ousting the dream.  Parson chronicles the ups and downs of her tenure in a series of short songs, accompanying herself on acoustic guitar. She’s a confident performer with a likeable line of patter and the songs range from an upbeat celebration off the joys of whisky to a plaintive, thoughtful meditation on 9/11. She rounds it all off with a jolly singalong, supplying the lyrics on a back projection, and the crowd happily complies.

This is enjoyable though I’m not always convinced that there’s quite enough material here to justify the length of the set and, in some cases – the 9/11 section in particular – Parson is skating over the surface rather than digging deeper into the material. All freelancers will be familiar with the unpredictability of their work and the need for a back-up plan. The revelation that Parson has now set up her own business offering transcribers a friendlier working environment seems to illustrate the old adage ‘if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.’ Surprisingly, the idea that AI could soon supersede such operatives isn’t touched on.

Anybody with an hour to spare at lunchtime should make their way to the Patter Hoose. Ergonomic keyboards are optional.

3.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Chris Dugdale: 11

05/08/24

The Ballroom, Assembly, Edinburgh

At the Fringe, we spend most of our time seeking out new performers whose work we’ve never encountered before. But there are a few honourable exceptions. Back in 2015, as fledgling reviewers at the Festival, we happened upon Chris Dugdale: Sleightly Dishonest and were blown away by it. We weren’t magic fans per se (still aren’t really) but something about the man’s delivery, his brain-scrambling routines, his cheeky persona, chimed with us and we’ve seen him pretty much every year since – apart from when the dreaded COVID cancelled the whole Festival in one fell swoop.

But here he is again with 11 (remember that number), another meticulously arranged head-spinner that is mostly about coincidences – or at least apparent coincidences. One section deals with the attack on the World Trade Centre and the importance of that title is suddenly made clear. 

Dugdale is in a bigger theatre than usual and his wife and two young daughters are sitting in the audience (the latter putting their hands up when he asks for volunteers and having to be politely refused). As ever, we find ourselves laughing at the sheer unbelievability of some of the things we’re witness to, especially the examples of close-up magic, where a video camera is focused on the illusionist’s hands as he does a whole series of impossible things with a pack of cards. There are also some examples of mind control that have us shaking our heads in disbelief – and I may be guilty of muttering the odd expletive.

Oh and did I mention Dugdale’s poster collection? There’s a whole wall of them to stage left, a series of seemingly unconnected images…

As ever with these shows, I can’t give too much away because the best approach to Dugdale’s material is to go in with an open mind and prepare to have it opened a good deal more. But I will say that this is the best show we’ve seen from him and, trust me, it’s a very high bar. Those who like the sound of this should make a beeline for The Ballroom in the Assembly Rooms on George Street, where Mr Dugdale is doing unbelievable things every night.

Walking home afterwards, Susan randomly asks me what time it is. I glance at my watch and can’t help gasping. The numbers on the digital display are 9:11.

Another coincidence? Or is that noise I hear the distant sound of Chris Dugdale chuckling maniacally?

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Rebels and Patriots

05/08/24

Pleasance Courtyard (Upstairs), Edinburgh

“The villainy you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard…”

This Israeli-Palestinian-British co-creation, written by Nadav Burstein and co-produced by Floating Shed and Flabbergast, provides a timely discourse on the devastating nature of war, where ordinary people of all stripes are sacrificed to serve the interests of a powerful few.

The play opens with Wonder Woman and Albert Einstein drinking vodka with two friends, as the teenage protagonists prepare for a fancy dress party. This serves to underscore the quartet’s youth, engaging our sympathy as we realise that three of them have been conscripted into the Israeli Defence Forces. The fourth (Harvey Schorah) has an exemption, courtesy of Crohn’s disease.

Burstein’s efficient deployment of the small cast is impressive: through their stories, we see multiple perspectives on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. There’s the combat pilot (Tom Dalrymple), who’s scared to kill, but believes Israel has no choice but to fight its enemies: “If you wrong us, shall we not revenge?” Then there’s Osher (Tarik Badwan), half-Palestinian and in active service. His name means happiness but he feels torn apart, traumatised by what he’s forced to do. Burstein’s character, meanwhile, is trying every trick in the book to avoid serving in a war he thinks is wrong, even turning to self-harm. It’s all very well for Schorah’s character to go on protest marches and tell his friends that they should rebel: everything he says is right, but they’re in the thick of it, and they’re terrified.

I’m impressed by the openness with which this young company approach this thorniest of topics, gently urging us to interrogate everything we think we know. Shylock’s most famous speech is paraphrased and repeated, refrain-like: “Hath not a Jew…? Hath not an Arab…? If you prick us, do we not bleed?”

Schorah’s character works well as a mirror for the audience. He’s on the outside, like us, making judgements from the comfort of our living rooms. Don’t be misled: the play makes no excuse for genocide. But it does remind us that, when we’re placing blame, we need to focus on the powerful, not the powerless.

Theatrically – as one might expect from Flabbergast – the piece has a fragmented structure, spotlighting first one character and then another. Loosely stitched with a sprinkling of history and Shakespeare, it all adds up to something very thoughtful, and the cast are keen to hear what audience members think. If only the world’s political leaders were as committed to constructive dialogue.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

Paper Swans

05/08/24

Pleasance Courtyard (Upstairs), Edinburgh

As soon as we note that Paper Swans is a Flabbergast production, we know we need to see it. Two of their previous shows, Swell Mob and The Tragedy of Macbeth, are among the most memorable pieces we’ve ever seen at the Fringe, and we’ve seen a lot. We know that – whatever else – Paper Swans is sure to be both experimental and innovative.

We’re not wrong. Written by and co-starring Vyte Garriga, this is a surreal piece depicting a young woman in a park at night, obsessively making the titular paper swans, while a security guard (Daniel Chrisostomou) urges her to leave.

Like most absurdist theatre, the structure is cyclical, reminiscent of a recurring dream, the characters destined to repeat the same encounter over and over. Ambiguous imagery takes precedence over coherent narrative or plot, and we’re left to ponder the possible meanings. Indeed, we spend the whole walk home doing exactly that.

The performances are highly stylised. Garriga, clad in a white leotard and tutu, resembles the origami swans she’s folding; her movement and gestures are like a ballet in slow-mo. Indeed, there are overt references to Swan Lake – to Odette, Odile and Siegfried – as well as to famous ballerinas from the past. Chrisostomou is more clown-like, his exaggerated physicality at first wonderfully comic and then desperately sad. Director Simon Gleave’s choreography is so precise and disciplined that every moment is intense, heightened to the nth degree. There is no let-up here. The hour flashes by and, as the actors take their bows, I realise that I’ve been holding my breath. I don’t know for how long.

What is Paper Swans about? I’m not entirely sure. Garriga’s website tells us that it draws on her personal experience as a woman from a post-Soviet country (Lithuania), “exploring the trauma of oppression, the price of freedom and self-discovery through visual symbolism.” So there’s that. I think it also says something about futility, about how we take up pointless causes and projects and try to make them meaningful, attaching such importance to them that we’re prepared to die rather than give them up. There’s something here about the performative nature of authoritarianism too, about how shedding the apparatus of the oppressor can make people more sympathetic, more human. Who knows? I suspect that, in fact, it’s a hall of mirrors, and all we can see are distorted images of our own mindsets.

Whatever it is, it’s gloriously done. I love it.

4.8 stars

Susan Singfield

So Young

04/08/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

A new play by Douglas Maxwell is always a treat. He’s an insightful playwright, able to walk that precarious tightrope between hilarity and tragedy with absolute authority. So Young is up there with his best work.

The play opens in the bedroom of married couple Liane (Lucianne McEvoy) and Davie (Andy Clark). They are in flagrante delicto and it appears to be going well – all four minutes of it. We know it’s that long because Andy has been timing it on his phone. In the afterglow, he wistfully talks about the years when their couplings could last the entire day, but there’s little time to linger on such details because the couple are already running late. They’re due to meet up with their friend, Milo (Nicholas Karimi), who they have known for years – in Andy’s case since they were best mates at school.

Liane is somewhat dismayed when Davie casually mentions that Milo is planning to introduce them to a new female friend. Both Davie and Liane are uncomfortably aware that Milo lost his wife, Helen, to COVID only three months earlier. The new friend turns out to be Greta (Yana Harris), just twenty years old and a former pupil at the school where Liane teaches. When she mentions that she and Milo are now engaged, Liane cannot help reacting badly to the news. After all, Helen was her best friend in the world and, thanks to the pandemic, there still hasn’t been a proper funeral service. 

As glasses of wine are consumed, it’s clear that there’s going to be a confrontation…

Maxwell always creates utterly believable characters. McEvoy is terrific as the caustic, fearless Liane, who has the ability to nail any target with a few well-chosen phrases and does so with abandon. She also manages to provoke a spontaneous round of applause for her discourse on the importance of female friendship. Gray, meanwhile, is brilliantly funny as the hapless Davie, at one point managing to have the entire audience convulsed with laughter, with nothing more than a series of exasperated looks and the repetition of the words, ‘Three months?’ Karimi has perhaps the trickier task of conveying Milo’s world-view, the difficulties of carrying on alone when his partner is gone. Harris is convincingly bright-eyed and resolute as Greta, fielding Liane’s dismissal of her as a child who knows nothing.

Having got his four characters into such strife, it’s left to Maxwell to conjure a conclusion that satisfies the audience and, once again – ably assisted by director Gareth Nicholls – he manages it with considerable panache. So Young is a perfectly-pitched drama that keeps me hooked throughout.

4.8 stars

Philip Caveney