Theatre

The Bacchae

09/03/26

The Studio at Festival Theatre, Edinburgh

“Bloody Greek tragedies are like bloody buses,
You wait for several years,
And as soon as one approaches your local theatre,
Another one appears.”
(With apologies to Wendy Cope)

Hot on the heels of Medea at the Traverse comes The Bacchae at the Festival Theatre’s Studio, a striking solo version of Euripides’ compelling – and many-peopled – play. Written and performed by Company of Wolves’ artistic director Ewan Downie, this has been intelligently condensed from the sprawling original.

Downie is Dionysus, the god of change – a conceit that lends itself well to the multi-rolling necessary here. The son of Zeus and a mortal woman, Semele, Dionysus both narrates his own story and transforms into a raft of other characters, all perfectly distinct thanks to Downie’s precise physicalisation.

Employing Ancient Greek specialist, Dr Michael Carroll, as a creative consultant is a masterstroke, lending this radical interpretation a sense of authenticity. The narrative is typically convoluted. When the pregnant Semele dies at the sight of her lover, Zeus, in his divine form, the god seizes the embryonic Dionysus and gestates him in his thigh. Raising a baby isn’t on Zeus’s agenda though, so he tasks Semele’s sister, Agave, with parenting the boy. She obliges, but her own son, Pentheus, is understandably jealous of his half-god cousin. This resentment follows the men into adulthood, leading Pentheus, now King of Thebes, to forbid his people from worshipping the increasingly popular Dionysus, who preaches liberation from social restraints, encouraging his followers to indulge in frenzied, wine-fuelled rituals. Where else can their enmity lead but to murder?

This is as much a piece of performance art as it is theatre: a visual spectacle set to poetry and song. Downie’s commitment is absolute, and it’s his sincerity and conviction that holds our attention. The contemporary set design (by Alisa Kalyanova) clashes with the millennia-old narrative, but I like this discordancy: it reflects the dissolution of boundaries highlighted by the queer subtext. The only off-note for me is the use of a plastic bottle of water. I’m sure there’s some reason behind the decision, but it looks pragmatic rather than intentional, unlike anything else on the stage.

Originally directed by the late Ian Spink and with Heather Knudsten now holding the reins, CoW’s The Bacchae is a fascinating, labyrinthine drama, anchored by an extraordinary central performance.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Medea

06/03/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

“I am not a part of the story you tried to write
I am the story
And it ends when I say so”

Filicide – the murder of one’s children – is mercifully rare but, in the context of parental separation, it’s predominantly fathers who perpetrate it as revenge. Euripides’ 2500-year-old story of Medea stands out because she is a woman, and there’s nothing we perceive as more monstrous than a non-maternal mom.

Bard in the Botanics’ contemporary retelling, written by Kathy McKean and directed by Gordon Barr, is essentially an exploration of Medea (Nicole Cooper)’s motives, helping us to understand what leads her to this dreadful act. Although her children are never seen, their centrality is immediately established, as the play opens with their Nurse (Isabelle Joss) and their Tutor (Alan Steele) discussing Medea’s emotional reaction to her husband’s abandonment. We can infer the boys’ youth and innocence from the clothes the Nurse hangs on the washing line – a small dinosaur hoody, some bright blue shorts – and the toys that lie where they’ve landed, under the table or by the wall.

McKean’s Jason (Johnny Panchaud) is a swaggering cad, still revelling in the glory of his golden fleece adventure. Over the years, he’s managed to erase Medea’s contribution from his story, claiming all the credit for himself. Their love – for which she sacrificed everything she’d ever known or cared about – is no longer enough for him; he thinks he’s worthy of more. Why shouldn’t he pursue Glauce, an actual princess? After all, it’s not as if he and Medea were ever actually wed, is it? Besides, Medea’s being pretty selfish denying him this new relationship, because he’s only really marrying Glauce to ennoble their sons, and does she really want to deny them the chance to better themselves?

It’s no surprise that Medea grows to hate him, and Cooper’s depiction of her furious heartbreak is utterly compelling. We see her simultaneously as a broken woman, hurt beyond reason, and a towering force, refusing to give in. Cooper is magnetic in the role, desperately pleading with individual members of the audience to help her (we’re stand-ins for the chorus), and convincing us that Medea’s vengeance is justified. In all honesty, we’re kind of on board with the murders of Glauce and King Creon (Steele), so it comes as a shock when she finally performs the act she’s most famous for, and it’s every bit as nightmarish as it should be. Under Barr’s direction, the filicide itself is quiet, symbolised by Medea’s intertwining of two small sweaters on the floor, as she lays her children down for their final sleep, the silence eventually shattered by Jason’s loud, appalled reaction.

Medea’s is a difficult tale, and McKean’s writing never shies away from the complexity of her character. Instead, we are shown the personal and societal forces that foster her dark urges, allowed to understand – but not excuse – her horrible revenge.

Little wonder this story has endured, with its irresistible mix of mayhem and melodrama, its excavation of human depravity and the lengths we’ll go to when we’re hurt. Although there’s only one more night at the Traverse here in Edinburgh, the tour of Scotland continues until 11th April, so there are plenty of opportunities to catch it if you can.

4.6 stars

Susan Singfield

Someone’s Knockin’ on the Door

04/03/36

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Jack (Jonathan Watson) and Kathy (Maureen Carr) are recording an online chat with their granddaughter, Molly, providing her with some recollections she might be able to use in a school project that’s looking for ‘untold Scottish stories.’ Their separate reminiscences take them both back to the long hot summer of 1976, when they set off on their first ever holiday – two years after a rushed marriage, when Kathy fell unexpectedly pregnant.

In the van that Jack borrows from work, they drive to Campbeltown near the Mull of Kintyre. Jack has a hidden agenda. He’s been a rabid Beatles fan ever since he first heard the strains of Love Me Do, and now he’s nurturing a powerful compulsion to visit the secluded cottage where he knows his hero, Paul McCartney, has been spending much of his time since the world’s most famous band went their separate ways…

This first production in the new season of A Play, A Pie and a Pint, written by Milly Sweeney, is apparently based on a true story. It’s a lighthearted, whimsical piece, deriving much of its humour from the ways in which the memories of the two contributors differ in so many important aspects. The constant cross-cutting between them is the basis of the drama but the couple’s banter is not always as precise as it be and I’m left with the feeling that this piece could have benefitted from a little more rehearsal time.

There’s an attempt to draw comparisons between the break up of the Fab Four and the disintegration of Jack and Kathy’s relationship, a central premise that occasionally feels a little too forced for comfort – but I do like the fact that the play readily accepts that not every marriage is destined to last forever, a touch of realism so often lacking in drama.

Both Watson and Carr are familiar performers at PPP and both are appealing in their respective roles. Sally Reid directs the piece with a light touch and Heather Grace Currie’s simple set design successfully evokes the era. The image of a postcard – which is an important element in this supposedly true recollection – is occasionally illuminated in the background.

Someone’s Knockin’ on the Door provides a charming, if innocuous, opening to the new season – I do however occasionally find myself wishing for a little more grit in the telling.

3.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Fairytales ’26

28/02/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

This evening’s scratch night features three works-in-progress, co-written and directed by Jordan S Daniel and Tash McPhillips. If the title makes you think of happy-ever-afters, you’ll need to manage your expectations. There are no wicked step-families either, no magic beans, no once-upon-a-times.

Instead, we are introduced to Cleo (Samuela Noumtchuet), Mark (Kieran Lee-Hamilton) and Jaye (Amandine Jalon), each with an individual tale to tell. Cleo is an AI sex-bot, who wants to become a real woman. Think Pinocchio, but grown up. Next is Mark, a modern version of the big bad wolf: an incel, huffing and puffing at women for not desiring him, certain it’s because they’re shallow and nothing to do with him being creepy AF. And finally, there’s Jaye, as innocent and hopeful as Hans Christian Andersen’s little mermaid, escaping the confines of their provincial life to seek forbidden love in London. But their excitement at living openly as a lesbian soon sours, when they learn that their new girlfriend is transphobic, and the brave new city they’ve embraced is not as accepting as it first seems.

The actors all perform with gusto. Noumtchuet in particular plays up the comedic elements of her role, much to the delight of tonight’s supportive audience, who respond with gales of laughter. Lee-Hamilton successfully conveys the loathsome Mark’s sense of peevish entitlement, while Jalon engages our sympathy for Jaye, as their dreams of a happy life begin to crumble around them.

The three monologues deal with some of the most thought-provoking, urgent issues of our times, and for this I commend them. However, the polemic is sometimes overwhelming, making me feel as if I am listening to a lecture. As these works-in-progress are developed into longer pieces, I’m sure there will be more space for nuance, allowing the themes to be illuminated rather than stated – shown, not told.

There’s no denying the importance of the topics raised by Daniel and McPhillips, and I’m glad to see that Scottish theatre is doing the right thing and giving a platform to queer voices.

Susan Singfield

The Events

27/02/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

The opening moments of The Events could hardly be more congenial, as Chaplain Claire (Claire Lamont) welcomes the large group of people who comprise her community choir. They gather, greet each other and perform a few joyful songs – and, since there’s a drinks trolley on stage, they offer people in the audience a tea or coffee. The drinks are made and duly dispensed. The atmosphere is warm, relaxed and celebratory.

And then The Boy (Sam Stopford) walks in and the mood changes dramatically. It’s clear from the outset that he is here to brutally destroy everything that Claire and her followers stand for – and something heinous swiftly ensues. One of the strengths of David Greig’s affecting play is that it takes its time revealing what has actually happened. Instead, we’re taken to the aftermath of the titular events, to see Claire trying to make sense of them, attempting to evaluate her own reactions to the tragedy.

In her desperate search to come up with answers, she talks to different people about what happened on that fateful day. Stopford slips effortlessly into the different roles, giving each character’s take on the subject. A writer, a politician, Claire’s partner, Catriona – each of them attempting to communicate their own perspective. The overpowering quest for answers takes Claire to the very brink of her own sanity and even sees her contemplating revenge.

Director Jack Nurse keeps the audience riveted throughout the play, aided by Becky Minto’s deceptively simple set design and Lizzie Powell’s vibrant lighting. Both Lamont and Stopford give powerful, and compelling performances in their very different roles, while the members of the seventeen-strong choir add songs that range from upbeat to melancholic.

There’s a moment of coup de théâtre that quite literally makes me gasp – and a resolution that drops the final piece into place.

Ultimately, The Events is about forgiveness, about coping with unimaginable distress. It’s about the complex process of healing. This is a powerful production from Wonder Fools with some surprising – and uplifting – twists in the telling.

4. 4 stars

Philip Caveney

Our Town

21/02/26

Theatr Clwyd, Yr Wyddgrug

Why can’t everybody be like Michael Sheen? He’s an inspiration in the truest sense of the word: a dream combo of determination, integrity, generosity and vision. When the National Theatre of Wales lost its Arts Council funding and subsequently shut down, most of us wrung our hands and despaired. Not Mr Sheen. If Wales needed a national theatre, he thought, then the only question was how to deliver it.

And the answer was: he’d pay for it. He’s been a ‘not-for-profit’ actor since 2021, using his considerable income to fund social causes and charitable projects. And what could be closer to a Welsh thespian’s heart than an institution dedicated to producing, promoting and preserving his beloved Cymru’s theatrical culture?

And so the Welsh National Theatre was born, and here we are – Philip, Mum and I – at the newly-refurbished Theatr Clwyd, ready to see its inaugural production, Thornton Wilder’s Our Town. Although this quintessentially American play seems an odd choice for a Welsh debut, any doubts I have are soon expelled as the production gets underway. Despite the fact that the fictional Grover’s Corners has a very specific location (Wilder describes it as “in New Hampshire, just across the Massachusetts line,” and even provides us with fake co-ordinates), its gentle exploration of everyday life has a universal quality that makes it applicable to small towns everywhere.

Ultimately, Our Town is a celebration of community: an ensemble piece with no sensational storylines or great climactic moments. If that sounds boring, don’t be misled. The whole point of this play is to embrace the ordinary, to highlight the little things that make life worthwhile.

Sheen plays the Stage Manager, a meta-theatrical character who breaks the fourth wall and addresses the audience, narrating and commenting on the action as it unfolds over twelve years.

We first meet the townsfolk in Act 1 (“Daily Life”). It’s 1901 and neighbours Emily Webb (Yasemin Özdemir) and George Gibbs (Peter Devlin) are teenagers, about to graduate high school. Their respective parents, Editor and Mrs Webb (Rhodri Meilir and Nia Roberts) and Dr and Mrs Gibbs (Gareth Tempest and Sian Reese-Williams), represent the steady, family-focused nature of the town. They are good people, not especially ambitious, but determined to provide a secure base for their children, and hopeful that they too will lead decent, contented lives.

Act 2 (which follows without a break) is titled “Love and Marriage” and takes us forward in time to 1904. Emily and George, now 19 years old, are about to tie the knot. There are nerves, excitement, doubts and reassurances – and, ultimately, a joyful wedding.

The twenty-minute interval precedes a distinct shift in tone. The third act (“Death and Eternity”) is almost unbearably poignant. Nine years have passed – and so have some of Grover’s Corners’ inhabitants, including Mrs Soames (Christina Modestou) and alcoholic choir director Simon Stimson (Rhys Warrington). Emily’s little brother, Wally (Aisha-May Hunte), has died of a burst appendix, while George’s mother has succumbed to pneumonia. Their ghosts perch on ladders in the cemetery, looking down on their loved ones as they grieve. The spirits lament the living’s incapacity to notice the small moments, their lack of appreciation for the minutiae of life.

Director Francesca Goodridge manages the pace well: although Grover’s Corners is a tranquil town, the piece still feels vibrant and active, even as it slows down for its final, contemplative third. Movement director Jess Williams’ transitions emphasise the sense of community, as the cast work together to move the simple props, constructing ephemeral churches, public buildings and people’s homes, lending a meditative quality to the play.

In accordance with Wilder’s stage directions, the minimalist set works well: it’s amazing what can be achieved with a few planters and some planks of wood. But I’m especially impressed by the decision to use naturalistic props for the section when a ghost (I won’t reveal whose) goes back to relive a fondly-remembered birthday. Until now, everything has been mimed or suggested, but suddenly we have a real table, real chairs, actual bread dough being kneaded, bowls, cutlery, table cloths, the lot. I love the simplicity of the symbolism, as the ghost appreciates the details that the living take for granted.

Our Town is a triumph, a testament to what can be achieved when rich people give back to the communities that raised them.

Da iawn, Welsh National Theatre. And diolch yn fawr, Michael Sheen.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

The Flames

14/02/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

The Flames is a Tricky Hat Theatre Company for over 50s – and it’s a glorious example of the merits of community theatre. Here, twenty-two amateur performers gather to share their stories, which are then shaped into a cohesive series of vignettes by professional directors, Fiona Miller and Scott Johnston. As an audience member, I find it powerful and life-affirming. For the participants, I’m sure it’s potently therapeutic.

Thanks to choreographer Laura Bradshaw, the piece eddies and flows in a way that feels almost elemental. Set to Malcolm Ross’s gentle score, performed live on an electric guitar, the movement is precise and careful. It’s also wild at times, as varied as the tide. I especially like the super-slow-mo section – where one actor is speaking centre-stage and the others are placing their chairs and sitting on them so gradually that the motion is barely discernible – followed immediately by a change of pace, as the actors rush to surround the speaker.

The stories are short, focusing on those small moments that make a life. Love, loss, outrage, joy – they’re all here. One woman remembers a hat that saves her from falling cicadas, another a psychopath who declared his love. A widow asks if we believe in love at first sight, and recalls the day she met her husband. A shell-shocked man tells us about his wife’s cancer diagnosis. We hear about sibling rivalry, domestic violence, fun days out and so much more. Even within this not-very-diverse looking ensemble, there are myriad experiences.

The production levels are high – this is a polished and impressive piece of theatre – thanks in no small part to Kim Beveridge’s digital design. Projected onto the backdrop is monochrome video footage of the performers: sometimes in extreme close-up, highlighting their emotions; sometimes mid-shots, focusing on the bonds that have formed between them.

This is am-dram with a difference, deeply personal and beautifully crafted.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Kiss Me Kate

14/02/26

Church Hill Theatre, Edinburgh

Seemingly tailor-made for Valentine’s Day consumption, Kiss Me Kate is an ambitious undertaking for any company, but Edinburgh University Footlights handle it with their customary skill. From the first strains of Another Ope’nin, Another Show, the twenty-two strong cast unleash an absolute barn stormer of a production, backed by a 15-strong band.

Theatre impresario Fred Graham (Ewan Rotherston) is putting on his production of The Taming of the Shrew and has also taken on the lead role of Petruchio. He has somehow persuaded his former wife, Lilli Vanessi (Nina Birbeck), to return to the stage after a long absence as the titular Katherine. It soon becomes apparent that the two of them still have unfinished business. Arguments inevitably ensue and further complications arise thanks to lead dancer, Bill Calhoun (Dan Bryant). He’s currently playing Lucentio whilst romancing the show’s flighty Bianca, Lois Lane (Elham Khosravipour) – a woman who seems to have had relationships with just about every man in the vicinity.

When Bill gets involved in a shady poker game and loses a large amount of money, it emerges that he’s cheekily ‘borrowed’ Fred’s identity. Suddenly, the production finds itself with two new additions to the cast: a couple of gangsters (Bella Cripwell and Christiana Doe), who are determined to ensure that the show is successful enough to pay off Bill’s massive debt…

With music and lyrics by the legendary Cole Porter, Kiss Me Kate offers a clever ‘show within a show’ framework, and it’s liberally peppered with memorable songs and frenetic dance routines. Both Rotherston and Birbeck have incredible vocal ranges (Birbeck’s unfettered performance of I Hate Men is a particular standout), while Bryant dances up a storm throughout and Khosravipour embodies the mischievous Lois with relish. Her rendition of every Tom, Dick or Harry is a hoot.

But of course in productions like this, the ensemble work is essential and choreographers Lysa Britton and Caitlin Visser have drilled the cast to perfection. The rendition of Too Darn Hot which opens the second half, led by an athletic Paul (Aaron Ventnor), threatens to blow the roof off the theatre.

And naturally, those two unnamed gangsters are an integral part of the show as they increasingly muscle their way into proceedings until they are performers in their own right. Hilariously personified by Cripwell and Doe, they add the final flourish to a dazzling production. If you don’t come out of this singing Brush Up Your Shakespeare, there’s clearly no hope for you.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney

[Un]lovable: a Work-in-Progress Performance

13/02/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Not So Nice Theatre Company presents a Valentine’s scratch-night with an acerbic edge, showing excerpts from five works-in-progress, all inspired by the prompt, ‘Unlovable’. In the run up to February 14th, the world is awash with heart-shaped tat and exhortations to be romantic. But sometimes life just doesn’t pan out that way…

First up is Clown Divorce, written by Russ Russell and directed by Sarah Docherty. We first meet Clown (Chris Veteri) as he struggles to push a suitcase across the stage. The visual gag is funny precisely because of its predictability: as the drawn out routine builds to its inevitable conclusion, the laughs it receives are very well-earned. Along the way, we begin to notice small details. Clown isn’t wearing any shoes, his socks have blood on them – and where is his red nose? The clue is in the title. Clown has recently divorced, and has lost half of his identity in the process…

Next, we have Wish Me Luck by Melissa Ainsworth. Cassie (Hannah-Mae Engstorm) has just been dumped and is contemplating jumping in front of a bus. Not that she wants to kill herself, mind. She just wants to grab her ex’s attention. But passer-byJamie (Jamie Cowan) isn’t about to stand by and watch it happen. Not after everything he’s been through… Directed by Adele Tunnicliff, WML has an intriguing premise, but needs more time to do justice to the complex issues it raises.

The final piece of the first act is Ryan Lithgow’s three-hander Tit for Tat, starring Veteri (again) as Nathan, Stan Ross as Darcey and Samuela Noumtchuet as Ellie. Under Cormac Myles’ direction, this is a tense dissection of a relationship, the two men veering from hurt and hostility to an uneasy admission that their anger stems from a place of love. However, Noumtchuet is under-used as Ellie: the character’s sudden, unexpected appearance ought to herald a change in pace or tone, but the men’s dialogue continues in much the same vein as before, as they rehash their past.

The standout piece comes after the interval: Emma McCaffrey’s funny and heartbreaking monologue, La Solitude, directed by Becca Donley. We’re well aware of McCaffrey’s prowess as a performer (we have seen them in Lung Ha’s Castle Lennox and Stella Quines’ Disciples) but this is our first experience of them as a playwright and I suspect it won’t be the last. The piece is beautifully written with just the right amount of levity to carry its serious points. At once laugh-out-loud funny, poignant and provocative, this is an intensely thought-provoking play. McCaffrey is Lee, a lively, engaging young woman, who – like McCaffrey – has autism and learning difficulties. We first meet her as a child, eight years old, receiving a diagnosis she doesn’t understand and which nobody explains to her. All she knows is that it makes her parents cry. As a teenager, she is isolated at school, infantilised by teachers and support workers, unable to make friends. And things don’t improve when she reaches adulthood: Lee can’t live independently, but that doesn’t mean she’s a child; it doesn’t mean she doesn’t want a job, a social life, or – heaven forfend – a love life. Why shouldn’t she?

Last up, we have Defective, written and directed by Not So Nice’s own AD, Grace Ava Baker. We’re in the near future and Abigail (Indigo Buchanan) has just given birth. The Assessor (Eleanor Tate) has some bad news… With a premise akin to Minority Report, Defective explores the idea of original sin from a mother’s perspective. Is nature really so much more important than nurture? What price are we prepared to pay for a safer society? And whose word should we accept about our children’s destiny? Although the ending is a little muddled – without giving too much away, I don’t understand what Abigail does with that syringe – this is a compelling piece, raising some important questions about autonomy.

All in all, this is an thoroughly entertaining evening, a welcome antidote to all the red roses and slushy poetry.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Into the Woods

22/01/26

Church Hill Theatre, Edinburgh

Although I’m not really a fan of Sondheim (he’s not exactly the king of singalong, is he?), I do love a good fairytale and who better to perform this mystical mash-up than the ever-impressive EUSOG?

Co-directed by Tai Remus Elliot and Hunter King, Into the Woods brings together Little Red (Richeldis Brosnan), Cinderella (Maia Jones), Jack Beanstalk (Reuben Reilly) and Rapunzel (Aarya Gambhir). The named-for-a-cabbage, famed-for-her-hair princess plays a minor role, but her baker brother and his wife are central to the plot, as is the witch who keeps her imprisoned in a tower. Like her mother-in-law before her, the baker’s wife (Rosie Wilkinson) is desperate for a child – and just as ready to do a deal with the green-fingered witch who lives next door (Lauren Green). And so the baker (Shaun Hamilton) is duly dispatched to the woods, where he must find the four items the hag requires: a cow as white as milk, a cape as red as blood, some hair as yellow as corn, and a slipper as pure as gold. No prizes for guessing which characters are in possession of said treasures.

Ninety minutes of mayhem ensue, as the various stories overlap, causing Midsummer Night’s Dream levels of chaos in the woods. It all builds to the inevitable conclusion: the goodies gain riches, get married or have babies, while the baddies all die – or are at least brutally maimed. And all those who survive live happily ever after…

Until Act 2, when reality kicks in. “I was raised to be charming, not sincere,” says Cinderella’s prince (Max Middleton), apologising for his wandering eyes. The baker isn’t adapting well to parental responsibility and there’s a giantess on the hunt for the young lad who slew her spouse.

If the first act is stronger than the second (and it is), I lay the blame at writer James Lapine’s door. The play is too long: Act 1 feels like a complete story, and Act 2 just isn’t as inventive. I like the idea of subverting the famous stories, but the plotting is clunky and unadventurous.

Nonetheless, this production is admirable, with some cracking choreography from Morgan Hazelip and Tilly Heath Born, particularly for Last Midnight, which Green performs with evident gusto. Of course, the music is key – and there is a lot of vocal talent among the cast, most notably Green, Wilkinson and Jones. The orchestra (led by musical director Abby Bailey) handles the tricky time-signatures with great skill. It’s a shame there are a few technical problems with the sound, so that the vocals are sometimes overwhelmed by the instruments.

Elliot and King really bring out the humour in the show, with the two princes (Middleton and Aisling Ní Dhochartaigh) given ample scope to explore the silliness of Agony.

The lighting design (by Lewis Eggeling, Sophie Bend and Kiran Mukherjee) creates a suitably mystical atmosphere, emphasising the wild unpredictability of the woods. There are some lovely touches, such as the hard-edged beams highlighting the separateness of the fairytales before they converge, and the gentle downlights, suggestive of sunbeams filtering through the trees. However, the balance between eerie shadows and visibility perhaps requires a little tweaking, as there are moments where the actors’ faces are obscured, making it harder for the audience to connect with their emotions.

The costuming is ingenious: the wolf (Naomi Jessiman)’s lace-frilled suit is particularly memorable, as is the witch’s dress with its drop-down cloak. So hats off to wardrobe (Sophie Slight, Eloise Robertson and Olivia Fialho Rosa).

All in all, this is a vibrant, sprightly production, as polished and ambitious as we’ve come to expect from EUSOG. There are only two more chances to see it, so do whatever it takes to acquire a ticket – sell your cow, steal a cabbage, find a hen that’ll lay you a golden egg – and get yourself to the Church Hill Theatre as quickly as you can.

4 stars

Susan Singfield