Month: March 2025

The Happiness index: Jonny & the Baptists

13/03/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

We’ve been aware of Jonny & the Baptists for quite some time, though we’ve somehow never managed to catch their act… until now. This is strange when you consider that we saw (and enjoyed) Jonny Donahoe’s delightful solo piece, Every Brilliant Thing, at the Edinburgh Fringe way back in 2015. 

Still, no matter – here we are at the Traverse 2 and there’s Jonny and his ‘Baptists’ (Paddy Gervers – don’t worry it’s explained later), decked out in their colourful Lucy and Yak jumpsuits and ready to launch themselves into their latest opus.

The Happiness Index – so I’m reliably informed – was originally conceived by one David Cameron, some time before he steered the UK into the disastrous car crash that was Brexit. It was, allegedly, a means of qualifying exactly how ‘happy’ his constituents were. As two struggling self-employed performers, both plagued by mental health issues and coming to terms with the fact that performing in Europe was now effectively off the cards, Jonny and Paddy were not chuckle-bunnies. And as the Conservatives’ disastrous years in power unfolded, the pair were clearly not destined to have much respite from the situation.

The ensuing account of their years of struggle could so easily be a tale of steadily-mounting misery, but instead we’re treated to a kind of stream-of-consciousness blitzkrieg, composed of equal parts caustic patter and seemingly unrelated songs, all of which are bitterly funny and most of which have me laughing out loud, sometimes in outright disbelief at what’s just been said.

Somewhere in there, there’s J and the B’s woeful attempts to compose advertising jingles – I can only picture the looks of disbelief of the faces of the people who might have commissioned them. There’s a thank you to one Nigel Farage, whose outraged complaint about being ‘mocked by people who are taking money from the Arts Council’ alerted the performers to the fact that they might actually be eligible for such funding in the first place. There are songs about the various medications for depression and their potential side effects. There’s a swift summation of Liz Truss’s short lived prime-ministerial career. And there’s a song about a monkey’s funeral (of course there is!) that frankly defies description.

If the object of tonight’s exercise is to lift my spirits, then Jonny & the Baptists succeed in epic style. Maybe it’s simply that I’m on the same wavelength as them, but this is one of the funniest shows I’ve seen in a very long time. Afterwards, I spend an hour or so on YouTube, checking out some of the duo’s greatest hits, which are well worth further investigation.

In short, if your own happiness index is at a low ebb, my prescription would be to find a venue where Jonny & the Baptists are playing and get yourselves down there at your earliest opportunity. If laughter really is the best medicine, this is the place to get your fix.

4.2 stars

Philip Caveney 

Spring Awakening

12/03/25

Bedlam Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s mind-blowing to think that Frank Wedekind’s Frühlings Erwachen was written in 1890, when Kaiser Wilhelm II ruled the Deutsches Reich, Queen Victoria was on the British throne and Robert Gascoyne-Cecil (nope, me neither) was our PM. In a world where women weren’t even allowed to show their ankles, it’s not surprising that it was sixteen years before someone dared to stage this controversial exposé of the dangers of repression, with its bold depictions of teenage sexuality – not to mention rape, suicide and abuse.

Steven Sater and Duncan Sheik’s musical adaptation premiered on Broadway in 2006, exactly one hundred years after Wedekind’s play finally opened at Berlin’s Deutsches Theater, under the direction of Max Reinhardt. Despite the addition of some banging rock songs and more than a few profanities, this modern version actually pulls more punches than the original, most notably by omitting the rape and softening the ending. Nonetheless, it still has the capacity to shock, and to remind us that we make sex dangerous by hiding it, by making it taboo.

Set in 19th century Germany, this is a story about a group of young people coming of age under the stifling weight of moral expectations. Wendla (Hattie Sumners) asks how babies are made. Scandalised, her mother (Sophie Davis, who plays all the adult women) first shouts and then equivocates, condemning her daughter to an ignorance which will have severe consequences. Meanwhile, Moritz (Shaun Hamilton) is struggling to keep up with his schoolwork, and fear of failure takes him to a devastating place. Melchior (Daniel Fischer) seems stronger than the others: thanks to a combination of intelligence and a liberal mother, he’s more knowledgeable than his friends, and therefore better equipped to cope with life. Still, the authoritarian regimes of school and church soon drag him under too; no one is safe in this society.

Theatre Paradok’s production succeeds in conveying those most fundamental of teenage emotions: exuberance and despair (I’m guessing the student cast don’t have to dig that deeply to remember how raw and overwhelming those feelings can be). Sheik’s eclectic soundtrack is beautifully interpreted by musical directors Nonny Jones and Ruairidh Nicholson, the choral numbers being particularly impressive. The live band – hidden in the wings – are terrific, and plaintive solos by Sumners, Gemima Iseka-Bekano (Ilse) and Hamilton evoke some strong responses.

The show’s aesthetic is great. I love the androgyny of the costumes, with feminine dresses worn over masculine suits; the queer coding is fabulously done. The set is simple but very effective: items of underwear are stapled to a curtain framing a large gauze backdrop, onto which short animations and live videos are projected, creating an ethereal doubling effect and amplifying the characters’ emotions.

Directors Rue Richardson and Jane Morgan manage their large cast with aplomb. The play is dynamic and visually very appealing, from the arresting choreography (by Františka Vosátková, along with Richardson, Morgan and Andrea Adriana Prawono) to the boisterous shenanigans of the teenage boys. The gauze curtain makes metaphors literal: dead characters appear from ‘beyond the veil’, while ‘a veil is drawn’ over Wendla and Melchior’s lovemaking. However, Ernst (Michael Butler) and Hänschen (Max Middleton)’s homosexual relationship is placed boldly centre-stage – perhaps a subtle nod to the idea that some things shouldn’t be re-closeted.

I do have one criticism, and it’s the emergency exit door, stage left, which is open to the elements. Bedlam is a chilly venue at the best of times; tonight, with an outside temperature of 1°C, I could do without sitting in a freezing draught. And it’s not just the cold that’s a problem, there’s the noise of the city too: traffic and sirens and people passing by, all making a claim on my attention. I can see that the options are limited by the need to house the band, but – for the sake of one entrance and one exit – it’s surely not worth making the audience so uncomfortable.

Nevertheless, this production of Spring Awakening is a triumph: a lively, thought-provoking piece of theatre, as relevant now as it was more than a century ago.

4.2 stars

Susan Singfield


Kev Campbell Was He

11/03/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Today’s A Play, A Pie and A Pint performance  begins in unprepossessing style: an empty stage with a toilet placed centrally; uptempo music thundering along for quite some time – almost too much time – and then our titular hero bursts frantically into view, pulls down his pants and er… relieves himself. 

Mission accomplished, Kev (Alexander Tait) realises that the toilet cubicle he is sitting in is entirely free of graffiti, so he sets about changing that situation, by the application of his trusty pen – of which we will learn more later. Kev, as you may have gathered, is a bit of a lad, a freewheeling Glasgow boy, stuck in a dead-end job at a backstreet cafe. He has little prospect of achieving much in his life, but is determined to drink and laugh and chat shite, in order to get himself through another day and late into the following night.

And if he is occasionally given to indulging in strange cinematic fantasies, well, where’s the harm in that? We all get through it the best way we can, eh?

And then somebody steps into the cubicle next to Kev and sits down to read The Great Gatsby, an occurrence that inadvertently kicks off a string of events that will eventually encourage Kev to head off in an entirely different direction…

For the first ten minutes or so, I don’t really think I’m destined to enjoy Kev Campbell Was He, which appears at first to be a series of character studies, offering insights into the respective mindsets of the people Kev knows, but offering little in the way of anything surprising. But my preconceptions are cleverly shattered when the story takes a beguiling and unexpected twist and I begin to  realise that this is a tale about thwarted ambition – about a youth shackled by his working-class origins for too long. It’s about someone who has been told repeatedly that to nurture a dream is futile, that attempting to step into a world where he doesn’t quite fit can only end in tears. 

In many ways, it makes me think back to my own younger days, when I nursed powerful ambitions to become a writer and everyone was virtually lining up to tell me why I couldn’t hope to step into that rarified atmosphere. Fifty-odd novels later, the message of the play hits home with considerable force. People are so often warned not to chase their dreams but at the end of the day, what else do we have?

Tait is an assured young performer who handles the different personas he inhabits with total confidence and makes me believe in each one of them. But he’s not just an actor, he’s also a playwright: Kev Campbell Was He is his debut play, recently nominated for the David McLennan Award. It’s by turns funny, sad and bittersweet and, I have to say, it’s a promising start for somebody who seems destined to go on to greater heights.

All this, plus a pie and a pint. What are you waiting for?

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Mickey 17

09/03/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

After several lengthy delays, Bong Joon-Ho’s follow-up to 2019’s Oscar-winning smash, Parasite, finally makes it into the UK’s multiplexes. Mickey 17 is frankly nothing like its eminent predecessor, closer in tone to the director’s earlier films like Snowpiercer and Okja, the kind of futuristic sci-fi adventures that first helped him build his stellar reputation.

It’s 2054 and the world (as widely predicted) is going to hell in a handcart – so much so that its inhabitants are literally fighting for places on an upcoming space mission to seek out a new habitable planet. The mission is spearheaded by failed Presidential candidate, Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo), a man so obsessed with his own image he grabs every opportunity to film himself looking suitably heroic. He’s always accompanied by his clingy, sauce-obsessed partner, Yifa (Toni Collette), whose ideas he quickly appropriates and passes off as his own.

Shy, bumbling Mickey Barnes (Robert Pattinson) and his dodgy best friend, Timo (Steven Yeun), have pressing reasons to secure berths on Marshall’s spacecraft. Their recently launched Macaron business has gone tits-up. Timo financed the venture by borrowing money from a famously terse mobster who is known for exacting recompense from defaulters by the liberal application of a chainsaw – so making themselves scarce seems like a good idea.

Timo (typically) manages to land himself a plum role on the mission, but poor Mickey has to resort to signing himself up as an ‘Expendable.’ As the mysterious ‘Red Hair’ (Holiday Grainger) explains, he will be expected to undertake a series of potentially lethal experiments whilst on board, but no matter, because all his genetic information will be stored in a database. In the event of his death, the company will simply print a new version of him, all ready to start over. What could possibly go wrong?

On the long journey, Mickey’s luck appears to change for the better when he clicks with security officer, Nasha (Naomi Ackie), and enjoys a loving and sexual relationship with her, even though such shenanigans are openly discouraged by Marshall. But once the ship has landed on the ice-bound planet of Niflheim, Mickey begins to appreciate how easily his life can be repeatedly snatched away from him, as he is used as a guinea pig to test out the potentially deadly atmosphere. And once that problem is solved, there are the native creatures to deal with: huge woodlouse-like beasts, quickly dubbed by Yifa as ‘Creepers.’ But are they really as ominous as they look?

Mickey 17 has all the hallmarks of Bong’s sci-fi work. It looks astonishing, particularly the footage on Niflheim, where countless numbers of Creepers go on the rampage. Pattison is terrific in the title role and in the scenes where he has to be both Mickeys 17 and 18, manages to subtly convey the tiny differences between them with considerable skill. Ruffalo also shines in a role where the similarities with the USA’s current president are clearly entirely intentional. (Ironically, the fact that the film’s been held back for so long only serves to accentuate the character’s monstrous ego and constant need to self-aggrandise – all familiar from watching the traits play out on the daily news reports.)

I’d be lying if I said that this is a perfect film. For one thing, there are far too many characters and even a running time of two-hours-seventeen-minutes fails to offer enough space for Bong to fully explore them all. You will briefly spot the likes of Thomas Turgoose and Tim Key in cameo roles, but it’s the female characters in particular who are given short shrift. Grainger’s early appearance suggests that ‘Red Head’ is going to be important to the story but she just fades away as the film progresses. Collette does the best she can with what little Yifa is given to work with, but it’s never really enough.

That said, I find the film fascinating and I love the lo-fi nature of the future of space exploration, full of glitches and hiccups – and the ways in which the lust for personal glory will always vanquish the need to act with compassion towards strangers. Bong (who also wrote the screenplay, based on a novel by Edward Ashton) seems to delight in his central premise, that the rights of the individual come pretty low down the pecking order in the pursuit of so-called progress.

Characters constantly ask Mickey Barnes the same question: ‘What’s it like to die?’ To which he is never able to supply a satisfactory answer. And perhaps that’s because the central premise is so elusive – that age-old mystery about mortality and what it really means. To be – or not to be?

Mickey 17 is proof, if ever needed, that even when he’s not quite firing on all cylinders, Bong Joon-Ho is still one of the world’s most downright watchable directors. I have a blast with this. However, those who come expecting Parasite 2 will definitely be disappointed.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

James Rowland: Piece of Work

08/03/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Piece of Work is the second in James Rowland’s Songs of the Heart trilogy. We saw the first, Learning to Fly, back in November 2023, and we’ve yet to catch the third, James Rowland Dies at the End of the Show. We’re here tonight with a friend and we’ve warned her about Rowland’s propensity for undressing, so none of us is particularly surprised when the show starts with him removing his T shirt and trackies and replacing them with plaid pyjamas. We’re just relieved he’s kept his undies on this time – and also a little confused by the costume choice. What do PJs have to do with anything? There’s nothing about him being in bed or even much about him being indoors…

Instead, this is a story about fathers and sons: about Rowland coming to terms with his old man’s death; about his ersatz brother, Chris, whose dad rejected him; and about The Prince of Denmark and Old Hamlet. The three narratives are interwoven, shining a (literal) light on the complexities of paternal relationships and their potentially devastating impact. Rowland, Chris, Hamlet – all abandoned, one way or another. All railing at their absent fathers for leaving them to deal with a scary, fucked-up world.

It’s also a story about suicide, and Hamlet’s ideation in the “to be or not to be” soliloquy is rendered very explicit here. It’s heavy stuff, but Rowland has a light touch, and knows just when to pull us back from the brink. His openness and affability make it easy to trust him with weighty topics without feeling overwhelmed.

It’s a great concept and Rowland has a charmingly vulnerable stage persona, but there are elements of the story that feel under-explored, especially the climactic confrontation between Chris and Dick, which feels almost thrown away. There’s surely more to explore in the tale of Rowland’s performance at the Royal College of Music too; for such a frank actor, it really seems like he’s holding back.

Nonetheless, I’m drawn into the story, and I find myself wanting to know where Rowland goes in the final part of this trilogy.

3.2 stars

Susan SIngfield

The Testament of Gideon Mack

06/03/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Gideon Mack (Kevin Lennon) has a wee problem, one that has plagued him since his childhood. He an atheist, a belief instilled in him after growing up under the watchful eyes of his hard-bitten father, James (Matthew Zajac) , a God-fearing minister for the Church of Scotland. So why, you might ask has Gideon gone into the same profession?

Well, he’s a keen jogger and he loves nothing better than raising money for charity. Being in the church gives him the opportunity to ensure that the funds he raises go to worthwhile causes. For a long time, it seems to work, but then, out running one day, Gideon stumbles and falls into the water of a nearby gorge, a place that figures highly in the local myths and superstitions. During a mysterious absence of three days, he becomes acquainted with this fellow who is… well, to put it mildly, rather devilish.

Based on the novel by James Robertson (long-listed for the Booker prize in 2006 and itself inspired by James Hogg’s The Private Memoirs of a Justified Sinner), The Testament of Gideon Mack is an intriguing, picaresque tale that follows its protagonist from childhood to manhood, exploring the juxtaposition (and in many cases similarities) between God and Satan.

Mack is a fascinating character, never entirely evil but always open to the powers of persuasion. He’s perfectly willing to follow the advice of his wife, Jenny (Blythe Jandoo), who persuades him to go into religion in the first place – and, after her tragic death, he’s all-too willing to plunge headlong into a passionate affair with Elsie (Rebecca Wilkie) one of his parishioners, the wife of his best friend. But we know, don’t we, that such transgressions will inevitably come at a price…

Lennon is eminently watchable in the title role, nailing Gideon’s haplessness as he blunders helplessly from one complication to the next, while the true stroke of genius here is that Zajac (who also wrote this sprightly adaptation) gets to play both Gideon’s priggish father and that devilish acquaintance I mentioned earlier, thus reinforcing all their similarities. Aidan O’ Rourke contributes an immersive soundtrack, Sasha Harrington provides distinctive movement sequences for the eight-strong cast and Meghan de Chastelain directs all the various elements with considerable skill to create an effective and compelling night at the theatre.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Driftwood

05/03/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

The opening moments of Driftwood are intense. To say this co-production by ThickSkin and Pentabus thrusts us straight into the action would be an understatement. One moment we’re in a brightly lit auditorium, muted chatter all around us, eyes drawn to the hypnotic rippling of the backdrop’s projected seascape. The next – without warning – there’s a blackout, paired with the thunderous roaring of crashing waves, and two boys, Mark and Tiny, in danger of drowning, are yelling each other’s names, desperately scrabbling to make it to shore.

That’s the past. And then, suddenly, we’re in the present. The boys are now men. Tiny (Jerome Yates) isn’t so tiny any more, and he hasn’t seen his older brother, Mark (James Westphal) in years. Not only is Tiny still in County Durham, he’s still in Seaton Carew, still living with their dad. He feels connected to the area – to its shoreline, its myths and to his family history. Anyway, he couldn’t leave if he wanted to. His dad needs a full-time carer and Tiny has filled that role for the past four years.

But now he finds himself on shifting sands. Dad is about to die. Mark – gay, estranged from his homophobic father – has come back from Manchester to say goodbye. The brothers love each other but they resent each other too. Tiny’s angry that he’s been left alone to cope, while Mark can’t quite forgive Tiny for sticking with the old man, nor for parroting his father’s homophobic slurs when he was young.

Tim Foley’s sprightly script keeps the story moving forward, even though most of the real drama happens offstage, the focus instead on the brothers’ relationship and their attempts to reconcile their differences. So we don’t get to meet Dad, nor to attend his funeral; we don’t see the arguments that led to Mark leaving; we’re told about but never shown the environmental protests dividing the town. It doesn’t matter. The piece feels very immersive nonetheless, thanks in no small part to Sarah Readman’s videos and Lee Affen’s rousing sound design. The ever-present image of the closed steelworks looming over the bay is affecting, reminding us throughout how bleak Tiny’s life is, his stubborn attachment to his home equal parts understandable and heartbreaking.

Yates and Westphal imbue both brothers with a likeable vulnerability: Mark’s obscured by a brittle carapace of self-protection; Tiny’s writ large in his wide-eyed naïvety. Co-directors Neil Bettles and Elle While strike an impressive balance between stillness and dynamism, Mark’s quiet rationalism contrasting effectively with Tiny’s chimerical obsessions. I especially like the funereal pace of the scene where the brothers dress for their father’s burial, the conceit conveying the emotions of the funeral without explicitly placing us there.

On tour until 31st March, Driftwood has – ahem – drifted on from Edinburgh now, but you can still catch it in Coventry, Ipswich, Leeds and Salford. It’s well worth an evening of your time.

4.2 stars

Susan Singfield

The Last Showgirl

02/03/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

I haven’t seen any of Pamela Anderson’s previous work (Baywatch never appealed) so my knowledge of her is limited to three headline facts: red swimsuit, sex tapes and – recently – no make-up. I’m not surprised that this reductive list doesn’t do the woman justice, but I am impressed by her nuanced performance in Gia Coppola’s latest film.

Anderson is Shelly, the titular last showgirl, still strutting her stuff in a Vegas casino. The clock is ticking, both for Shelly and the show itself. They’re both past their sell-by dates, and they’re being pushed aside for newer, brighter, fresher fare. But the fifty-seven-year-old has devoted her whole life to Le Razzle Dazzle and she doesn’t know who she is without it. News of the show’s impending closure is utterly devastating.

The sacrifices Shelly has made are huge. For more than thirty years, she has placed this job before her marriage, her security, even before her daughter, Hannah (Billie Lourd). But it turns out her bosses owe her nothing in return: no pension, no severance pay, no training for a different job. And, this being the USA, she won’t even have any health insurance when the curtain falls for the final time. What has it all been for?

Kate Gersten’s screenplay is deceptively simple, a layering of vignettes that slowly build to something quite profound. We already know how vampiric the industry is, sucking the last drop of blood from its initially willing victims before callously discarding them and calling, “Next!” Here, we see what happens to the husks it leaves behind.

At its heart, The Last Showgirl is a film about delusion, about the myths we tell ourselves to justify our lives. Shelly clings to the idea that Le Razzle Dazzle is a cut above, a Parisian-style extravaganza of glamour and elegance. But when Hannah sees the show, she bursts her mom’s balloon. “I’d hoped it would be worth it,” she says, before eviscerating Shelly’s dream, denouncing it as tawdry and outmoded, a nude show like any other – nothing special at all.

And Shelly’s not the only one. Her old friend Annette (Jamie Lee Curtis) gave up dancing long ago, and claims to be happy working as a hostess on a casino floor. But she is sent home whenever the place is quiet, her boss favouring her younger colleagues. No wonder she drinks; no wonder she gambles. Jodie (Kiernan Shipka) is only nineteen, but she’s already starting to realise the costs of pursuing her art, as her family disown her. Meanwhile, Eddie (Dave Bautista) is immune to the devastation. He’s a nice guy, seemingly quiet and kind, but he’s not at the mercy of a sexist world. He’ll be kept on to do the lighting for the next batch of sexy young women who come to the venue to perform.

The Last Showgirl is – ironically – an unshowy film. The social commentary is sharp but it’s cleverly-cloaked; the characters bold but the performances restrained. There’s a lot going on beneath the rhinestones and feathers.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

I’m Still Here

01/03/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Directed by Walter Salles and based on the true story of lawyer and activist, Eunice Paiva – brilliantly played by Fernanda Torres – I’m Still Here is the deeply affecting story of a mother, who, after her husband’s sudden disappearance, is obliged to pick up the pieces of her shattered life and forge a new one for herself and her family. Torres’ performance has already won her a Golden Globe for Best Actress and she could well figure in this year’s Oscars.

The story begins in Rio Di Janeiro in 1971, where a military dictatorship has been in power for seven years and where citizens can be stopped and searched, even arrested without warning. Eunice lives a comfortable existence in the affluent sea-side Leblon neighbourhood with her husband, Rubens (Selton Mello), a civil engineer and former politician. The couple have five children – four daughters and a son – and they are planning to build a spacious new home on a plot of land close by. Life is eventful and fulfilling and features a lot of parties, where Eunice’s soufflé figures prominently.

But all the family’s long-cherished ambitions come crashing down one night when six men, claiming to belong to the Brazilian military, enter the house and take Rubens to some unspecified location for ‘questioning’. Some time later, Eunice and one of her daughters, Eliana (Luiza Kosovski), are also arrested. Forced to put on blindfolds, they are taken to the same unknown destination and interrogated for twelve days. When they are eventually released there’s still no word of Rubens and it begins to dawn on Eunice that her husband has become one of ‘the Disappeared’ – those luckless individuals lost to the ruthless machinations of the state. The family is going to have to rethink its plans and start over…

I’m Still Here is a powerfully affecting (and, given recent developments in the USA, utterly terrifying) story of what can happen when a far-right government is given free rein to act as it pleases. Salles cannily uses the framing device of a series of staged photographs, marking different occasions across the family’s history. The sense of passing time is beautifully captured in both Adrian Tejido’s sun-kissed cinematography and Warren Ellis’s nostalgic soundtrack. As the years pass we see the hope that Rubens might one day return gradually diminish.

The script by Murilo Hauser and Heita Lorega – based on the autobiography of Eunice’s son, Marcelo Rubens Paiva – captures the unfolding narrative with absolute authority. A heartbreaking coda towards the film’s poignant conclusion has me in floods of helpless tears. This film is both an accomplished recollection of a piece of recent history and a stark warning about where the world could so easily be heading.

This might not be the most showy of this year’s Oscar nominations, but it may just be the most powerful – and Torres’ performance is truly extraordinary.

5 stars

Philip Caveney