Theatre

Thrice

24/10/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

“Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, and thrice again, to make up nine. Peace! The charm’s wound up.”

Thrice is a visually compelling hour of dance theatre, set – according to Al Seed Productions – in the aftermath of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. The king is dead; long live the witches!

Lina Limosani’s choreography is impeccable, the nine-strong ensemble moving with eerie precision, first in perfect unison, then spinning out of control. They writhe, they twist, they play – and they march. These women are moving from the margins and claiming centre stage.

Although there is no clear narrative, Judith Milligan has directed some arresting scenes. I like the repeated chanting of Lady Macbeth’s lines (“The Thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she now?”), suggestive of the way that nursery rhymes often originate in response to turbulent times before being stripped of their context and transformed into children’s songs. The sequence where the witches re-enact Macbeth’s beheading is another highlight.

Set, lighting and sound design (courtesy of Frankie Collier-Prickett, Alberto Santos Bellido and Guy Veale respectively) are the keystones of this piece, creating a suitably weird environment for the witches to inhabit. The set comprises two huge tree-like sculptures, as well as a circular stone structure, which seems to symbolise both water well and burial cairn. All the while, the pulsing soundscape ebbs and flows from pretty birdsong to pulsing menace. It’s a compelling mix.

However, without the anchor of a story arc, this feels fragmented and untethered, too slippery for me to hold on to. It’s like the films they show in art galleries: cleverly conceived and fascinating to watch, but a little of it goes a long, long way. Some of the later sections overstay their welcome, particularly the one where the women perform a kind of never-ending progressive folk dance.

Despite these misgivings, the production has much to commend it – and I’d truly love to see these particular witches as part of a production of Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

3.2 stars

Susan Singfield

Tristan & Yseult

21/10/26

The Royal Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

We’re taking our seats in the Lyceum and the place appears to be full of train spotters – well, no, ‘Love Spotters’ to be more accurate, as one of the balaclava-clad members informs us. He’s one of ‘The Unloved,’ who even have their own nightclub in which to bewail their plight. It turns out that every member of the twelve-strong cast takes a turn in these hallowed ranks, slipping in and out of costume so cleverly that I’m sometimes convinced that there are actually many more actors than listed in the programme.

Emma Rice and Kneehigh have reinvented their original 2003 production of Tristan & Yseult and the fruits of their collaboration race, dance and leap across the stage like wonderful mirages conjured from a fever dream. Based around a 12th century Cornish myth, T&Y tells the story of two star-crossed lovers and, like most myths from that era, it’s batshit crazy.

But here it is in a nutshell: Prince Tristan (John Leader) saves the life of King Mark of Cornwall (Edward Rowe) by defeating the Irish night Morholt (Tom Fox) in battle. The Irish are attempting a full scale invasion of Cornwall, so I guess that’s fair enough? Mark then sends Tristan (who has been badly wounded) to Ireland in order to collect Morholt’s daughter, Yseult (Nandi Bhebhe), who Mark now intends to marry. What could possibly go wrong?

On the journey back, the two leads mistake a bottle of wine for a powerful love potion (as you do) and… well, it gets complicated.

Got that? Good, because now you can pretty much forget about it and just enjoy the dazzling vigour and the off-the-charts level of invention employed to depict the ensuing chaos. What we are offered is a feast of wild dance routines, breathless fights, circus skills, knockabout humour, moments of heart-stopping drama, dazzling lighting effects and stirring musical interludes. The hefty running time seems to evaporate as the action unfolds and I just sit there, utterly spellbound.

Every now and then, I’m able to appreciate particular elements of this intricate human mosaic: Bhebe’s astonishing vocal range; Leader’s incredible athleticism; Fox’s perfectly judged comic asides – and I also particularly enjoy Matthew Churcher’s depiction of Mark’s henchman, Frocin, as he attempts, ever more desperately, to capture the respect of his King.

We’ve long had a soft spot for Emma Rice but this shows her at the height of her powers. The late Bill Mitchell’s original set and costume designs have been ‘refreshed’ by Vicki Mortimer and hats should be raised to choreographer Etta Murfitt, who sets this wonderfully inventive piece into constant motion.

The standing ovation that greets this magnificent production is heartfelt and exuberant, and my advice is to get yourselves down to the Lyceum before this wonder packs up its bags and sets sail for new destinations.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Bottom’s Dream

20/10/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Bottom’s Dream is the last of this season’s A Play, A Pie and A Pint productions (boo!) but, as final flourishes go, this one is rather fabulous (hurrah!).

Writer/performer Martin O’Connor plays Nick Bottom. You know the one: Shakespeare’s rude mechanical, the amateur player who’s turned into an ass for the fairies’ amusement, the butt of all the jokes. In this iteration, he’s still a weaver and wannabe actor, but it’s 2026 and he lives in Glasgow. Oh, and he speaks in iambic pentameter. In Scots.

The monologue opens at an audition, where Bottom is trying out for Hercules. He doesn’t know the protocol; heck, he’s not even sure how to pronounce the character’s name. Still, what he lacks in experience, he makes up for with enthusiasm. He’ll give anything a go if they’ll offer him a chance. But there’s the rub: they won’t. He doesn’t fit the industry’s idea of an actor. The only parts he’s cast for are junkies and thugs.

O’Connor imbues Bottom with both a weary dignity and a righteous anger, illuminating his frustration with a world that pigeonholes him as a tradie and blocks him from fulfilling his dreams. He’s proud of his work – there’s a gloriously lyrical section about weaving as the bedrock of language and art – but he doesn’t want to be reduced to it. He attends acting lessons, but he doesn’t fit in with his middle-class peers, who assume he got his place because he “ticked a box” (as if they’re not there because they tick all the invisible boxes). Why are there so many obstacles?

Debbie Hannan’s direction keeps everything building. By the time we get to his end-of-term showcase, we’re fully invested in Bottom’s dream – and devastated for him when it all goes wrong. There’s a lot resting on the performance: the grande dame of casting agents, Titania Peaseblossom, has deigned to leave London for her native Glasgow in order to offer feedback to the students. Bottom is disappointed to have been cast as a donkey, but he tries to make the most of it, desperately pushing himself further and further into the role. He gives it his all.

To no avail. No one gets it. They think he’s ridiculous. So ridiculous, in fact, that one of his classmates films him and posts a clip online. He goes viral – and not in a good way. He’s meme fodder.

But it takes a lot to keep Bottom down. Working-class actors don’t have many routes in – and it turns out being a social media ass can open doors. There’s a lot of snobbery about influencers and reality TV celebs, but there aren’t many other ways in for the dispossessed, for those aspiring creatives with neither family money nor industry connections. O’Connor’s bravura one-man performance illustrates just how un-level the playing field is, and how the working-classes often have to abase themselves to get a foot on the first rung.

There’s a lot to this play. The script is clever, combining wit with sharp political commentary. And in the end, Bottom roars loud enough to “do any man’s heart good to hear [him].”

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

Hadestown

18/10/26

Dominion Cinema, Edinburgh

For a very long time now, my musical-mad daughter has been urging us to check out Hadestown, declaring it to be ‘the best musical ever.’ Of course, seeing it would necessitate a trip to that London and the eye-watering cost of a couple of seats in the West End, so this cinematic release, featuring the original Broadway cast, really couldn’t come at a better time. As ever, the Dominion cinema offers the most luxurious surroundings for watching it.

Based on the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, this two-act musical is set in the titular town, situated somewhere on the railway line to hell. (As any estate agent will tell you, location is everything.) The place has an energetic nightclub feel with a superb live band fully integrated into the action. Our master of ceremonies is Hermes (André De Shields), an elderly gentleman who never allows his years to get in the way of his spectacular vocal abilities. He introduces us to the various players. Orpheus (Reeve Carney) is a humble barman and musician, who has a winning way with a song, while Eurydice (Eva Noblezada) is a wandering woman seeking refuge and a place to belong. Orpheus is, of course, instantly smitten with her.

Then there’s the high-spirited Persephone (Amber Gray), enjoying her annual holiday from her all-powerful husband, Hades (Patrick Page). She loves him but he can be rather demanding. Persephone is all ready to kick up her heels and make a song and dance about her short-lived liberation. But wouldn’t you just know it, Hades unexpectedly drops by for a quick visit and his avaricious gaze falls upon Eurydice – and pretty soon she’s taking that downward journey to the Underworld…

Everybody knows the central story and its sad conclusion, so it’s to this production’s credit that it all feels so fresh, so spirited, so unfettered. With both book and blues-inflected songs by Anais Mitchell, this takes off at a gallop and never falters, delivering a mix of uptempo belters and soaring ballads with absolute authority. Carney’s lilting falsetto offers genuine thrills and he’s nicely contrasted with Page’s deep baritone, which is particularly effective on Why We Build the Wall – a song with eerie connotions to Trump’s America, even though this show originated way back in 2006 and had a long, slow transition to its first Broadway run in 2019.

It’s clear from glimpses of the spellbound audience at this recent reunion that Hadestown’s audience is predominantly young and that they are avidly hooked on every detail, applauding exuberantly when Page manages a dance routine despite the orthopedic boot he’s wearing after a recent accident. Choreographer David Neumann has the whole cast leaping and whirling with precision across the crowded stage and special mention should be made of the three Fates (Bella Brown, Madeline Charlemagne and Allie Daniel), who all have voices to beat the band. Rachel Hauck’s ingenious set, which makes full use of its circular design really comes into its own during the centrl couple’s journey through the underworld.

The only real criticism I have of this filmed version, directed by Brett Sullivan, is the absence of an interval between the two acts, which means that those in need of a quick toilet break do risk missing a few minutes of the action before they can get back to their seats. But that’s a minor niggle. Hadestown is an exquisite, inspired and downright thrilling musical experience that revitalises a familiar story – and it’s easy to see why it has acquired such a devoted following.

While I hesitate to agree with my daughter that this is the ‘best ever’, it’s certainly up there as a contender and I’m really glad she put me on to it – and if it shuffles its way into a cinema near you, don’t miss your opportunity to see it.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Contact

13/10/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Play number three of the Traverse’s current PPP season is top-notch: a taut two-hander about a complex mother-son relationship.

Although the subject matter is serious – covering generational trauma and domestic violence – it’s served with a generous helping of playwright Jonny Donahoe’s trademark wit, so that there is plenty of light to make the shade palatable.

Blythe Duff plays Mother, a lonely Gen X-er with a tough protective layer of sarcasm and defensiveness. Her Gen-Z son (Mark Barrett) is fed up of her constant needling so he issues her an ultimatum. His wife is pregnant and he wants things sorted before his child is born. Otherwise, he’ll never see his mum again.

Mother reluctantly agrees to a weekly meeting, although she finds it hard to open up in the way he wants her to. She’s all for (metaphorically) sweeping things under the carpet and (literally) burning old photographs; meanwhile, he wants to take her to task about the way her parenting has shaped him, to talk about his abusive father and the myriad ways Mother has always let him down.

They’re both in therapy but it doesn’t really seem to help. Maybe they need to go together instead of separately. As it is, Mother’s counsellor tells her Son has stifled her potential, while Son’s mentor has instigated this all-or-nothing plan. It doesn’t seem as if there’s any way through.

The humour comes from Mother’s unfiltered sniping. “You’ve put on weight,” she tells him – and that’s the nicest thing she says. No wonder Son thinks she’s brutal and uncompromising. But Duff’s nuanced performance allows the audience to see more: a brittle, damaged woman, just trying to survive.

The writing is superb, presenting a thorny situation without pretending there is an easy answer (or, indeed, any answer at all). Director Ben Standish keeps things simple, allowing the dialogue to do the work. I like the contrast between the abstract style of the confrontations and the hyper-realistic ending, perfectly complemented by Gillian Argo’s set design.

Contact is a compelling, provocative play – and an ideal fit for the one-hour lunchtime slot. Catch it if you can!

4.6 stars

Susan Singfield

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie

09/10/26

The Royal Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

The titular educator is an Edinburgh icon, her legacy woven into the fabric of the city, from the Vennel’s Miss Jean Brodie Steps to Bruntsfield’s Muriel Spark Walk. Her very name references Deacon Brodie, one of the city’s most infamous 18th century luminaries, a thief and philanderer she proudly claims as her ancestor. Perhaps her duplicitous nature is part of her DNA.

This vibrant production (from the National Theatre of Scotland, The Royal Lyceum and Pitlochry Festival Theatre) breathes new life into the old favourite, amplifying the teacher’s allure as well as her failings.

It’s 1935. In Europe, Adolf Hitler is a rising threat but Benito Mussolini, although polarising, is admired by many for his bold authoritarianism. Primary school teacher Miss Jean Brodie (Gayle Rankin) is certainly a fan: she shares his aesthetic obsession with order and control. Like the Italian fascist, she is a charismatic leader – and her classroom is her country.

Miss Brodie’s eleven-year-old pupils are in their final year of Juniors and she’s supposed to be preparing them for their Senior school entrance exam. Instead, as soon as her classroom door is closed, she kicks off her shoes and denounces the system. She lambasts the conservative Miss Mackay (Maureen Beattie), encouraging the girls to mock their headmistress. In lieu of maths, she shares bon mots; rather than history, she tells tales of her holidays. In short, Miss Brodie casts a spell over her students, inspiring a cult-like devotion that feeds her monstrous ego.

Of course, we’d call it grooming nowadays. Miss Brodie’s ‘set’ are carefully selected for their pliability and romanticism, wooed with flattery, sex-talk, secrets and booze. For preteens Sandy (Bobby Rainsbury), Jenny (Shreya Khaund Marshall), Monica (Tallulah Greive), Mary (Liberty Black) and Joyce Emily (Sophie Fortune), it’s a heady, irresistible mix, in stark contrast to Miss Mackay’s moribund regime. But children have a habit of growing up and noticing their heroines’ feet of clay. And who is Miss Brodie without her posse of adoring fans?

Written by David Harrower and directed by Vicky Featherstone, this adaptation of Sparks’ best-known novel is a triumph, with a clarity of vision that renders the play every bit as engaging as its protagonist. The three-hour running time flies by. Rankin is mesmerising as the charismatic lead; it’s easy to understand why the girls are so in thrall to her, not to mention her two suitors, drippy, devoted Mr Lowther (Brian Ferguson) and brooding badass Mr Lloyd (Dyfan Dwyfor).

Chloe Lamford’s spectacular set design – a giant semi-circle of tiered steps – resembles nothing so much as a Roman amphitheatre (with the auditorium completing the circle), the perfect venue for the gladiatorial-style battle Miss Brodie believes she is engaged in, determined as she is to promote individualism and free the girls from the tyranny of ‘team spirit’. Behind the steps, Lewis den Hertog’s enormous video projections throw up ever-changing images, from Proto-Renaissance art to fascist marches, Miss Brodie’s adult worldliness dwarfing her young acolytes’ limited experience. No wonder she clings to her job so passionately; in this arena, she appears all-knowing.

I love Anna Orton’s costume design, Miss Brodie’s outfits reflecting the different stages of the girls’ relationship with her. When Rankin first enters, striking a powerful pose centre stage, she’s dressed flamboyantly in a fitted pink leather skirt and a green shirt with oversized, wing-like sleeves. We see her through her pupils’ eyes as she morphs from exotic and exciting to strong and commanding, changing into a structured suit with sharp lines and pagoda shoulders. As the girls grow older and she confides in them about her love-life, she begins to dress in a more overtly sexy way (cue tight-fitting zebra print) before finally being cut down to size, literally undressed and relegated to a nursing home and a dull dressing gown.

The girls’ costumes are interesting too. In the first act, they wear simple black smocks, complete with white collars and black knee socks. After the interval, it takes me a few minutes to notice a subtle difference: the dresses are now sheer, the girls’ sensible underwear clearly visible beneath. The imagery is clever in its simplicity, showing how the girls are becoming young women, their sexuality burgeoning despite the school’s strictures.

It’s also a sign that Miss Brodie’s reign is coming to an end.

To be honest, when I re-read The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie a few years ago, I didn’t enjoy it, and I wondered if the story had lost its potency. Thanks to this magnificent production, I now know that it has not.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

Whaur’s Yer Wullie Shakespeare Noo?

08/10/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

The second Play Pie Pint production of the Autumn season is written and directed by the company’s Artistic Director, Brian Logan – and it’s hardly surprising that a playwright so immersed in Scottish theatre would choose Scottish theatre history as his theme.

It’s 1756, the age of Scottish Enlightenment. The movement’s core thinkers are resoundingly pro-theatre but they are met with opposition – not only from Westminster’s Licensing Act but also from the the Kirk, where strict Calvinists like John Witherspoon (Gavin Jon Wright) view play-acting as the Devil’s work.

Encouraged by philosopher David Hume (Fraser Sivewright), minister John Home (Lewie Watson) illegally stages his play, Douglas, sparking an infamous furore. The production is a remarkable success, prompting one particularly enthusiastic audience member to yell out the titular question, convinced that Home’s talent surpasses Shakespeare’s.

But for minister Alexander Carlyle (Kevin Lennon), attending his friend’s play means facing charges in an ecclesiastical trial…

A fierce moral and philosophical battle ensues, polarising the country.

Unfortunately, there are times when WYWSN? becomes bogged down in the weight of its material. Although I am fascinated by what I learn about Scottish theatrical history, some of the early dialogue is very expositional, while the courtroom scene is somewhat static and over-long.

However, the four actors are terrific, tearing through this playful Scots romp with alacrity and aplomb. There’s a lot packed into the sixty-minute running time but, under Logan’s direction, they handle it all with apparent ease – switching from hammed-up scenes from Douglas to earnest religious debate, from Python-esque ditty to court room drama. Memorable moments include the English Lord Bute (Wright) patronising Home when his play transfers to London, and the aforementioned silly song.

As for Home’s playwriting prowess, the scenes from Douglas are certainly enjoyable – but I don’t think they pose any real threat to the Bard of Avon’s legacy…

3 stars

Susan Singfield

The Void

07/10/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Not exactly a play and not exactly a science-fiction movie, The Void occupies a curious space in the hinterland somewhere between the two. While Caitlin Marwhinney’s spectacular set design is impressive and Nick Sagar’s sound design provides plenty of jolting jump scares, the story itself isn’t quite as assured.

An impressive circular screen imparts important information in the voice of Nova (Olwen May), an AI. It’s the year 2160, the Earth has been destroyed and a massive corporation now dictates the lives of the remaining humans, who all have a chip implanted in their brains to ensure that they do exactly what they’re told. Space Ranger Flint (Alex Moran) encounters a starship called The Odyssey drifting somewhere near Saturn. He boards it, only to find that all but one of the crew are dead, most of the corpses kneeling with their faces pressed to the nearest wall. The lone survivor is Blair (Ryan Simmons, who also wrote the script and directs), a scientist who seems to be concealing some kind of secret.

Flint explores the ship trying to find out what happened to the crew but he’s haunted by the fact that some of the things he encounters on his search seem weirdly familiar to him…

There’s no doubting the ambition of Thunder Road’s production – and this genre rarely gets a look-in on the stage, unless it’s backed by a budget the size of a small planet, so I’m primed to want this to succeed. While it does on a technical level, with the accomplished cinematic elements expanding the story’s universe beyond the limitations of a stage, I feel that the convolutedscript too often leaves me puzzled about what exactly is going on. While this would be fine if all the disparate plot-strands felt resolved by the conclusion, I still find myself drawing a blank on some aspects of the story as I leave the Traverse.

On the other hand, I am pretty impressed by the almost magical effects that are utilised in the telling, particularly the ‘space walk’ sequence and a couple of sudden disappearances that leave me wondering how they were achieved. Is there a skilled magician directing from the wings?

Moran’s performance is physically impressive (especially in the aforementioned ‘space walk’, which clearly requires formidable core strength); however, his vocal delivery is perhaps a little one-note, though this will surely settle down as The Void sets off on an extensive tour around the UK.

I for one applaud its intention to boldly go where few productions have gone before.

3.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Eurydice

01/10/26

Assembly Roxy (Upstairs), Edinburgh

Sarah Ruhl’s 2003 play reimagines Virgil’s Orpheus and Eurydice, centring the latter and relegating her lover to a supporting role. But this feminist retelling is a paradoxical one. Sure, the story is told from the heroine’s point of view; however, I don’t think the choice between three competing versions of male authority quite cuts it as real agency.

In this version, young lovers Eurydice (Erin Jederon-Hogg) and Orpheus (Shaun Hamilton) are immature and impetuous, carried away by romance and fantasy. They’re not especially well-suited: he’s airy, his head full of whimsy and song; she’s livelier, earthier; she likes to swim, dance and read. Nonetheless, they decide to marry.

Eurydice’s late father (John Beattie) is watching from beyond the grave, desperate to communicate with his daughter, to pass on parental advice. He writes her a letter and gives it to a worm, hoping it will somehow make its way to her. But a Nasty Interesting Man (Jimmy Kavanagh) intercepts the note, using it to entice Eurydice away from her wedding and to her death, to the Underworld where he presides…

Orpheus is devastated; Eurydice not so much. Of course, death is confusing at first. She’s bathed in the Waters of Lethe, so she can’t remember anything, not even how to speak. Once she reconnects with her father, however, things start to come back, and they’re happy together in their room of string, rebuilding their relationship.

But both Orpheus and the Nasty Interesting Man want to claim Eurydice as their own. Which of the three men will she choose?

Any issues I have with Eurydice are with the script, not Gutter.’s first-rate production. Jederon-Hogg and Kavanagh excel in the showiest roles, the former captivating as the lead, shining with youthful exuberance in the early scenes before recoiling uneasily from the INM’s creepy attempts at seduction. Kavanagh plays the INM with evident relish, his gaze eerily intense, his enunciation horribly slow and precise. He imbues this absurd version of Hades with real menace, even while dragging a small red tricycle behind him. The INM grows downwards, he says, and changes abruptly from toddler to playboy. Meanwhile, Hamilton and Beattie competently deliver the more understated performances their characters call for, Hamilton offering a palpable sense of loss and bewilderment, while Beattie provides a core of gentle stability.

The stones are my favourites though. Amelie Berry (Loud Stone), Aodhán Mallon (Big Stone) and Lisa Gilham (Little Stone) form a hilarious Greek chorus, whinging and whining in perfect unison, like bored children given too much responsibility.

The design of this piece belies its shoestring budget. The set (by Iris Ollier and Lydia Miller) makes ingenious use of cellophane, string and bent wire, while the costumes (by Eliza Beecroft) are bold and evocative. I especially like the over-sized suits worn by the stones; ragged, sleeveless and threaded with bits of old jewellery, they have a curious jarring effect.

Could there be more actual music in the play, especially when Orpheus is onstage? It would certainly help if we were shown how musical he is, rather than merely told. That aside, co-directors Jane Morgan and Rue Richardson have done a sterling job. This is a pacy, compelling production and the ninety-minute running time seems to fly by.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Wallace

30/09/26

King’s Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s an auspicious night. We’re finally back at the King’s Theatre after a four year absence and the Old Lady of Leven Street is looking absolutely glorious, every surface gleaming after a £41 million upgrade. Ironically, similar observations might be made about Wallace. We were lucky enough to catch its humbler iteration last year as part of the Traverse’s A Play, A Pie and A Pint Season. It was clear from the get-go that this Scottish hip-hop bio-musical had the potential to fill more than the stripped-back propulsive hour it occupied then.

One glance at Neil Haynes’ magnificent set design, where the carcass of a deer dangles over a series of steps and ramps, confirms that the show has indeed taken a big leap – though ironically, composer/lyricist Dave Hook has taken a literal step back. He’s still cast as the titular Scottish hero but spends most of his time behind a sound deck, only stepping out to perform specific songs. The bulk of the narration goes to ‘Scotsman’ (Ross Mann), who proudly boasts that he is a direct descendent of William Wallace – and who has a hissy fit when he’s informed, later in the show, that his hero (if he existed) might not even have been Scottish.

Original show performers, ‘Sasenach'( Manasa Tagica) and ‘wummin’ (Patricia Panther) return to the fray. This time, Panther is accompanied by Madeleine Grieve and Kimberly Mandino, the three of them popping and locking in perfect time as they belt out the lyrics, making the most of the opportunity to sing about how women usually get overlooked in these alpha-male historic recreations.

What makes this musical really distinctive is that it has the guts to question its hero. Was William Wallace really any better than his adversary Edward “Longshanks?” (Yes, he was.) Didn’t they both emerge from cauldrons of calamity and cruelty, taught to be savage by the very savagery heaped upon them as they grew up?

There has been much talk of Wallace as the Scottish Hamilton, and perhaps that’s as good a description as any. Suffice to say, it makes a confident, swaggering transition to this bigger, longer production and the new material blends seamlessly with the old. Derek Anderson’s dynamic lighting designs add some truly dazzling effects and I love the perfectly-timed drop that ends the first act.

Of course, some things can be lost in translation. Perhaps this isn’t quite as sleek as that leaner, meaner original – and yes, occasionally in the sonic fury of the sound mix, those whip-smart lyrics are harder to follow. But nonetheless, Wallace is a satisfyingly epic production that confirms the suspicion I had when I saw it in its original guise: this is a winner – and as it moves on to an extended Scottish tour, it can only get better.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney