Comedy

VL

11/08/24

Roundabout at Summerhall, Edinburgh

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

Sort of.

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

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

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

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

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

5 stars

Philip Caveney

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

James Acaster: Hecklers Welcome

22/02/24

Edinburgh Playhouse

I can’t complain: I get exactly what I pay for. “Hecklers Welcome” is written right there in big letters. Forewarned is forearmed and all that. But still, I leave the Edinburgh Playhouse tonight feeling disappointed and frustrated. James Acaster might welcome hecklers. It turns out that I don’t.

This show is Acaster’s response to his lockdown realisation that he wasn’t enjoying doing stand-up. That icky feeling waiting in the wings? Not excitement, after all – just nerves. And the audiences, peppered with hecklers and latecomers? They were getting under his skin. Emerging into the post-COVID landscape, the serenity prayer seems to have been his inspiration.

Accept the things he cannot change: hecklers gonna heckle.

So find the courage to alter what he can: his own response.

It’s an interesting social experiment. He’s got more than two hours of finely-crafted material; we can hear it if we want to. It’s all down to our collective will. Sadly, tonight’s three-thousand-strong crowd has more than its fair share of dickheads. I know from social media that there were barely any hecklers yesterday, and that the show ran on until 10.20pm. This evening, the shouter-outers dominate the second half with their inanities. This is why we’re not allowed nice things. Acaster bows out gracefully at 9.45pm.

The first half of the show is as excellent as you’d expect. Acaster is a huge talent, and this show is a fascinating exploration of his love-hate relationship with comedy – an origins-tale, if you like – examining formative experiences such as school assemblies, disastrous dog shows and cub scout membership. It’s all building nicely…

And then: “Poppodoms or bread?” “You’re using the wrong hand!” “It was a Friday!”

Ad infinitum.

They’re like rubbish graffiti artists scrawling their names over a beautiful building. I’m seething. Shut the fuck up.

Acaster takes it in his stride. That’s the rule. It’s only our own time we’re wasting. He’s a five-star comic, but this is a three-star experience. We never get to hear the denouement. Sometimes, other people suck.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

The House

03/02/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Imagine if you will a Punch and Judy show, elevated to the very peak of its puppetry potential – where, in an incredibly complex set, a whole cast of brilliantly-sculpted characters caper and bicker with all the subtleties of human comedians – and you’ve pretty much got what Sofie Krog Teater’s The House is all about. Appearing at the Traverse Theatre as part of the Manipulate Festival, this has a sold-out crowd screeching with laughter as it rockets to an uproarious conclusion.

We are told first of how a house can speak of what has happened within its walls, and then we’re shown the titular abode, an old crematorium. It’s been owned for years by an old woman who now lies in a four-poster bed up in the top bedroom, rapidly approaching her demise. Her nephew, Henry (who bears an uncanny resemblance to Stan Laurel), and his wife, Cora ( a cigarette constantly jutting from her mouth), run the business on her behalf. Cora knows that there’s a will that names them as their great aunt’s successors and she’s gleefully counting the days to the big payoff. But at the last minute, a lawyer is summoned and an important change is made…

Cora is intent on keeping the house for herself – and only the old woman’s faithful dog stands between her and justice.

I know that puppeteers Sofie Krog and David Faraco are concealed within that miniature house somewhere, because I definitely saw them climb inside it at the beginning. And I know they must be operating everything that happens, but the illusion is so brilliantly engineered, I forget about them completely as they unleash one ingeniously conceived bout of slapstick after another.

The puppets themselves are wonderful little creations, so full of character and nuance that they almost come alive as they scamper from room to room, trying to outwit each other. Everything about this performance – the lighting, the music, the props – is exquisite and I love the piece’s grisly sense of humour, its celebration of the darkness of the human soul. Oh, and did I mention that the house can revolve, to show us an entirely different view of what’s happening within?

If you haven’t managed to catch Sofie Krog Teater on this visit, do keep an eye out for them in future. This unique show offers a touch of genius that will brighten the day of anyone lucky enough to see it.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Mean Girls

20/01/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

It’s 10.30 on Saturday morning, and we’re already at the cinema, settled in for the day’s first screening. Because who’s got the patience to wait for a musical reboot of Mean Girls? Certainly not us.

We re-watched the 2004 original last night and were surprised at how fresh it felt. Sure, there were a few (quite a few) wince-inducing ‘of-its-time’ moments, but overall it was still funny, smart and subtly subversive.

As you’d expect, this 2024 version – based on the 2017 Broadway musical adaptation and directed by Samantha Jayne and Arturo Perez Jr – has been cleverly updated. Not only do we have social media, we also have a more diverse cast. Cady has been living in a country (Kenya) rather than a continent (Africa), and Janis is actually allowed to be gay.

For anyone who’s been living under a (30) rock, Tina Fey’s sassy script is a high school comedy/coming-of-age tale. Teenager Cady (Angourie Rice) has just arrived in the USA from Kenya, where her zoologist mum (Jenna Fischer) has been conducting some research. Previously home-educated, Cady is desperate to go to school, to mix with other kids and find out what she’s been missing. But the transition isn’t easy. High school is a jungle too, and Cady doesn’t know the rules of this new territory…

Initially befriended by happy misfits Janis (Auli’i Cravalho) and Damian (Jaquel Spivey), Cady soon comes to the attention of The Plastics – a trio of vacuous ‘popular’ girls at the top of the social pecking order. Much to everyone’s surprise, queen bee Regina George (Reneé Rapp) invites the gauche newcomer to hang out with them. It’s flattering to be asked so, when Janis suggests seizing the opportunity to infiltrate the group and feed back any intel, Cady doesn’t take much persuading. She soon finds that she actually likes Regina’s acolytes, Gretchen (Bebe Wood) and Karen (Avantika) – and that she wants to please Regina too.

When Cady falls for her calculus classmate, Aaron (Christopher Briney), Regina reveals her mean streak by seducing him, and Cady’s own dark side comes into force. She, Janis and Damian wage war on Regina, determined to topple her – and make Aaron dump her. But Cady enjoys wielding her new-found power just a little too much, and before she knows it she’s sacrificing her real friends. Has she actually become a Plastic?

Mean Girls 2024 has all the verve and wit of the original and the musical numbers (by Jeff Richmond) really work, dialling up the histrionics and highlighting the humour. Rice is delightful in the lead role, and it’s great to see the original Cady, Lindsay Lohan, in a cameo. Tina Fey and Tim Meadows reprise their roles of Ms Norbury and Mr Duvall, and this works extremely well. Indeed, Fey looks almost exactly the same in both movies (I guess there’s an ageing picture in an attic somewhere). The supporting roles are more fleshed out here too, and I like learning more about both Karen and Gretchen.

I’m a little sad that the fat-shaming hasn’t been eradicated, that the nastiest trick Cady and her friends can play is to make a girl gain weight. Worse, the extra pounds Regina’s carrying actually have a greater impact in this incarnation, as the Plastics’ dance routine is ruined because she’s too heavy to lift. This feels like a blind-spot in an otherwise fabulous film.

It’s not enough to spoil things though. The new Mean Girls delivers just what it’s supposed to: a couple of hours of lively, well-crafted and eminently quotable fun. “Stop trying to make ‘fetch’ happen!”

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

Dead Dad Dog

02/11/23

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

John McKay’s quirkily titled play originally debuted at the Traverse in 1988, before transferring to the Royal Court Theatre in London – so it’s great to have the opportunity to see it back in its original home. This deceptively simple two-hander takes the form of a series of titled vignettes punctuated by snatches of classic 80s pop songs.

It’s early morning in Edinburgh and ‘Ek’ (Angus Miller) is preparing breakfast and psyching himself up for an interview at BBC Scotland, where he hopes to start a new career. He’s ill-prepared for the arrival of his father, Willie (Liam Brennan), a quiet man in a loud suit. Ek’s surprise is understandable: Willie has been dead for twelve years. He explains that he’s been granted the opportunity to visit Ek so that the two of them can ‘reconnect’. “Heaven,” he tells Ek, “is OK.”

The visit comes with some awkward conditions. Ek and his dear-departed Dad must remain within a few paces of each other at all times (otherwise there are disastrous side-effects). What’s more, Willie can be seen – and heard – by all and sundry. Which is awkward to say the very least. But Ek is determined to attend his job interview anyway, and even goes ahead with a date with his latest crush. A bad idea? Well yes, but this is hardly a realistic story and much pleasure is derived from the absurd comedic situations that the duo are obliged to stumble through.

Both Miller and Brennan offer assured and likeable performances and I love the simplicity of the staging, where one wooden chair is the only prop, pressed into service to represent a whole range of different things. There’s a strangely old-fashioned feel to the piece – so much has changed since 1988 – and sadly, a planned second half, featuring a more contemporary sequel, Sonny Boy, is unable to go ahead due to illness in the cast. (The current foul weather conditions might be part of the problem too.)

This is a shame, because added pleasure would surely stem from seeing how things have metamorphosed over the intervening years. Nonetheless, Dead Dad Dog is an entertaining piece. Liz Carruther’s direction keeps the pot bubbling merrily away and McKay’s script provokes much hilarity (and the occasional touch of pathos) as we go. Fingers crossed we get to see that sequel.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Edfest Bouquets 2023

August in Edinburgh, and the Fringe was back with a boom! As ever, after seeing so many brilliant productions, it’s been hard to select our favourites, but it’s (virtual) Bouquet time and so, in no particular order, here are the shows that have really stayed with us:

COMEDY

John Robins: Howl (Just the Tonic)

‘Raw and achingly honest….’

The Ice Hole: a Cardboard Comedy (Pleasance)

‘An inspired piece of surreal lunacy…’

Dominique Salerno: The Box Show (Pleasance)

‘One of the most original acts I’ve ever seen…’

The Umbilical Brothers: The Distraction (Assembly)

‘An amorphous mass of nonsense – but brilliantly so!’

THEATRE

Bacon (Summerhall)

‘A whip-smart, tightly-constructed duologue…’

The Grand Old Opera House Hotel (Traverse)

‘Part slapstick, part comic-opera, part mad-as-a-box-of-frogs spectacle, this is something you really don’t want to miss.’

Salty Irina (Roundabout at Summerhall)

‘Fresh and contemporary, all minimal props and non-literal interpretation…’

Dark Noon (Pleasance)

‘A unique piece of devised theatre, sprawling and multi-faceted…’

JM Coetzee’s Life and Times of Michael K (Assembly)

‘A gentle but powerful production…’

One Way Out (Underbelly)

‘The piece is brave enough not to offer a solution…’

SPECIAL MENTIONS

After the Act (Traverse)

‘We have to learn from what has gone before…’

Woodhill (Summerhall)

‘Though unnervingly bleak, this does offer a glimmer of hope…’

Things Hidden Since the Foundation of the World (Traverse)

‘The closest I’ve ever come to experiencing an acid trip in the theatre…’

Susan Singfield & Philip Caveney

John Robins: Howl

27/08/23

Just the Tonic Nucleus (Atomic Room), Edinburgh

I’m not usually drawn to introspection. My preference is for comedy that looks outwards to what’s happening in the big wide world – but there are exceptions to every rule. I don’t like sci-fi but I love Woman on the Edge of Time. I don’t enjoy watching sport unless it’s tennis. I only like chocolate ice cream if it comes from Mary’s Milk Bar.

And I can get on board with introspection when it’s as well-crafted as Howl.

In this raw and achingly honest show, John Robins talks about a mental health crisis that precipitates a life-changing realisation: he’s an alcoholic. Having spent years in denial about his problematic relationship with booze, things finally come to a head when he… tries to buy a slotted spoon.

It’s hard to convey how funny Howl is because there’s nothing intrinsically amusing about a man falling apart. But Robins is a gifted comedian; he knows just how far to push his tragic narrative before undercutting the misery with a well-aimed quip. He’s emotionally intelligent, connecting with the audience by making observations we can all recognise – and then demonstrating how, for him, these relatable foibles can grow into something monstrous and uncontrollable. It’s the extremes that make us laugh – but it’s also the extremes that have driven him to the edge. Robins walks the tightrope well.

As a committed PCD, I thought I knew Johnny JR’s skillset but I hadn’t realised he could act (DI Robbyns notwithstanding). Here, he expertly physicalises the awkwardness of an encounter with his ex’s mum, where he’s desperately trying to make his obsessive thoughts sound rational. It evokes a weird sort of protectiveness: I want to look after him even as I erupt into laughter, and I suspect I’m not alone. It’s rare for someone to expose their vulnerability quite so openly and with so little self-pity.

I’m glad Robins is sober – and long may it last. To have made it through an entire Edinburgh run without a drink is a big achievement. This show is an aptly titled howl of pain, but it’s also strangely inspirational -and thus we end the Fringe on a high and hopeful note.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

Martin Urbano: Apology Comeback Tour

18/08/23

Pleasance Courtyard (Bunker Three), Edinburgh

You can’t say anything theeeese days.

Martin Urbano has been cancelled, but – despite the title of his show – he’s not sorry in the least. He’s a good guy, unfairly victimised just for articulating what everyone’s thinking. And, you know, assault. “Have you tried tickling a woman you don’t know on public transport recently? Apparently, it’s not allowed any more.”

Just to be clear: this is satire, punching up at the likes of Louis CK and Bill Cosby rather than down at their victims. It’s not an hour of whinging from an entitled twat complaining loudly via a Netflix special that they’ve been de-platformed – it’s a very obvious parody of that. Indeed, at times I think the parody is too signposted: the show might be more hard-hitting if Urbano were to commit more fully to the loathsome character he has created (although I can see that further blurring those delicate lines might actually be dangerous for him. After all, he does spend fifteen minutes telling us that he’s a paedophile).

Urbano is saved from this potential danger by a self-deprecating demeanour and by regularly corpsing at the very awfulness of what he’s saying. These qualities combine to reinforce the fact that he does not stand by the ideas he’s espousing, that they are just jokes, intended to make us roar in horror and disbelief. It works. The dingy underground space of Bunker Three is alive with laughter.

The Mexican-American comedian makes his audience complicit too, handing out bits of script for several of them to read. They acquiesce, and so become a part of the phenomenon, happily making statements that conflict with their ethics. Why do I feel qualified to make this assumption about how they feel about their participation? Because I am one of them: I actually stand on the stage and read some very dodgy things into a microphone. It’s a neat reminder that, just like me, Urbano is playing a role.

For a show dominated by misogyny and paedophilia to land as well as it does proves that we’re in the hands of a professional. The hour flies by and the audacious ending really takes me by surprise.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

The Umbilical Brothers: The Distraction

15/08/23

Assembly Roxy, Edinburgh

Although this is (almost) our first experience of The Umbilical Brothers, they’ve been around for a long time, successfully plying their madcap blend of mime and soundscapes to appreciative audiences since the mid-90s.

We caught a glimpse of the sort of show they’re best known for at the Assembly Gala Launch, where David Collins performed a series of ever-more complex and surreal actions, accompanied by Shane Dundas’s weird and wonderful sound effects.

The Distraction is something else entirely though, a departure from their established style – although still just as silly and inventive. This show is all about the tech, specifically green screens and multiple cameras, and I’ve never seen anything quite like it.

You can almost hear them saying, “That’d be fun!” and then adding a series of ‘what-ifs’ until a show’s worth of shenanigans has been established.

Even while we’re waiting for the sell-out audience to file in, we get a sense of how cheery it’s going to be, as a series of groan-worthy jokes is displayed on the big screen that dominates the stage. It’s a canny move, setting the tone for the next hour.

There are some tech glitches in the first ten minutes, and it’s hard to tell if they’re real or part of the act. If the former, no matter – the delay is entertaining in itself. If, as I suspect, the latter is true, it’s a neat move, instilling a sense of jeopardy, and reminding the audience to be impressed by how much computer wizardry is being used.

Over the next sixty minutes, the duo mine the possibilities of live green-screen action, taking us from outer space to the depths of the ocean, via TV sports (played with babies – don’t ask), a guest appearance from Steve Jobs and more than one exploding head. There is audience participation – but not as you know it. And there are lots of dolls. If this all sounds like an amorphous mass of nonsense, then that’s exactly what it is – but brilliantly so.

I defy anyone to watch The Distraction without laughing all the way through.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield