Author: Bouquets & Brickbats

Stardust

 

11/08/18

Pleasance Dome, Edinburgh

Stardust is all about cocaine – its history, its usage, its properties. It’s about the way a tribal drug, used for thousands of years in religious ceremonies has been taken up by the Western world, exploited and commodified; how people are enslaved by it, murdered because of it and how casual users across the Western world, no matter how they might protest, now have blood on their hands. Make no mistake, this is a hard-hitting piece.

Our MC for this show is Miguel Hernando Torres Umba, a charismatic artist/performer making his debut at the Fringe. He uses many different techniques to get his story across. There are dreamy back projections, and ethereal music. For one section he adopts the persona of a game show host and gets the entire audience to interact with him. In another, he spoofs the famous scene from Scarface where Pacino takes all those bullets. Oh, and did I mention that he’s also an incredible dancer? One section where he depicts, through dance, the way that cocaine acts on the senses is a real highlight for me. He dances like he’s just inadvertently stepped on a 60,000 volt cable… leaping and scrambling around the stage until the inevitable comedown hits him and everything goes eerily into slow motion.

There are plenty of laughs scattered throughout this exciting multi-media show, but it clearly has a very serious message. Umba now lives in London, but was born in Colombia and is understandably sick of the way his nation is habitually depicted, how everybody in the West assumes that his countrymen are all drug dealers. He demonstrates very effectively how the people that grow coca are themselves victims of the organised crime that has grown up around the harvesting of the plant. There are the harrowing testimonies of people too scared not to grow it, people who have seen their relatives tortured and murdered in order to make them obey.

This is a powerful polemic delivered as a slice of entertainment, sharp enough and affecting enough to change hearts and minds. Go and see this and, whatever your views on cocaine, prepare to be enlightened.

4.5 stars

Philip Caveney

 

Gulliver Returns

11/08/18

Underbelly (Big Belly), Cowgate, Edinburgh

Gulliver Returns, written and directed by Dan Coleman, is an interesting piece of work. We first meet Lil (Cathy Conneff), whose introduction warns us that her husband, Adam (Jack Bence), has recently started demanding that she call him Lemuel Gulliver, and that he identifies completely with the protagonist of Swift’s most famous book.

What follows is a clever interweaving of Gulliver’s Travels and Adam’s apparent breakdown, the novel serving as an allegory for Adam’s struggle to cope with bereavement, with loss. Lil humours him, supports him, helps him to tell his tall tales – because she loves him and she wants him to be well. As Gulliver, he moves ever further away from her; by joining in his stories, she tries to draw him back.

It’s serious stuff, with a lot to say about mental health as well as an analysis of a fine piece of literature. But it’s funny too – often laugh out loud – as Lil mediates Lemuel’s pomposity, punctures his self-aggrandisement and sets him right on a few things.

Both actors are first-rate, actually; we are drawn into the horror of their disintegrating marriage, fearing for them even as we laugh at their antics. And there’s some innovative use of puppetry, the Houyhnhnm in particular a curious spectacle. The set – three bookcases and a stool – is remarkably effective, conveying oceans as well as living rooms, simultaneously vast and stifling.

The only thing that lets this down is the venue: there’s water dripping on the bare concrete stairs that lead up to Big Belly, and it stinks in there of damp and mould. But still, it’s worth steeling yourself and putting up with the fetid air for this quirky, fascinating play.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

 

 

A Substitute For Life

11/08/18

Assembly Hall, Edinburgh

A Substitute For Life is an intriguing monologue, written by Simon Brett and performed by Tim Hardy. It’s the story of Francis Kenworthy, a man who has largely abandoned life in order to subsume himself in his greatest passion: books. When we enter the venue, we find him already seated at his desk, surrounded by his beloved tomes. The lights dim and, by candlelight, he tells us his story – about his passion for the work of Wilkie Collins, about his harsh upbringing at the hands of an uncaring father and a cruel governess. He tells us about his brother, who received all the attention, the one who was destined to be the heir, while Francis was merely the ‘spare.’ But of course, time has a habit of correcting the best-laid plans of controlling fathers and this is no exception.

There’s the feel of a Victorian ghost story about this production, though it doesn’t feature any supernatural happenings, unless of course, you include Hardy’s performance, which is absolutely spellbinding. As Kenworthy’s tale unfolds, the audience are drawn closer into his confidence and, despite the fact that he is not the most pleasant of characters, given to the kind of prejudices that were so prevalent at the time, still we fully empathise with his situation – which makes the story’s conclusion all the more powerful – and it would be unfair of me to reveal anything more than that.

Directed by Alison Skilbeck (Hardy’s wife, whose  Are There More of You? is showing in the same venue and with which this would make an excellent double bill), A Substitute For Life is an object lesson in how to deliver a monologue. It also leads me to remark on the way out, that it seems unfair to have so much talent in one family.

But talent there undoubtedly is, and you’ll find it in abundance at the Assembly Hall.

4.5 stars

Philip Caveney

Aye, Elvis

10/08/18

Gilded Balloon, Rose Theatre, Edinburgh

Joyce Falconer stars as Joanie in Morna Young’s engaging play. Joanie’s world is dreary and dull: she bickers daily with her housebound mum, and dreams of something more exciting than her supermarket checkout job. Singing karaoke at the local pub leads to an obsession with Elvis, and she sets herself up as a tribute act, drawn into the cameraderie of online chat groups dedicated to the King. Encouraged by Fat Bob, the pub landlord, she sets out on an ambitious project that is sure to change her life.

Aye, Elvis is a big hit with tonight’s (largely Scottish) audience, who are vocally appreciative throughout, joining in with the big numbers, clapping and laughing and generally enjoying what they see. It’s not hard to see why: this is entertaining, feelgood stuff: silly and poignant and hilarious throughout. Falconer clearly has a strong fan-base here; she has a twinkle in her eye, and seems to be relishing her time on this small stage. Karen Ramsey makes the most of some deliciously acerbic lines as Joanie’s crabby mum, and David McGowan’s Fat Bob is a charming, calming presence.

Dazzlingly costumed and played for laughs, this is a lot of fun, and definitely worth making a trip to see. It even gets a standing ovation from the crowd – the first we’ve seen at this year’s Fringe.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Garrett Millerick: Sunflower

10/08/08

The Tron, Edinburgh

Garrett Millerick is a bit of a favourite with Bouquets & Brickbats. Last year, with The Dreams that Stuff is Made Of, he seemed to be in a very dark place indeed, delivering a set that pulsed with anger and derision. It’s a happier, healthier looking man who steps onto the tiny stage of the Tron, to deliver his latest creation, Sunflower, a title that also seems to suggest we’re in for a brighter experience, this time around. Sure enough, within moments of his very first utterance, the audience is howling with laughter.

Which is ironic when you consider that later on, the show incorporates a moment of such intense personal pain that, for a few moments, we’re literally shocked into stunned silence. The way Millerick expertly reels us back towards the laughs is a testament to his skills as a raconteur. Few comedians can manage to walk such a slippery tightrope quite so effortlessly.

As Millerick is quick to point out, the titles of Fringe shows are decided on long before August – and indeed, it had been his intention to bring something happier this time around. But life has a way of intervening in people’s best-laid plans and Millerick has done a great job of snatching triumph from the jaws of adversity. What he presents instead is a kind of meta-comedy, laying bare the show’s construction, and inviting us to consider the nature of humour.

This show mixes elements of humour and despair with great aplomb. It also features a certain Chesney Hawkes song to great effect. You want to know how? You’ll find the answer at the Tron.

4.5 stars

Philip Caveney

Velvet

10/08/18

Pleasance Courtyard (That), Edinburgh

Tom Ratcliffe’s Velvet is a fascinating piece,  an I-can’t-bear-it-but-I-can’t-look-away depiction of a young actor’s downfall, as unscrupulous industry moguls prey on his vulnerability.

He plays Tom (the name is a nod to the fact that the play, which he has written, while not autobiographical, draws on his own experiences), a recent drama school graduate, ambitious and hopeful, determined to realise his dream. He is working, just not as much as he wants, and – like most actors – he has to take on temping jobs so that he can pay his bills. His banker boyfriend, Matthew, doesn’t really understand; he thinks Tom should pursue other career options, find something more stable, but Tom has a vocation and he needs to follow his star. His mum isn’t much better; she’s over-critical and unsupportive. Tom has no one to turn to when things start to unravel.

And unravel they do, pretty much from the start, when a casting director makes a pass and Tom refuses. It’s all terribly polite, but the ramifications are life-changing. The calls dry up. He’s desperate. And, of course, there are always vultures out there, ready to take advantage of despair.

This is a bravura performance, captivating and engrossing; I’m utterly beguiled. There is a disarming authenticity to the piece, which draws us deep into Tom’s world. It’s a clear example, too, of why the #MeToo movement matters: there are people with too much power, abusing their positions to control the powerless. Of course Tom makes foolish decisions; he doesn’t know what else to do. The establishment have closed ranks, barred him; he hasn’t danced to their tune and now he must be punished.

It’s painful to watch, and all too convincing. Ratcliffe performs with real openness, so that Tom’s humiliation makes us hurt with him, and I find myself blinking away tears. The play’s structure is interesting, a non-linear depiction of events, with simple light and sound effects jolting us in and out of key moments. I like the image of the casting couch too, the velvet chaise longue that remains onstage throughout, a permanent reminder of what this is about.

This is a triumph, actually – and deserves a bigger audience than the one we were part of today.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

John Hegley

09/08/18

Assembly Studios, George Square

Standing in the queue for this show, I can’t help noting that, almost unbelievably, 2018 marks John Hegley’s 30th anniversary as a performer. My mind inevitably flashes back to the first time I saw him, at a working men’s club somewhere on the outskirts of Manchester. It was the late 1980s and a friend had dragged me along, assuring me that I was going to see something ‘pretty special.’ There was a raffle, I remember, and a cataclysmically unfunny compere… and my expectations were on a level with a crocodile’s belly.

And then, on strode John Hegley. He opened with a poem about a farting dog and I remember laughing so hard I  almost pulled a muscle. Happy days.

And here we are, all these years later, and Hegley really hasn’t changed that much. Not that I want him to. His gigs really are rather unique, giving the impression of a  ramshackle happening, when in reality, of course, his years of experience have taught him exactly how to handle any audience. On he trots with the demeanour of a grumpy school teacher, not even trying to hide his disappointment at today’s rather meagre gathering. He puts on a shiny hat and launches into a song about Guillemots (which let’s face it are seriously underrepresented at the Fringe), issuing us with complicated hand movements to accompany each line. He pauses periodically to draw our attention to any latecomers as they try to quietly sneak in, making them part of the show, telling them off and yet, somehow, drawing them to his side.

On the face of it, it’s very straightforward stuff. There are short poems from different points of his career, some songs, which we are invited… no, commanded to join in with and, because he has the use of a very large stage, he even throws in a bit of dancing, bringing people up from the crowd so he can instruct them in some half-remembered routine. It doesn’t lead anywhere, but hey, he has to use that big stage somehow, right?

And just when you think it’s all going to be lightweight stuff, he throws in a poem about his parents which is genuinely poignant, before leading us into a spirited singalong about the estate in Luton where he grew up. (He assigns us really difficult accompanying parts to sing on the chorus. Of course he does.)

This is affable and entertaining stuff. It won’t change your life or make the earth move, but you’ll have a really nice time and you’ll laugh a lot. Which is not to be underestimated.

I hope Hegley is around for many years to come, doing what he does so well.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

 

The Basement Tapes

09/08/18

Summerhall, Edinburgh

Zanetti Productions’ The Basement Tapes is a startling piece of theatre, compelling and surprising, throbbing with energy. The site-specific environment of the creepily named ‘Former Women’s Locker Room’, deep in the bowels of the Summerhall building, all clanking radiator pipes and low ceilings, enhances the rising tension, and we find ourselves utterly enthralled.

Stella Reid plays a girl who, after her grandmother’s death, is tasked with clearing out her home. We’re with her in the cluttered basement, resonant with memories, boxes everywhere. The girl is part way through her onerous assignment: some of the boxes are open, their contents strewn around the room. She’s clearly bored, dancing as she works, pausing to order pizza, trying on her grandma’s coat. She grapples with unfamiliar technology: calling her mum via a landline, because there’s no mobile signal here; intrigued by an old tape recorder and a bag full of cassettes.

From hereon in, the story revolves around those cassettes, those titular basement tapes. The eerie, disembodied voice of her dead grandmother weaves its way into the tale, taking us (and the girl) on a strange journey, with macabre revelations that really make the spine tingle.

The atmosphere is fraught, crackling like the electricity that intermittently cuts out, leaving us in darkness as black as the secrets that have been set free. Stella Reid’s performance is powerful and riveting; I realise, as I leave, that I have been holding my breath.

An exciting, innovative production from this award-winning New Zealand company, the show is deservedly sold out for much of its run. If you can, get hold of a ticket now while there are still a few available.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

Stupid Cupid

09/08/18

Underbelly, Med Quad

Stupid Cupid marks Canadian Liz McMullan’s first show on the Fringe, a one woman monologue written by Kerianne Cameron and Miguel Eichelberger. McMullan plays the titular wannabe cupid, who has come along to the venue to take her ‘cupidity test.’ She hopes to be awarded an official set of wings, at which point she will be allowed to go forth and wreak havoc on an unsupecting world with her little bow and arrow

But an administrative error has left several other bows stored in the room where she’s taking her exam. These are the infamous Bows of Destiny, belonging to her illustrious predecessors, and she has been warned not to go near them. But, when she inadvertently spikes herself with a love arrow, she cannot help but pick up each bow in turn, to try it out for herself…

I’ll confess that my first impressions of this are not promising. The concept feels a little too sacharine for my taste and I’m fully expecting not to enjoy it – but McMullen soon wins me over with her assured and confident performance, interracting expertly with the audience and displaying not one ounce of inhibition as she careers through all aspects of love from prim and correct to downright saucy. (A gentle word of warning. This may not be suitable for children.)

Love, we learn, is a complicated process – and McMullen is the perfect guide to help us steer a path through the potential pitfalls.

Charming and thoroughly enjoyable stuff. Those of a romantic disposition, should pop along for further instructions – and it seems, there’s even hope for grumpy old devils like me.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

 

Blue Heart

08/08/18

C Too, St Columba’s by the Castle, Edinburgh

The Bathway Theatre Company comprises students and recent alumni from the University of Greenwich, and they have certainly chosen a complex piece for their Edinburgh Fringe debut. Caryl Churchill’s 1997 Blue Heart consists of two one-act plays, and they are both extremely difficult. But these young performers seem undaunted, rising gamely to the challenge, proving that they are more than capable of delivering Churchill’s high concept work.

First up is Heart’s Desire, where a London-based family awaits a visit from their daughter, who has been living in Australia. They run through the same scene, again and again, some ideas repeated word for word, while others change or are replaced. It’s about wish-fulfilment, clearly, about divergent paths, and choices made. We think it’s also probably about the writing process, about the possibilities of a blank page, of editing and redrafting. Whatever, it must be hard work to perform, a nightmare to remember lines where the same cues act as prompts for different responses, but these actors make short work of it. Bethan Shaw is both funny and tragic as the girl’s mother, Alice, her timing impeccable, and Jason Kennedy (as Bryan) and Jess Buckley (Maisie) are also impressive, his obvious anxiety contrasting beautifully with her placid acceptance.

The second act is Blue Kettle, starring John Dawson as Derek, an adoptee apparently seeking his birth mother, convincing several women that he is their son. His aim, he says, is to defraud them, to claim their money – and they are more than willing to believe his story; they want it to be true. The title refers to the disintegration of language in this piece – the words ‘blue’ and ‘kettle’ are inserted into the dialogue with increasing frequency, at first replacing just occasional nouns, or verbs that rhyme with blue, but soon reducing whole conversations to repeated utterances of the same two words – yet still, somehow, we can discern the meaning, the essence of what’s being said. It’s as audacious an idea as we might expect from Churchill, and another mighty challenge for the performers. But again, this company proves its worth, earning our admiration for their control of the material. Blue Kettle is more of an ensemble piece than Heart’s Desire and the actors work skilfully together – even the detailed set change between the acts is perfectly choreographed, woven into the production, fascinating to observe.

Tucked away down a flight of stairs at the back of a church on Johnson Terrace, this might be hard to find. But it’s well worth seeking out this ambitious production – it really is a little gem.

4 stars

Susan Singfield