Theatre

Mayday: Rapid Responses to Our Times

01/05/26

Central Hall, Edinburgh

This National Theatre of Scotland production, co-curated and directed by Cora Bissett and Hannah Lavery, comprises live music, theatre, poetry, comedy and dance. Commissioned as a rapid-response project – a reaction to our turbulent political climate – this is part call-to-arms and part howl into the void. Because sometimes we need the catharsis of the latter before we can can put on our big-girl pants and contemplate the former.

Organisationally, this is a triumph, each act flowing smoothly into the next, even when an ensemble as large as the Loud and Proud choir has to file onto the stage. There’s a lot that could go wrong: as well as the numerous performances, there are short films, set changes and BSL interpreters, not to mention the house band. That it all unfolds without a glitch is mightily impressive.

The auditorium is packed; this is a sell-out. It’s not surprising: we’re all looking for answers and maybe artists are the right people to pose the questions. They have strong voices, diverse audiences and myriad means of expression. Some of us will respond to ideas that emerge from dance; others to music or drama. It doesn’t matter. Anything that makes us pause and think. And act accordingly.

For me, the strongest elements of the evening are the punchiest. The songs – especially Dawn Sievewright’s rendition of Bissett’s It’s No a Wean’s Choice and Kitti’s feminist polemic – are especially stirring, and I also appreciate the insights I gain from both Tia Rey and Sanjeev Kohli’s spoken word sections. The choirs are very affecting, as is the garland of socks that campaign group Mothers Against Genocide Scotland have hung around the venue, each tiny bootee representing a child who has died in Gaza.

Although theatre is usually my favourite art-form, I find the dramatic scenes included here the least effective elements of the evening. Although they’re well-performed (and have been penned by writers I admire, including Apphia Campbell and Uma Nada-Rajah), there isn’t enough time for the arguments to develop or for us to fully engage with the characters.

No matter. Overall, the evening is a resounding success, reminding us that – together – we can make a difference. There are lots of people out there, right now, trying – and, if we join them, we can become part of the solution. Because we really do have to do something, don’t we?

Even if it’s as small as turning out to vote next week, to stop the fascists in their tracks.

Susan Singfield

Off the Rails

30/04/26

Assembly Roxy

Off the Rails is Stephanie MacGaraidh’s professional writing debut – and what a debut it is. Playwright, songwriter, actor, musician: this is a one-woman show in every sense of the phrase. And it’s extraordinarily affecting.

It’s an auspicious start to the Assembly Roxy’s first ever season of Òran Mór’s A Play, A Pie and A Pint, whose productions usually play at the Traverse when they come to Edinburgh. The venue works well for the small-scale black box shows that PPP is known for, although the old building is not very accessible, which might exclude some of the Traverse’s regular patrons. If the rest of the plays are as good as this one, it will be a real shame for them to miss out.

MacGaraidh is Maggie, a woman on the run – or, more specifically, a woman on a train. In the quiet coach. Wearing pyjamas. With only an empty tote bag and a stale Go Ahead bar as luggage.

It’s not the way most people dream of spending their 30th birthdays…

The tone evolves with the people Maggie meets on her journey north, from raucous hen party to lonely widower. MacGaraidh plays every character with conviction, eliciting both laughter and tears. Maggie’s story emerges bit by bit, revealed through an enticing mix of song and monologue, slowly revealing a young woman who has never really recovered from high school bullying, and whose adulthood is blighted by social anxiety.

I’ve rarely seen a looper used to such excellent effect, not only as backing vocals and added guitar, but also as interior monologue, amplifying the tension as Maggie’s life veers off the rails. The intrusive train announcements intensify the pressure even further, so that we’re as relieved as Maggie when one final encounter brings her back from the brink.

Directed by Katie Slater, Off the Rails is a triumph – and MacGaraidh is surely a star in the ascendance.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

Jackals

24/04/26

Tech Cube, Summerhall

We’re in Vienna in the 1890s (well, we’re really in the Tech Cube, Edinburgh, but you get the idea), where Sigmund Freud (Claire Macallister) is fast becoming the most prominent name in the field of psychoanalysis. His first meeting with new patient, Emma Eckstein (Becca Robin Dunn), is initially clumsy and awkward but they soon get the measure of each other and Emma becomes a regular visitor to his office, both as a patient and as a contributor to his research. Indeed, as the years roll by, she begins to contemplate a future in the same line of work.

When they first meet, Emma is prone to bleeding copiously, a symptom we now know is caused by endometriosis but which in that era was identified – mostly by Freud – as an inevitable result of ‘hysteria.’ But when he brings in his friend, surgeon Wilhelm Fleiss (also played by Dunn), to perform a nasal operation on Emma, he unwittingly initiates the key event that will essentially end their friendship and leave Emma scarred for life…

Written by the two performers and directed by Olivia Millar-Ross, Jackals is an engrossing and often unexpectedly funny piece of work. The two actors handle their roles with skill. Macallister captures Freud’s pomposity and his tendency to claim other people’s ideas as his own, while Dunn also excels as the contradictory Emma, a woman at once fragile and fierce. In one key scene, Dunn slips on a black waistcoat and makes a confident switch to the swaggering, self-aggrandising Fleiss, urging Freud to pursue his dreams to the bitter end, to take advantage of his new-found fame.

Niroshini Thambar’s sound design is eerily haunting and Melanie Jordan’s short movement pieces, punctuating the various acts as five years unroll, are nicely judged transitions. A moment when Macallister eviscerates an orange to depict Eckstein’s surgery is a particularly effective touch and I also love the scenes where the two performers crouch on a desktop, glaring balefully into the audience like the creatures of the title.

I leave the theatre outraged by what happened to Eckstein and determined to find out more about her, which I suppose must surely be one of the main objectives of the play. It’s eye-opening.

There are just a couple more opportunities to catch Jackals at Summerhall before it moves on, so book your tickets now.

4.2 stars

Philip Caveney

Gush

23/04/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Ally (Jessica Hardwick) is expecting her first baby. She’s looking forward to becoming a mum, but she’s also scared of losing her own identity. Already, before ‘Bug’ has put in an appearance, she’s ceded some of her autonomy to Kevin, her loving but anxious husband, who asks her to drink rooibos tea instead of her preferred English Breakfast, and keeps imploring her to ‘relax.’ Her world seems to be shrinking and she’s desperate to claw back her sense of self…

Especially that one particular aspect of herself she’s never had the courage to explore.

In a few short weeks she’ll be too busy, too tired, too focused on looking after her child, so it’s now or never, she reasons. And never isn’t an option. Ally’s always known she’s bisexual but she’s only ever been with men. She needs to try sex with a woman, just once, before she settles down for good. She deserves this last hurrah, doesn’t she?

Hardwick’s ebullient performance anchors the monologue effectively: she’s funny and appealing, so that we want her to find fulfilment, despite the moral ambiguity of her plan (namely, cheating on her husband with a sex worker). Jess Brodie’s script is witty and well-paced, the cringe-comedy elements perfectly judged, so that I often find myself laughing from behind my hands, my toes literally curled, as Ally’s quest leads her from one awkward moment to the next.

Becky Minto’s design is deceptive. At first, the set appears to be all clinical white surfaces, a perspex-coated cyclorama morphing into a hard-edged bed, softened only by a few cushions. But as the play develops and the lighting (courtesy of Renny Robertson) becomes more subdued, we notice that the bed’s walls are clad in intricately knitted wool, reminiscent of a baby’s blanket, and there’s a pleated cotton valance around the raised platform.

Under Becky Hope-Palmer’s direction, this is a lively, kinetic piece of drama, and there are some lovely creative touches. I like the way the audience is manipulated into vicarious embarrassment and, more specifically, the simplicity of Ally’s bump becoming her baby.

If you’re in the mood for a highly-original take on impending parenthood, Gush might just be the play for you. There are only two nights left to see it in Edinburgh though, so you’ll need to get your skates on.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

The High Life

07/04/26

Festival Theatre, Edinburgh

Way back in 1994, a seven-part television series aired on the BBC. The brainchild of actors Alan Cumming and Forbes Masson, it offered a surreal blend of Scottish whimsy and outrageous musical routines. Cumming played Sebastian Flight and Masson was Steve McCracken, two flight attendants working for the fictional airline, Air Scotia. These were men for whom sarcastic asides came fitted as standard. A second series was planned but never came to fruition but, over the years, The High Life achieved a sizeable cult following. Who could have foreseen that three decades later the two originators would team up with Johnny McKnight to create a stage musical inspired by that very series? And who could have predicted that it would star four members of the original cast and would be presented by The National Theatre of Scotland, no less?

But the proof is right here on the stage of the Festival Theatre, as Sebastian and Steve prepare for take off once more. Suffice to say, their old adversary, Shona Spurtle (Siobhan Redmond), is still prowling the aisle ‘like Mussolini in micro-mesh,’ keeping our two heroes well and truly under her thumb, while Captain Hilary Duff (Patrick Rycart) can always be depended on to wander in at inappropriate moments, making rambling observations about whatever happens to be on his mind. Not the flight, that’s for sure.

The sense of affection from the packed auditorium is palpable and the staunch fans’ reactions to familiar references are loud and appreciative. As somebody who has never seen the TV series, I must admit that these allusions go right over my head – but it doesn’t really matter. This is, more than anything else, utterly devoted to unbridled silliness in all its exquisite forms. The script is packed with superb one-liners and up-to-the-minute political references. The lead players demonstrate that they really can turn their boundless skills to just about any genre – and the supporting cast are (nylon) uniformly excellent. Kyle Gardiner is particularly impressive in the role of new recruit Mylie, while Rachael Kendall Brown is utterly adorable as Kylie, the stewardess who has been secretly carrying a candle for Shona.

Colin Richmond’s set and costume design are suitably ingenious, taking nylon to places it’s never been before, while Emily Jane Boyle’s slick choreography keeps the 11-strong cast striding, dancing (and occasionally crawling) across every inch of the massive stage. Director Andrew Panton handles all the rampant mayhem with commendable skill and the pace never flags for a moment.

The first act culminates in a sudden and startling manner. During the interval, Susan and I speculate about what might await us in the second. It speaks volumes that both of us are half-right and simultaneously, completely wrong about where Flight 123 is ultimately headed. The High Life goes to places most other airlines dare not venture and it’s fun to travel with them. My advice would be to get yourselves down to the Festival Theatre before this show jets off on tour.

4.2 stars

Philip Caveney

Miss Lockwood Isn’t Well

01/04/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s April Fool’s Day and the final offering in this season’s A Play A Pie and a Pint seems an apt choice for the occasion. Miss Lockwood Isn’t Well focuses on the trials and tribulations of primary school teacher Alice Lockwood (Karen Young), who has been suspended from work after experiencing a series of visions. Each encounter features a saint, who arrives in her classroom bearing helpful advice. Mind you, the insights she’s granted aren’t (at least, initially) in Joan of Arc territory.

That earring she lost? It’s under the fridge. Apparently.

Dr Freer (Jane McQuarry) has been given the tricky task of determining whether or not Alice is fit to return to work. For the assessment, Alice has requested that her parish priest, Father Mackin (Mark Cox), should also be in attendance, presumably to offer some moral support – though his snarky, mocking attitude probably isn’t what she was hoping for. Dr Freer asks Alice to explain, in her own words, the bizarre encounters that have brought her to her current situation and her ensuing account makes up the substance of James Reilly’s acerbic and occasionally hilarious play.

Young manages to keep her character grounded throughout, wide-eyed with dismay that anybody would think her a potential danger, but occasionally slipping into a kind of altered state – whereupon some of her revelations really do seem to verge on the miraculous. It’s an intriguing twist. Cox is given the lion’s share of the one-liners, which he handles with perfect timing, coaxing big laughs from the audience – and McQuarry makes an excellent job of the play’s trickiest role, refereeing the constant sparring of her two companions, yet still managing to create a convincing and utterly professional character.

This is an undeniably intriguing piece. The revelation that there are actually thousands of patron saints recognised by the Catholic church – and that many of them have pretty inane responsibilities – adds to the general air of amusement. Did you know, for instance, that there’s actually a patron saint of dysentery? St Polycarp. Thanks for asking.

Catriona McLeod handles the direction with her usual skill and Heather Grace Currie’s neon-splashed set revels in the innate tackiness of Catholicism (sorry, lapsed Catholic speaking). If the play’s conclusion doesn’t quite smack home with a killer punch, this is a thoroughly entertaining way to spend a Wednesday lunchtime.

Come to think of it, there’s probably a patron saint for those too. Saint Pie-us? I’ll get my coat.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

The Light House

28/03/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Alys Williams’ one-woman show raises some important issues about caring for someone who is struggling with their mental health. The play opens with a boat on a stormy sea – and the terrifying realisation that someone has fallen in. “Man overboard!” yells Williams. “Man overboard!” echo the audience members she has previously primed. “Call the bridge!” Williams says. “Blow the whistle! Throw the lifebuoy! Point!”

The final instruction is the hardest to follow, because she has to keep pointing without looking away until someone else comes to take over.

No matter how long that takes.

The metaphor soon becomes clear. The protagonist’s boyfriend experiences suicidal ideation. When he’s found on a Dublin bridge, contemplating throwing himself into the Liffey, she tries her best to rise to the occasion. She sounds the alarm: “Man overboard!” She doesn’t let him out of her sight. But no one comes to her assistance, and her own wellness begins to suffer.

It’s interesting to see this story from the caregiver’s point of view. However, although this is very much Alys’s tale, I think the piece would benefit from a deeper exploration of Nathan’s experience, offering us more insight into his illness than the superficial assertion that he’s ‘depressed’. Without this, it’s hard to appreciate the extent to which Alys’s care is needed.

From a dramatic point of view, there’s not a lot of jeopardy. Williams assures us at the beginning that everything turns out okay, and it does – with nary a bump on the road. Aside from the initial incident – where Nathan thinks about killing himself and then decides not to – everything progresses relatively smoothly. Sure, there are the long waiting lists for psychiatric care, his parents’ worries about their medical insurance and Alys’s spiralling anxiety. But none of these potentially serious complications ever amounts to anything, which makes the play feel strangely anticlimactic.

Nonetheless, Williams is a very engaging performer. Directed by Andrea Heaton, her gentle, inclusive demeanour makes the audience participation work well. I also like her use of puppetry and clowning; in fact, I think Williams could make more of these to amplify the emotional impact. The set (by Emma Williams) is effective, conjuring both boat and bedsit, its many ladders and hiding places allowing for dynamic movement.

A nicely-told drama about a vital subject, The Light House is on tour until the 24th May.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

One-Man Poe: The Black Cat & The Raven

22/03/26

The Swallow Theatre, Ravenstone

We’re enjoying a short campervan trip to Dumfries and Galloway. Tomorrow, a 10k hike is planned on the Isle of Whithorn where we’ll explore the setting of the final scenes of the iconic 1973 film, The Wicker Man. But how should we pass a quiet Sunday evening? Well, obviously we’re not going to a theatre show, that really would be a busman’s holiday… but then a friend tells us about The Swallow Theatre, which proudly proclaims itself to be ‘the smallest theatre in Scotland.’ Originally set up by Jill and David Sumner in 1990, it now has new owners, and is currently celebrating its 30th year!

And what’s more, tonight’s show looks very interesting…

Almost before we know what’s happening, our seats are booked and we’re dodging pot holes as we drive along a remote country road, until we see welcoming lights ahead of us. Someone is waiting by the parking area to guide cars into their spaces and, once inside, we take seats in the convivial bar, where drinks and snacks are being dispensed. The new owners have been running the theatre since 2016 and seem to be able to turn their hands to just about everything. As curtain up draws near, we’re led out to the converted cow byre behind the cottage, where performer Stephen Smith is already seated at a desk, awaiting our arrival. Blankets are dispensed (it’s Scotland; it’s cold!), the lights dim and One-Man Poe begins.

In the opening monologue, Smith relates the author’s classic short story, The Black Cat, the tale of a disturbed man who cannot stop himself from indulging in random acts of cruelty, most of them directed at his titular pet. Smith is a confident and assured performer and he embodies the narrator with great skill, seizing upon the man’s every gesture, every sidelong glance: the way he suddenly pauses to stare intently at a member of the audience. There are nicely-judged moments of dread, subtly accentuated by sound and lighting effects.

If the first half is impressive, the second is even more so as, in full view of the audience, Smith transforms himself into an entirely different character, the old man who relates Poe’s best-known poem, The Raven. This is stage craft of the highest order. We’ve seen Smith changing his clothes and applying his makeup, so why should we believe that he’s an elderly man approaching the end of his life? And yet, we absolutely do. It’s a mesmerising performance, during which the audience watches in spellbound silence as the familiar lines unfold.

Already a regular performer at the Edinburgh Fringe, Smith announces afterwards that he’s planning to return this August with two new pieces by Edgar Allen Poe. Something to check out at a later date, I think, but for now we return to our van, marvelling at what we’ve just watched and trying not to be aware of the countless pairs of glinting eyes watching us from the hedgerow…

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Saint Joan

21/03/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Stewart Laing’s stripped-back adaptation of George Bernard Shaw’s Saint Joan is based not on the 1923 original, but on a screenplay Shaw wrote later (presumably with an eye on Hollywood), a script which eventually made it into print in the1960s but never transitioned to the big screen. It’s a shorter, tauter version of the story, which focuses on Joan’s origins – and on her subsequent trial.

The piece is initially narrated by Chorus (Martin O Connor) as a series of action lines, inviting the audience to picture the scenes as they unfold. Joan (Mandipa Kabanda, in her theatrical debut), a sixteen-year-old peasant girl, turns up unexpectedly at the farm of Robert de Baudricourt (Thierry Mabonga), insisting that she be given a horse and a suit of armour. (Well we’ve all been there!) Voices in her head have told her that she must ride to the rescue of the city of Orléans, which is currently under siege by the English army. Those same voices assure Joan that not only can she save the city but, furthermore, she’s destined to be the one to crown the Dauphin in Rheims Cathedral.

Against all the odds, Robert is convinced by Joan’s visions and grants her request. The ensuing carnage in Orléans does appear to have a seemingly miraculous outcome with the French defeating the English, providing a turning point in the 100 years war. But of course, as we all know, history doesn’t have a happy ending planned for Joan – and all too soon, she finds herself on trial for witchcraft, judged and assessed by a bunch of toxic males, who feel threatened by her seemingly supernatural abilities. Only Ladvenu (Lewis MacDougall) finds some sympathy for her plight, but he is shouted down in the general chorus of ‘burn the witch!’

As I said earlier, it’s stripped-back and spare, but the harsh declamatory style of the dialogue sometimes makes it hard to follow proceedings – and it seems ironic that a huge blank screen standing onstage throughout is barely utilised as anything more than a handy barrier to conceal costume changes. There’s one brief sequence with a few static images and music by Charli XCX – and a longer filmed epilogue, created by Adura Onashile, which features a tarred-and-feathered Joan speaking directly to camera, evoking comparisons between her mission and the work of protestors against the current conflict in Palestine. Are social media activists channelling Joan as a prototype? This seems to suggest that they are – but, the inevitable effect is to make those earlier scenes seem even starker by comparison – and wouldn’t Joan’s immolation benefit from some suitably fiery visuals? I can’t help feeling this is a missed opportunity.

Still, this is a serious, thought-provoking performance piece with the six-strong cast moving from character to character with total commitment. MacDougall is particularly compelling as Ladvenu and Ross Mann manages to imbue elements of humour into the bullish, vengeful Chaplain. A four-way production between Raw Material, Perth Theatre, Aberdeen Performing Arts and Citizens Theatre, Saint Joan in at the Traverse until the 21st of March.

3.4 stars

Philip Caveney

The Swansong

18/03/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Based on a 2008 radio play by David Greig, this lunchtime musical by Eve Nicol and Finn Anderson tells the tale of a suicidal young woman saved by a talking swan. And yes, it’s as quirky as it sounds.

Lydia (Julia Murray) can’t see a way forward. After “a shit day, a shit week, a shit life,” she’s had enough. Armed with a bottle of gin and a headful of suicidal thoughts, she walks to her local duckpond, intent on drowning herself in its muddy shallows. But when she stumbles into Swan (Paul McArthur)’s nest, he offers her a deal: if she’ll come with him for one last party, he’ll make it so she can die instantly and painlessly just by clicking her fingers, any time she wants. Curious, Lydia agrees.

And so follows a wild night out, as the unlikely duo fly across the Edinburgh skies before drinking their way from bar to sex club to London sleeper train. As the hours pass, Lydia becomes less intent on ending her life. It’s not that Swan does or says anything especially profound, it’s just that he’s there, listening without judging, giving her the space and time to reconsider.

With an onstage band comprising musical director Dale Parker (piano) and Rachel Dunns (sax and flute), the music is seamlessly integrated into this latest piece for A Play, A Pie and A Pint, as Swan encourages Lydia to take to the pub stages and sing her self-penned songs. Both Murray and McArthur have soulful, expressive voices, ensuring we make a real emotional connection with their characters.

However, although the performances are faultless and the direction cohesive, I can’t help feeling that this play adds up to less than the sum of its parts. There’s clearly an allusion to Leda and the Swan, but the storylines are very different and I don’t know what I’m supposed to infer. Is it simply the collision of the human and the divine? If so, to what end? I’m also unconvinced by the Swan’s proposal: if Lydia really wants to die, she already knows how to make that happen. Surely he needs to offer something more than a slightly quicker way out?

Nonetheless, there’s no denying that, despite its dark themes, this is an engaging piece of musical theatre, and a more than worthwhile way to spend your lunch hour.

3 stars

Susan Singfield