Author: Bouquets & Brickbats

Julius Caesar


Debating Hall, Teviot Row House, Edinburgh

It’s a fascinating concept – Shakespeare’s classic play reimagined as a gangster epic.

Imagine those stirring soliloquies as delivered by a young Robert De Niro or Al Pacino – the senate represented by mob mosses and wise guys, bustling around the tables of a crowded nightclub while a live band blasts out spirited jazz. That’s what we have here and, fortuitously, the baroque setting of the Teviot’s debating hall proves to be the ideal location. EUSOG have never lacked ambition and this production, directed by Devki Panchmatia, may be their most confident offering yet. There’s a powerful buzz tonight and extra seats have to be added at the last minute to accommodate an enthusiastic audience.

In this version, Francesco Davi plays the titular role as a swaggering Don, appearing to general acclaim while a fawning Mark Antony (Julia Lisa) hangs on his every word and wastes no opportunity to ingratiate himself. But Cassius (Tom Wells) is growing tired of obeying the whims of a man he perceives as a ruthless dictator. He enlists Caesar’s old friend, Brutus (Haig Lucas), as his co-conspirator. It isn’t long before they have enlisted the services of others with similar intentions and a fateful date is set: the Ides of March, where Caesar will meet with bloody retribution..,.

I’ve always felt that the play is oddly weighted, the first half culminating in one of the bard’s finest scenes (and, as performed by Julia Lisa, it’s certainly the high point of this production). The final third feels more ramshackle, condensing years of civil war into a few brief skirmishes – and there’s also the impression that some of the longer interactions could benefit from some judicious editing. I know, I know. A bit late to bring it up now!

Unfortunately, the play starts later than the advertised time and the interval stretches on for so long that the hard-earned momentum evaporates and the cast have to work really hard to recapture it. It must also be said that the decision to stick rigidly to those wise-guy accents means that it’s not always an easy matter to follow every character’s dialogue. Those audience members who know the speeches by heart will have no issue with that, but it’s a while since I last studied the play and, occasionally, I find myself struggling.

Still, there’s much here to admire. Victoria White’s costume design is impeccable and Luca Stier’s set convincingly evokes the atmosphere of a nightclub. Isabelle Hodgson offers up a sneering, duplicitous Casca, while Tom Cresswell manages to shine both as Cicero and in his brief appearance as Cinna the poet.

The strobe-lit fight scenes are effectively done, while Panchmatia manages to keep a large cast moving around the crowded stage with great efficiency. And of course, it’s always heartening to witness a young company showing total commitment to a challenging project. Here, EUSOG deliver a Julius Caesar like no other.

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney

Until It’s Gone


Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

This sprightly two-hander packs a lot into its fifty-minute running time. Until It’s Gone is the first of 2023’s A Play, a Pie and a Pint offerings, and it’s a corker: Alison Carr’s tight and cleverly-crafted script imagines a future where all of womankind have disappeared, and men are left to make the best of a world without them. In stark contrast to Charlotte Perkins-Gilman’s Herland, where women have created a female Utopia, this male-only Scotland is a dystopian mess, its citizens desperate for the women to return from their unspecified and unexplained exile.

We’re offered a glimpse into this terrifying scenario through a simple park-bench, chalk-and-cheese set-up: a meeting between an eager young man of twenty-five (Sean Connor) and a gruff older one (Billy Mack). They’ve been matched by a supposedly ‘world-beating’ app, but this is not a date – or at least, not a conventional one. They are two avowedly heterosexual, cis-gendered men, following a strict government mandate to ‘connect’ – because things aren’t sustainable as they are. Through this smallest of microcosms, Carr seeds just enough information into the men’s darkly comic dialogue to allow us to envisage the bigger picture, the tortured society in which they live, where schools are closed, most interactions happen online, and everything feels wrong.

The characters are beautifully realised, played with warmth and humour by Connor and Mack, even as they expose the men’s real pain. The generational divide is deftly managed, the initial chasm between them narrowing as they talk and share confidences, slowly realising that they’re more alike than not, that their shared fate should bind them rather than pull them apart.

Under Caitlin Skinner’s assured direction, the play’s political points are clearly made without ever feeling intrusive. I like the cheeky use of tableaux and blackouts to mark the passage of time at the beginning, and the set – by Gemma Patchett and Jonny Scott – is modest but strikingly effective. I’m especially drawn to the myriad images of women adorning the tumbledown walls, and find myself wondering if they are ‘missing’ posters or simply photos, there to remind the men of what they’ve lost. 

Because, of course, you never know until it’s gone…

4.4 stars

Susan Singfield

The Bonham: “Boozy Snoozy Lunch”


Drumsheugh Gardens, Edinburgh

Six years ago and still fairly new to life in Edinburgh, we took advantage of a special offer we found online and booked ourselves a ‘boozy snoozy dinner’ at the Bonham Hotel. We were blown away by the venue, the quality of the food and the great value. So when, more recently, we spotted a Black Friday deal at the same hotel, this time for a ‘boozy snoozy lunch’, we decided it was an offer we couldn’t pass up.

As we take our seats in the dining room, we reflect on everything that’s happened since we were last here. Edinburgh now feels like our home and, over those intervening years, we’ve survived some turbulent events – the pandemic being just one of them. The Bonham is exactly as we remember it: a warm, welcoming haven in a central (but surprisingly quiet) neighbourhood. The walls are hung with the same original oil paintings, there’s a soft murmur of conversation, and the staff are still as polite and efficient as ever.

First for the boozy bit – a bottle of Chilean sauvignon blanc, which we make a start on while perusing the menu. For starters, Susan has the heritage carrot panna cotta, quite the prettiest dish you could ask for and absolutely bursting with flavour. It’s accompanied by pink pickled ginger, salted baked carrots and puffed black rice. I opt for the Simpson game venison carpaccio, succulent slivers of ‘melt in the mouth’ meat adorned with beetroot. leek ash, pickled shimeji mushrooms and red vein sorrel. We’re afraid that the current national shortage of fresh fruit and vegetables might have a negative effect, but these fears are quickly assuaged. This is an inspired beginning.

For the main course, Susan samples the stone bass, a generous slice of perfectly cooked fish, presented on a laksa broth and topped with seaweed tapioca. The laksa would be better if it were more robustly spiced, but that’s really our only criticism. I keep things traditional and choose the Ayrshire pork, a mouthwatering chunk of belly meat with a gratifyingly crispy layer of crackling on the top. It comes with ham hock, kohlrabi, spiced compressed apple and hispi cabbage. The apple in particular is an inspired touch, the sharp flavour cutting through the meatiness with ease.

We also share a side order of hand cut chips sprinkled with rosemary scented blackthorn salt. ‘Ah,’ you may say, ‘chips are just chips,’ but these are perfection – crispy exteriors, soft, buttery insides, and completely irresistible.

For pudding, Susan enjoys a delicious chocolate fondant, which is rich and indulgent, accompanied by crispy honeycomb and zesty orange sorbet. I cannot resist the glazed lemon tart, again as pretty as a picture, and served with Scottish raspberries and Normandy créme fraiche. Both puddings are utterly delectable.

Other things may have changed in six years but this is still a perfectly executed menu. Even at the full price of £35 per head, it represents extraordinary value for money and, on the Black Friday deal we’ve booked, it’s an absolute steal. I can think of many venues in the city centre charging twice as much with half the flair of what’s on offer here. I’d heartily recommend The Bonham to anyone in search of somewhere to enjoy a special meal.

Here’s to the next time!

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Revelations of Rab McVie


Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

The word ‘psychedelic’ is often misapplied to theatrical ventures but, in the case of Revelations of Rab McVie, I think it’s entirely appropriate. This challenging piece of gig theatre is mind-bending in the best sense of the word: an exhilarating collaboration between a group of musicians, a visual artist and an actor – which succeeds on just about every level.

The performance begins…

To my left, there’s the Scottish three-piece, The Filthy Tongues, augmented in this case by two other musicians. As vocalist Martin Metcalfe, decked out like some surreal preacher, unleashes a series of memorable songs about darkness and decay, he’s anchored by the metronomic rhythms of drummer Derek Kelly and bass player Fin Wilson. The results have me hooked from the first chords of the opening song, The Ghost of Rab McVie. Alex Shedlock adds extra guitar and keyboards to the mix, while Asim Rasool takes care of a whole range of percussion.

To my right, artist Maria Rud works on a sheet of horizontal glass, smearing paint with brushes and sponges (but mostly with her bare hands). Her endeavours are projected onto a huge backdrop and they are mesmerising. From an initial sludge of colour, she is able to conjure vivid landscapes, bizarre animals, cloaked figures and even an enigmatic portrait of a mysterious figure, gazing benignly down at the audience. Lit from behind, her translucent creations are like surreal stained-glass windows, and what’s also interesting is the way she interacts with the music, at times almost appearing to conduct it with her paint-splashed hands. Each successive image is washed away, like a sand castle extinguished by a rising tide, only to be replaced by something new and equally intriguing

And now, centre stage, a silhouette rises from one of the paintings and stumbles out of it. It’s Rab McVie himself, as portrayed by actor Tam Dean Burn, a grotesque leering presence, transported by visions that only he can see. From time to time, he proclaims a string of half-intelligible observations, including a detailed description of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. He tears off his clothes. He picks up a megaphone and bellows at us.

This eclectic mix of performers is directed with aplomb by Maria Pattinson. If I were to claim to understand everything that’s going on here, I’d be lying. Suffice to say that I am swept up in the piece, riveted by what’s happening onstage, my gaze moving back and forth as I try to take in every detail. I later read that the piece started life as an essay by Rud, written shortly before the invasion of Ukraine, which may account for the disturbing ‘end of days’ vibe that dominates the production. Whatever its roots, this has blossomed into something unique and spectacular.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney



NT Live: Cineworld, Edinburgh

Although we’re watching it in a cinema, Clint Dyer’s Othello is avowedly theatrical, overtly referencing the play’s stage history via a series of projected images as the audience trickles in. It’s a powerful conceit, acknowledging the fact that our interpretations of classic texts change with the times, informing us that this will be an Othello for the 2020s (and far removed from Olivier’s infamous 1960s blackface).

Dyer brings the play’s racism into sharp focus, as well as its sexism. Moving the action to the 1930s means that the widespread bigotry Othello (Giles Terera) endures fits into a recognisable framework of fascism. Brabantio (Jay Simpson), who doesn’t want his daughter to marry ‘a Moor’ – not even a super-soldier, credited with defeating the Turkish army – is far from alone in his prejudice. Indeed, we have a whole System (the chorus), all too willing to endorse his view. Roderigo (Jack Bardoe) is not played here as an amusing fool; instead, he is a jingoist, short on reason but bold in his assertions. Thus, as the only Black actor on stage, Terera’s Othello is isolated and visibly different from those around him, and his relationship with the politically-aware Desdemona (Rosy McEwen) is as much ideological as it is romantic.

In this context, it’s no surprise that an unscrupulous schemer such as Iago (Paul Hilton) can thrive. He is the ultimate embodiment of toxic masculinity, propelled by self-entitlement and envy; Hilton makes this Iago deliciously sinister. He abuses everyone: his wife, Emilia (Tanya Franks) bears the brunt of his frustration, but no one is immune. His bitter resentment sours everything, drags everybody down. Othello doesn’t stand a chance against such an insidious adversary, in such an imbalanced world.

Chloe Lamford’s set is stark and monochrome: a semicircular series of steps, suggestive of a Greek amphitheatre. The chorus heightens this notion, acting as a kind of on-stage audience, reflecting us back at ourselves. We are all the System, it seems to say; we are all complicit. The costumes (by Michael Vale) continue the monochrome theme, highlighting the binary opposition of black and white.

This is an excellent production: bold, contemplative, kinetic and engaging. Terera captures both Othello’s strength and his failings, his dignity and his deficiencies. We see his greatness, but also recognise and despise his misogyny when he tries to justify murdering Desdemona by saying he loved her “too well”. McEwen imbues Desdemona with a steadfast nature, confident and assertive to the end, but it is Franks’ Emilia who really surprises: I’ve never been so aware of her as a victim before, nor of her bravery in finally speaking out.

Dyer’s Othello is a complex, clever piece of work. It’s not a radical reworking – indeed, it’s almost entirely true to Shakespeare’s text – but the lens is very different.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield



Cameo Cinema, Edinburgh

In the rain-lashed city of Busan, prostitute Moon So-young (Ji-eun Lee) takes her recently born boy to a local church’s ‘baby box’ – a safe space where troubled parents can leave their newborns to be collected by orphanages. She’s unaware that a volunteer at the church, Ha Sang-hyun (Song Kang-ho), is running a lucrative sideline, occasionally kidnapping a child and selling it on the open market to young couples who are unable to have children of their own. He’s aided by his friend, Dong Soo (Gang Don-won), an orphan himself, and neither of them seem to have any qualms about what they’re doing. On the contrary, they have convinced themselves that it’s somehow noble.

However, when So-young has a change of heart and returns to the church to look for her child, she’s met by Dong Soo, who explains the situation, and, surprisingly, she decides to go along with their plan, the three of them sharing whatever money they make. They are blissfully unaware that their every move is under surveillance by two detectives, Su-jin (Bae Doona) and Lee (Lee Joo-young), who follow them as the trio set off across the country in a battered van to visit the various prospective buyers.

Japanese director Hirokazu Koreeda, working with cinematographer Hong Kyung-pyo, does a great job of capturing the atmosphere of various locations across Korea, from teeming cities to tranquil landscapes, but there’s a major flaw at the heart of this film, which presents Ha Sang-hu and Dong Soo as a couple of lovable misfits, who seem to see themselves as modern day Robin Hoods (a character in my latest novel Stand and Deliver labours under the same misconception, but this is only his self-assessment and it is shown to be wrong). In Broken, Song Kang-ho in particular – familiar to western audiences from the brilliant and infinitely superior Parasite – is just too downright likeable. Koreeda never seems to acknowledge that the character is doing something heinous and beyond excuse.

Furthermore, a couple of gangsters – who are leaning on Ha Sang-yun for protection money – must be two of the most unthreatening bad guys in movie history. As the story unfolds, it gradually builds to a supposed climax when the two detectives manage to persuade Moon So-young to wear a wire, so they can listen in on proceedings.

And then there’s a sudden conclusion that feels pat and – it must be said – somewhat unbelievable.

Broker has been the recipient of a clutch of incredible advance reviews, but the truth is that this is a muddled and unconvincing story, that seems to believe that contemporary audiences will be willing to ignore the problematic nature of the central characters’ actions. I for one, cannot and that’s an issue that shunts this film into the file labelled ‘D for disappointing’.

3.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish


Cineworld, Edinburgh

All things considered, this must be the least anticipated ‘sequel’ of the year. The Shrek franchise began way back in 2001 and, over the years, there have been three sequels of steadily diminishing quality. In 2011, Puss in Boots emerged as a Shrek spin-off and, it must be said, not a particularly memorable one. So Puss in Boots: The Last Wish is essentially a sequel to a spin-off. But those who take note of such things can’t fail to have missed the fact that the film has been nominated for an Oscar and a BAFTA. This is because it has something up its sleeve that nobody expected. It’s really good.

In the adrenalin-fuelled opening sequence, we meet our titular hero (voiced once again by Antonio Banderas), who is singing and dancing for an adoring audience. Shortly thereafter, he takes on a whole army of warriors single-handedly, and rounds things off by doing battle with an ancient woodland bogeyman.

And then he er… dies. 

Of course, he’s a cat and everyone knows that felines have nine lives, right? But, as a helpful doctor explains, Puss has just used up life number eight. From now on he needs to be very careful indeed, because – if he allows himself to be killed one more time – his heroic escapades will be over for good. So when he encounters the genuinely creepy Wolf (Wagner Moura), he realises that this is an enemy he can never hope to defeat, and for the first time in his life, he’s afraid. Almost before you can say ‘game over,’ he’s hiding out in Mama Luna (Da’Vine Joy Randolph)’s cat refuge and pursuing a quiet, domesticated existence.

What follows is a clever meditation on the subject of death, but if that sounds like something you really don’t want to watch, let me assure you that yes, you actually do! As scripted by Paul Fisher and Tommy Swerdlow, this is a witty – sometimes hilarious -quest tale that never misses an opportunity to propel the franchise headlong into previously uncharted waters, while Joel Crawford and Januel Mercado’s flamboyant direction allows the animation department to steer the visuals into challenging new dimensions. Suffice to say that there are scenes here that challenge Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse for eye-popping, jaw-dropping panache and make the original film look positively pedestrian.

There’s a welcome return for Puss’s ex-girlfriend, Kitty Softpaws (Salma Hayek), and a new sidekick in the shape of the criminally adorable Perrito (Harvey Guillén), a wannabe therapy dog who’s just pretending to be a cat, in a desperate attempt to extend his friendship group. And since the Shrek series has always riffed on popular fairy tales, we’re offered a villainous Goldilocks (Florence Pugh), plus her adoptive ursine family (Ray Winstone, Olivia Colman and Samson Kayo). There’s also arch-nemesis, Jack Horner (John Mulaney), a decidedly Trumpian creation, who – despite inheriting an entire pie-factory from his entitled parents – still insists on sticking his grubby thumbs into every opportunity that comes his way.

And did I mention the fabulous Latin American flavoured soundtrack by Heitor Pereira? I leave the cinema dancing.

While PIB:TLW might not be a comfortable fit for younger kids, for everyone from eight years and upwards, it’s a rollicking, rib-tickling adventure that never loses its momentum. My advice? Put aside your expectations and see this on the big screen. You won’t be disappointed.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney



Amazon Prime

In the same year that Top Gun: Maverick achieves an Oscar nomination, another film about navy airmen crash-lands onto Amazon Prime, making barely a ripple. Whereas TGM was a complete invention, Devotion is a more serious undertaking, based around real life hero, Jesse Brown. Brown was the first African-American aviator to complete the United States Navy basic training programme and was a recipient of the Distinguished Flying Cross. What’s more, his exploits largely took place in a confrontation that has been brushed under the carpet of history – The Korean War.

As portrayed by Jonathan Majors, Brown is a man weighed down by the responsibility of being a hero to so many people of colour – a man who, on a daily basis, hurls insults at his own reflection, based on all the racist abuse he’s encountered over the years, mostly from his fellow airmen. This strange ritual is overheard by Tom Hudner (Glen Powell), newly graduated from Flight Academy and chosen to work as Brown’s ‘wingman.’ (If Powell looks familiar, it’s because he enjoyed a similar role opposite Tom Cruise in TGM.)

Hudner soon comes to value Brown’s unconventional approach to flying, and he’s witness to the man’s evident devotion to his wife, Daisy (Christina Jackson), and to their young daughter, Pam. When Daisy charges Hudner with the task of ‘being there for’ her husband, he takes the responsibility seriously.

The early stretches of the movie depict Brown and his fellow pilots training in state-of-the-art Corsair jet fighters for a war that might happen at any moment. We are witness to the men’s rivalries, their various triumphs and disasters – and theres also a sequence where, on leave in Cannes, Brown encounters Hollywood starlet, Elizabeth Taylor (Serinda Swan) and accepts her invitation to meet up at her favourite casino.

But it’s not until around the halfway mark, when the airmen are sent off for active service, that the film finally… ahem, takes flight. There are some impressive aerial battle sequences (which provide a decent test for the new projector we’ve bought for watching movies at home) and, if the film’s ending is somewhat downbeat, well, this is history. Unlike some recent ‘true stories’ we’ve witnessed, screenwriters Jake Crane and Jonathan Stewart stick rigorously to the facts. As the inevitable series of post-credit photographs attests, they have been pretty meticulous. The Elizabeth Taylor meeting? It actually happened.

Devotion is by no means a perfect film. I fail to learn enough about any of the other airmen in Brown’s crew to care much about what happens to them and, if I’m honest, all that rampant testosterone does get a little wearisome in places. What’s more, with a running time in excess of two hours, my patience is somewhat tested in the film’s meandering first half. But it’s worth sticking with for those soaring battle sequences which really do take you right into the heart of the action, and to learn about an important historical figure.

3. 5 stars

Philip Caveney

The Quiet Girl (An Cailin Ciuin)


Amazon Prime

Colm Bairéad’s The Quiet Girl (An Cailin Ciuin), based on a short story by Claire Keegan, is a beautiful film, as intense as it is languorous. It’s a simple story, elegantly told. The titular girl is Cáit (Catherine Clinch), and she’s quiet in many ways: tongue-tied, illiterate, watchful, an outsider. When we first see her, she’s hiding – in a field and then under her bed. She seems choked with secrets and longing, simultaneously yearning to be seen and to disappear.

Her home life is one of poverty and neglect. The house is full of children, and there’s another on the way. Her Mam (Kate Nic Chonaonaigh) is exhausted; her Da (Michael Patric) is a wastrel, gambling their meagre income and failing to do any work. He spends his time, predictably, with other women or in the pub, and Cáit’s mistrust of him is palpable. Is he abusive in other ways?

The kids at school call Cáit a weirdo, so it’s no surprise she wants to run away. And it’s no surprise to us that Mam can’t cope, and packs her off to spend the summer with some distant relatives – although it’s certainly a shock to Cáit, who isn’t told anything about where she’s going, before being bundled into Da’s car.

But her banishment proves her salvation, and – under Eibhlín (Carrie Crowley) and Seán (Andrew Bennett)’s gentle care and tutelage – Cáit blossoms. The healing is a two-way process: these stand-in grandparents have their own sorrow, evident in the carefully preserved child’s bedroom Cáit sleeps in, with its train wallpaper and wardrobe full of ‘just the right size’ clothes. Bairéad captures the sense of endlessness that comes with the long school holidays, while cinematographer Kate McCullough bathes the Irish countryside in a golden glow, making this month of respite seem like a whole new life.

There’s a raft of narratives out there that plumb the same notion: a single summer that shapes a person’s life – Willy Russell’s One Summer, Noel Streatfeild’s The Growing Summer, Johanna Spyri’s Heidi, to name but a few (in fact, Heidi features as a bedtime story here, although – of course – her tale is the reverse of Cáit’s). But this Irish-language film stands out, perhaps because of Clinch’s heartbreaking performance – you can almost feel her aching with loneliness and love. Despite the overt simplicity of the tale, there’s a lot to uncover.

With an Oscar nomination for best international feature, The Quiet Girl seems destined to make a lot of noise.

4.7 stars

Susan Singfield



Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

A school trip to the Paisley Witches’ Memorial proves momentous in Moonset, Maryam Hamidi’s spirited play about four teenage girls, who just need a little bit of power…

It’s a great premise. Surely the worst thing about being an adolescent is the lack of autonomy. There’s so much to deal with (exams, hormones, growing up, life), so much conflicting advice, so many rules and boundaries and exhortations to “be good”.

Roxy (Layla Kirk) feels like she’s on fire. Her best friend, Bushra, seems to be cooling on her, her mum (Zahra Browne) is concealing something, Nat 5s are looming – and why hasn’t she started her period yet? But Bushra (Cindy Awor) has her own problem – she has questions about her sexuality, and the answers seem scary. Meanwhile, Gina (Leah Byrne) is a ball of restless energy, bouncing from one calamity to another, and Joanne (Hannah Visocchi) isn’t sure her boyfriend, Gary, is quite the guy she’d like him to be.

They all feel powerless. And, like Abigail Williams and her friends before them, the girls seek strength in magic.

The teens’ exuberance is funny and engaging, but it doesn’t conceal the real problems they have to deal with. Hamidi’s bright, lively script grapples with dark themes – touching on coercive control, child abuse, immigration and cancer – treading this fine line with confidence. Director Joanna Bowman nimbly encapsulates the emotional turbulence of the formative years; she doesn’t hold back. We watch as the girls take terrible risks; they are as reckless and bold as only adolescents can be. And we’re on the roller-coaster with them, hoping against hope that the consequences of their actions won’t prove too appalling…

The set (by Jen McGinley) is a jumble, like the kids’ minds, with myriad items competing for attention. It works well, the empty circle in the middle representing their safe space: the junk yard, ironically, is the one place with nothing filling it, offering them room to think, to cement their friendship and ultimately find their hidden strengths. There are some pretty nifty effects too. I like the way the fire is created with smoke and light (courtesy of Simon Hayes). Movement director Vicki Manderson deserves a mention too: this is a kinetic piece and the momentum never flags, the performers interacting seamlessly with the space.

The set-up works well, leaving me scared for the girls and their futures. No spoilers here – suffice to say that, after the coup de théâtre at the end of the first act, the second provides a pay-off that is unexpected but satisfying. Although I’m crying as the lights go down, I’m also left with a feeling of hope.

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield