Theatre

The Brenda Line

13/11/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Harry Mould’s debut play is an exploration of a little-known aspect of the Samaritans’ work. Until today, I hadn’t even considered that there might be any need for ethical debate around the simple kindness of providing a ‘listening ear’, offering comfort to the desperate, company to the lonely, a glimmer of hope to the suicidal. But – through their own mother’s experiences – Mould has uncovered something weirdly problematic in the organisation’s past: the eponymous ‘Brendas’, designated volunteers, who (between 1958 and 1987) consented to hear out those men who called seeking sexual gratification, wanting someone to talk to while they masturbated. Anglican vicar Edward “Chad” Varah founded the Samaritans on the principle that it should be a non-judgemental organisation, turning no-one away. But of course, these particular callers pose a moral conundrum, rife with contention.

Mould positions the issue as a debate between two chalk-and-cheese volunteers. Anne (Fiona Bruce) is an old-hand with a pragmatic approach to the work she does. She’s warm but gruff, confident but self-effacing, and perfectly comfortable listening to her “befriendable regulars” talking about the knickers they imagine she’s wearing or telling her about their erections. Karen (Charlotte Grayson) is only eighteen, and she’s Anne’s polar opposite: an engaging, opinionated character whose lively charm belies her brittle reserve. She’s innocent, prudish and very defensive about her lack of life experience – and she certainly isn’t going to hold back from telling Anne exactly what she’s doing wrong. In response, Anne smiles, shrugs and offers to make tea.

It’s a winning formula and, directed by Ben Occhipinti, the actors infuse their characters with disarming likability. This makes sense; they’re good people, giving up their time to try to help others, spurred on by the urge to make a difference in a troubled world. Mould’s dialogue is very well-written, and I especially enjoy the allusions to the women’s backstories, rendering them convincingly real: Anne’s unrequited love for her former colleague, Gracie; Karen’s inability to make friends and her struggle to deal with the prejudice she encounters as a mixed-race woman.

The detailed, naturalistic set, designed by Natalie Fern, clearly evokes that particular ilk of workplace claustrophobia, where everything outside seems oddly unreal and diminished, in this case heightened by the blacked out windows and emphatically locked door.

However, while Karen’s argument is well-defined, Mould seems on shakier ground with the older woman’s reasoning – we never hear a lucid explanation as to why Anne accepts her role as a Brenda. She has had many years to consider her position, so it seems logical that she would be able to put forward a compelling defence. Instead, she’s strangely reticent. Nonetheless, by the end, Karen seems to have accepted Anne’s line of thinking, which I find a little confusing. I don’t know what Anne has said to change Karen’s mind.

Despite the subject matter, the writing is also a little coy: although Karen refers to the inherent power dynamic between the male caller and the female listener, there’s no deeper consideration of what this means – of how Anne might derive a sense of power herself from these calls, for example, or even feel somehow that she deserves the degradation. What drives the men to call these anonymous women and is it okay for “Chad” – the leader – to ask his workers to comply? I can’t help feeling that there is more to be explored here.

Nonetheless, Mould has created two engaging, memorable protagonists and, through them, they have shed light on a fascinating piece of recent history.

And now it’s time for me to call my mum and tell her what I’ve learned tonight about her name…

3 stars

Susan Singfield

Angels in America: Part One – The Millennium Approaches

08/11/24

Bedlam Theatre, Edinburgh

New York playwright Tony Kushner’s 1991 “fantasia on national themes” is notoriously complex, but we’ve come to expect EUTC to tackle ambitious projects head-on, so we’re not surprised to learn that they’ve chosen this seminal play for their latest production. We’re excited to see what Gen Z will bring to this play about their Gen X predecessors, as they struggle to deal with a deadly epidemic, populist prejudice and rampant capitalism. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose… I’m guessing they can relate.

El Mair plays Prior Walter, a young man with a recent AIDS diagnosis and a distraught boyfriend. Louis (Leo Odgers) doesn’t want to deal with the realities of illness: the puke, the shit, the spectre of death. Prior is devastated by Louis’s abandonment, and retreats ever further into a fantasy world, ably assisted by the cocktail of drugs he has to take to manage his condition.

Meanwhile, Louis’s colleague, Joe (Will Grice), is facing demons of his own: his Mormon faith doesn’t allow him to acknowledge his homosexuality and remaining in the closet is killing him. But when he tries to come out to his mother, Hannah (Ava Vaccari, who excels throughout this production in a number of roles), she refuses to listen. “This conversation didn’t happen.” Of course, the secret also has a devastating impact on his wife, Harper (Natalia Campbell), who is addicted to Valium and, like Prior, plagued by visions.

As if Joe weren’t already dealing with enough pressure, his mentor, sleazy lawyer Roy Cohn (Hunter King) – the only real-life character in this fictional world – is determined to put Joe’s shiny good-boy persona to use, finding him a job in Washington DC, close to the seat of power. (“I make presidents,” he says, King’s already chilling performance heightened by the wider context, the combination of Trump’s re-election and Abi Abbasi’s recent film, The Apprentice, which details Cohn’s influence on the young Donald.)

Directed by Meri Suonenlahti and Andrew More, Angels in America is a triumph. The student cast are more than up to it, imbuing their characters with heart as well as humour; there’s some real intelligence at play here. The naturalistic performance style works well, emphasising the strangeness of the more fantastical sequences, such as Harper and Prior’s dream meeting. Campbell and Mair, both talented actors, are especially compelling in this scene, their fragility writ large as they stare at each other ‘through a glass darkly’. Louis Handley’s set design mirrors these contrasts, the prosaic heaviness of the bed and desk and sofa juxtaposed by dreamily-lit pastel backdrops, which move on casters between each scene, so that the landscape subtly shifts and dips, illuminating the characters’ growing disorientation. Full use is made of the theatre’s history as a former chapel too, the huge blacked-out window above the stage lit to suggest the angels’ presence.

It’s astounding what EUTC manage to achieve with their limited budget: the final scene in particular is a coup de théâtre (I won’t say any more; I won’t spoil the surprise). Suffice to say, it’s worth bundling up in your winter woollies and heading to Bedlam to catch this one. Three and a half hours fly by like the eponymous angel. I only wish they were doing Part Two: Perestroika as well.

4.8 stars

Susan Singfield

Bright Places

06/11/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Rae Mainwaring’s Bright Places is advertised with the quirky tag-line, “a three-woman, one-woman show about Multiple Sclerosis, MS for short, not to be confused with M&S or S&M.” It’s an apt introduction to what proves to be a thoughtful yet riotous piece of theatre, exploring both the playwright’s personal experiences and the wider picture of societal responses to disability.

I love the writing. It’s to Mainwaring’s credit that she has managed to convey the brutal realities of her condition with such humour and heart. She neatly avoids any disabled-person-as-inspiration traps, presenting us instead with a young protagonist (‘Louise’) learning to navigate a landscape she never expected to inhabit, slowly adjusting to her new limitations while also finding ways to hold on to the fun-loving, lively person she’s always been. Mainwaring doesn’t shy away from the difficulties Louise faces, but they’re not all-encompassing. MS is part of Louise’s life; it isn’t the whole thing.

Produced by Carbon Theatre in association with Birmingham Rep, the style is boldly meta-theatrical, opening with the trio of accomplished actors (Lauren Foster, Aimee Berwick and Rebecca Holmes) explaining why they, three non-disabled women of different ages, races and physical appearances, are playing ‘Louise’ – who is both a fictional construction but also Rae, the playwright. It’s complex but it all makes perfect sense as they tell it, and addresses the question of authenticity head-on. Rae can’t perform this ‘one woman’ show herself: it’s literally the work of three people, and she’s got MS. It’d exhaust her.

Under Tessa Walker’s direction, Bright Places is a fast-paced and lively piece, all high-octane vitality, even as Louise’s energy flags. We’re led from nightclubs to hospitals, sickbeds to game shows, anger to acceptance. The costumes are bold, sequinned and vivid, as irrepressible as Louise. As Rae. And the soundtrack is bangin’.

A delight from start to finish, Bright Places is the most fun you’ll ever have learning about a chronic autoimmune disease. It’s got two more nights here in Edinburgh before continuing on its UK tour (next up, Exeter). Catch it if you can.

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

No Love Songs

31/10/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

No Love Songs is a sweetly bleak piece of gig theatre, at once an unflinching exploration of post-natal depression and a testimony to the power of, well, love.

With music by The View’s frontman, Kyle Falconer – lifted from his solo album, No Love Songs for Laura – the book comes courtesy of the titular Laura (Wilde), his partner, and Johnny McKnight and is based on their real-life experiences.

Jessie (John McLarnon) is a musician. Sure, he’s mostly playing weddings and sweaty Dundee dive bars, but he has big dreams. Lana (Anna Russell-Martin), newly arrived in town to embark on a fashion course at the college, is full of creative ambition too. Together, they think, they can take on the world. When Lana becomes pregnant, they’re excited about their shared future.

But reality can be a bitch, and Lana – like one in five new mothers – struggles with post-natal depression. In a master-stroke of bad timing, Jessie is offered a big break: the chance to go on tour in America. Not only is this important for his musical career, it’s also an opportunity for him to earn some proper money for his family. If all goes well, they might even be able to buy a house.

“You have to go,” says Lana. It’s only a couple of months, right? She’ll be fine.

But Lana is not fine and a gulf opens up between the pair, as Jessie embraces his new life while Lana spirals into despair. What’s wrong with her? Why isn’t she ‘yummy’ like all the other mummies out there? She’s humiliated by her failure.

Jessie’s role as a musician means that the songs fit seamlessly into this play, with the conceit that we are witness to their creation: they are being written in response to the events as they unfurl. There’s a wide variety of styles, ranging from poppy to plaintive, and there’s some real emotional heft here too. I’m not much of a crier, but there are definitely tears in my eyes at moments tonight.

Directors Andrew Panton and Tashi Gore create a gentle, natural tone: there’s a relaxed ease between McLarnon and Russell-Martin that makes them convince as a couple. It could be argued that their obvious affection undermines the tension, suggesting from the start that everything is going to be okay. But I don’t mind that: the subject matter is so dark that it helps to know that there is a glimmer of light on the horizon.

As heart-warming as it is heart-wrenching, No Love Songs is – despite its title – a lyrical musing on the very notion of love.

4.4 stars

Susan Singfield

A Streetcar Named Desire

26/10/24

Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s sometimes hard to believe that Tennessee Williams’ A Street Car Named Desire was first performed in 1947. This powerful mixture of one man’s toxic masculinity overpowering a woman’s fragile mental condition feels somehow utterly contemporary in its telling, and this perfectly-pitched adaptation by Pitlochry Festival Theatre is compelling in every scene.

Stella (Nalini Chetty) and Stanley Kowalski (Matthew Trevannion) live in a cramped, two-room apartment in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Stella is pregnant and she’s understandably taken aback when her older sister, high school teacher Blanche DuBois (Kirsty Stuart), arrives unexpectedly, lugging a massive trunk and lacking the necessary funds to pay for a hotel room. Blanche announces that, after the death of their mother, the family plantation, Belle Reve, has been ‘lost to creditors,’ and Blanche has nowhere else to turn.

Stanley is immediately suspicious about Blanche’s rambling explanation for her presence, particularly when he hears about the loss of the DuBois family property, which he has always believed he is owed a share of. When Blanche begins a tentative romance with his card-playing buddy, Mitch (Keith Macpherson), he determines to do a little snooping…

Stuart is superb in the role of Blanche, nailing the woman’s ever-shifting moods with consummate skill, one moment critical and demanding, the next coquettish and playful. Sound designer Pippa Murphy adds to her disturbed moods by overlaying scratchy soundscapes as Blanche is haunted by something terrible that happened in her youth. As the loathsome Stanley, Trevannion has a field day, strutting and bellowing around the cramped environment like a rooster, asserting his dominance over everyone who has the bad fortune to come into pecking distance. Chetty, meanwhile, navigates the turbulent waters between Blanche and Stanley, seemingly unable (and unwilling) to resist her husband’s rapacious demands. No matter how many times he attacks her, she always goes back for more.

Designer Emily James has chosen to situate the Kowalski apartment on a huge turntable and this is a masterstroke. As it rumbles around, presenting different views of both the interior and exterior of the apartment, it increasingly resembles a deranged carousel with the players caught in its unhealthy embrace, unable to get off the ride until it arrives at its ghastly destination. Director Elizabeth Newman eschews the victim-blaming that so often blights interpretations of this play and turns up the heat on the sweaty, malevolent scenario, so that the play’s final half makes intense, disturbing viewing. Those who are triggered by scenes of sexual violence should be warned that there are some challenging moments here, but for me, it’s like passing a car wreck on the motorway – I cannot tear my gaze away.

If you’re thinking, ‘Well, I’ve seen this play before,’ perhaps you should think again. This is a mesmerising slice of theatre, that feels as important now as it ever did.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Arán & Im

25/10/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Although the so-called Sapir-Whorf hypothesis – a theory of linguistic relativity, suggesting that the language a person speaks influences how they think about reality – is somewhat out of fashion these days, writer-performer Manchán Magan mounts a convincing argument in its favour. Arán & Im is Irish for bread and butter and it’s the perfect name for this gentle hybrid of a show/lecture. The titular items baked, churned and eaten during the seventy-five minute running time symbolise the words we use: they’re essential, elemental; the basic “bread and butter” of our lives.

About half of the show is in Irish, but you don’t need any prior knowledge of the language to follow what’s happening. Magan is an experienced guide, switching between Irish and English, explaining the myriad meanings behind key words and expressions. He’s clearly fascinated by the way language connects us to our histories and our lands, our mythologies and beliefs. He asks questions of the Scottish Gaelic speakers in the audience (including a whole row of enthusiastic high school students) and delights in the similarities and patterns he observes.

There’s a lot here about not losing sight of our roots, about maintaining our understanding of the fundamental aspects of life – how to make our own bread and butter, if you will. If there’s an issue, it’s that there are so many words. The breaking of bread helps, as does the conversational tone, but there are times when I’d like more visual clues to anchor me: I’d like to be able to read the words being discussed, or to see the constellation maps being described. Admittedly, any obvious tech would be jarring and intrusive: the carefully homespun nature of the piece would come unravelled, so I don’t know what the answer is. But there are moments when I’m overwhelmed by the amount of information and need a different way to absorb it all.

Still, I find the premise fascinating. I grew up in Wales and, although I’m not a Welsh speaker, I’m still steeped in the language. The hymns I know are all in Welsh, because that’s what we sang in primary school. There are certain expressions that always come to me in Welsh before English: dewch i mewn (come in); dwylo i fyny (hands up); ga i fynd i’r toiled os gwelwch yn dda? (can I go to the toilet, please?). This show speaks to me. Language is integral to who we are.

And if nothing else, Arán & Im is surely the most aromatic piece of performance art you’re ever likely to witness.

3.5 stars

Susan Singfield

Detained

22/10/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

In a week when the Home Office has found the time to issue the fictional Paddington Bear with an official passport, it’s sobering to be faced with a stark reminder of the realities of the UK immigration system and the human lives caught up in it.

Playwright Michelle Chantelle Hopewell’s professional debut has a strong premise, exploring the uneven power dynamic between two friends, where a single impulsive moment of spite has a profound and devastating impact.

South African asylum seeker Yemi (Titana Muthui) is incarcerated in a detention centre, and she’s appalled to learn that she’s there because of her best friend, Bea (Laura Lovemore). The women work in the same restaurant, and Bea, catching her boyfriend in the arms of another waitress, has called the authorities to report her for being there illegally. She doesn’t know that Yemi’s visa has run out, that her ‘sister’ will get caught in the crossfire.

We’re witness to a series of visits spanning two years, as Yemi languishes in ‘jail’, refusing to open up about her traumatic past, even to the lawyer who might be able to assist her. Through her conversations with Bea, we learn how horribly dehumanising the process is, and how a simple oversight – such as not filling in a form on time – can change a person’s life. Bea is impacted too, learning to live with the guilt of what she’s done, trying – and failing – to compensate by campaigning for Yemi’s release.

Both Muthui and Lovemore are compelling in their roles, with Muthui in particular exuding a desperate dignity. Even though I want to shout at Yemi to tell the lawyer what he needs to know, I can’t help but be impressed by her quiet determination not to be forced to share her nightmares to appease others. Muthui makes this awful choice entirely credible.

Caitlin Skinner’s direction ensures that this wordy drama remains dynamic, and Heather Grace Currie’s simple set design manages to include both the barbed wire holding Yemi back and the blue skies still offering her a glimmer of hope.

Even for A Play, A Pie and A Pint, Detained is short, and doesn’t perhaps make the most of its potential, with a lot of ideas left unexplored. I’m also not convinced by the single section addressed to the audience by Yemi, which feels stylistically (but not tonally) different from the rest. I think for this to work, she would need to be revealing something we haven’t previously seen from her – a greater anger, maybe, or a deeper exploration of her situation.

A piece that asks more questions than it answers, Detained is certainly a play for our times. Let’s hope that fewer pretend bears and more actual people are afforded access to asylum over the coming years.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

Treasure Island

15/10/24

Festival Theatre (Studio), Edinburgh

Robbie (Anthony O’Neil) is having some issues at school. He has a good singing voice but, whenever he is required to perform in front of his fellow pupils, he finds himself overcome with anxiety, unable to utter a single word. But Robbie does enjoy reading and, when he picks up a copy of Treasure Island, he finds himself empathising with its young hero, Jim Hawkins – a boy who must conquer all his fears in his quest to find the lost treasure of the mysterious Captain Flint.

Ross Mackay’s sprightly adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic tale is sure-footedly aimed at younger audiences and effortlessly displays the ways in which young readers can escape into their own imaginations. O’Neil stays in the central role throughout, while fellow performers Ali Biggs, Megan McGuire and Simon Donaldson slip smoothly in and out of a whole host of other larger-than-life characters. McGuire shines as a Squire Trelawney with an amusing penchant for malapropisms, Biggs makes a dashing Captain Smollet, while Donaldson delivers just the right amount of threat as Long John Silver. Together the threesome also bash out some stirring songs and jaunty sea shanties, lively enough to have the family audience clapping delightedly along with them.

Becky Minto’s deceptively simple set design allows Robbie’s bunk bed to become a whole series of locations and, with Benny Goodman’s lighting, somehow manages to embody The Hispaniola, tossed on the stormy seas of Robbie’s fevered imagination as well as the Admiral Benbow Inn, set alight by a pack of scurvy sea dogs. The complex adventure is deftly packed into a ninety minute running time and there’s enough happening onstage to ensure that the adults in the audience enjoy the action along with the younger crowd.

Parents looking to introduce their children to a spot of theatre have just two more chances to hop aboard for afternoon shows at the Lemon Tree, Aberdeen and Platform, Easterhouse.

4.2 stars

Philip Caveney

Lost Girls/ At Bus Stops

15/10/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Lost Girls/At Bus Stops is my favourite so far in this PPP season: I love the marriage of Róisín Sheridan-Bryson’s fragmented, non-linear writing with Laila Noble’s kinetic direction. 

At its heart there’s a simple will-they/won’t they love story. Ever since Jess (Catriona Faint) approached Iona (Leyla Aycan) at a bus stop with a flyer for a Fringe show several years ago, the two have been friends, meeting up every August to make the most of the Festival buzz, weaving their way from show to bar to show again, navigating the crowds, the hills, the closes, the booze. On the surface, theirs is an easy alliance, born of a shared hedonism and an openness about who they are. Underneath, they’re a mess of repressed longing, each too nervous to risk their precious friendship by declaring how they really feel. And this time, with Iona about to leave for pastures new, there’s an added pressure. If neither of them makes a move, it’ll be too late.

Sheridan-Bryson’s script skips nimbly between dialogue and narration, the protagonists referring to themselves in both third and first person, almost mythologising the city, their accounts of various Edinburgh nights colliding as they disagree about details and bring different moments to the fore. The disrupted timeline mirrors a real-life conversation, almost stream-of-consciousness in its construction, bouncing back and forth through their shared memories.

The two actors portray the contrasting characters with aplomb, Aycan’s gentle stillness a perfect foil for Faint’s more manic, agitated demeanour. As Jess reacts to the pressure by downing drink after drink, snogging random men and trying to start fights, Iona – while matching her on the booze front – is altogether calmer, trying time and again to make Jess stop and talk, to say the things they need to say. Their emotions are palpable and it’s impossible not to feel engaged, not to sit silently urging them to take the plunge. 

Zephyr Liddell’s set is simple but effective, the grimy bus stop and disco lights echoing the superficial glamour of a sequin-clad performer in an archetypal dingy Fringe venue. 

Sheridan-Bryson pulls off the difficult task of creating a play that is at once meta-theatrical and down-to-earth, complex in structure but easy to follow. It’s an impressive piece of work. 

4.6 stars

Susan Singfield

1984

11/10/24

Bedlam Theatre, Edinburgh

George Orwell’s dystopian masterpiece has loomed large over 2024 for us. In April, we listened to Audible’s star-studded ‘immersive’ audio adaptation, where Andrew Garfield, Cynthia Erivo, Tom Hardy and Andrew Scott brought Oceania memorably to life. Immediately afterwards, we both read Sandra Newman’s Julia, a reworking of the novel from the lead female’s point of view. And today we’re here at Bedlam Theatre, ready to see EUTC’s interpretation of the cautionary tale.

The use of screens projecting both pre-records (Lewis Eggeling) and live video (Tom Beazley) is inspired: there can’t be many stories more suited to a multi-media approach. The scene is set as soon as we enter the theatre: Big Brother (Thaddeus Buttrey) is watching us, a close-shot of his eyes filling the back drop. Instead of ushers, there are guards (Molly Gilbert, Rose Sarafilovic, Dylan Kaeuper and Fergus White), forbidding in their black uniforms, scarfs covering their lower faces. “All hand-held telescreens must be switched off,” one intones; “Silence!” bellows another. Predictably, we all comply.

This adaptation (by Robert Owens, Wilton E Hall Jr, and William A Miles Jr) generally works well, plunging us immediately into the middle of the story. What used to be Britain is now part of Oceania, a sprawling dictatorship led by Big Brother, its impoverished citizens ruled with an iron rod by the unforgiving Party. By falling in love, Ministry of Truth workers Winston (Harry Foyle) and Julia (Francesca Carter) have broken the law and, having crossed that line, find themselves increasingly unable to swallow the propaganda they are fed. But what chance do they stand against the all-seeing apparatus of the State?

Director Hunter King does a great job of establishing a sense of threat, as well as highlighting the fragile humanity that endures, despite Big Brother’s best efforts to quash it. “They can make us say things,” as Julia acknowledges, “But they can’t make us think them.” As the central duo, Foyle and Carter both deliver flawless performances: Winston and Julia are convincingly reckless, persuading themselves that they are less vulnerable than they really are, caught up in the excitement of their affair. The story is so well known that there is a dramatic irony not present in the original plot, and King exploits this effectively, so that we find ourselves grieving for the couple even as their relationship blooms.

Robbie Morris is clearly having a whale of a time as smarmy backstabber, O’Brien, member of the Inner Party and chief snarer of the unwary. He plays the role as a kind of archetypal villain, complete with maniacal laugh, which makes for an interesting counterpoint, highlighting the freedom that comes with privilege: this is not a man who has ever felt the need to hide or even mute his feelings, unlike even the most loyal Party members. The only other character who seems uncowed is the landlady (Raphaella Hawkins), who owns the apartment Winston and Julia rent for their illicit lovemaking. As a Prole, she has a certain kind of liberty, born of being so poor and lowly that she’s considered unworthy of attention. It’s a dubious advantage.

As we’ve come to expect from Edinburgh University’s student shows, this is an impressive piece of theatre. I especially enjoy the fight sequences, directed by Rebecca Mahar, which are horribly credible and more brutal than I’m used to seeing on stage, ramping up the horror of this too-close-for-comfort imagined world. If I have a criticism, it’s more about the script than this production – there are a lot of actors without much to do, and I think more could be made of the ensemble. I’m also not sure why Winston and Julia get married – that’s not in the book and it doesn’t seem like there’s any dramatic purpose for the change.

That aside, EUTC’s 1984 is remarkable from start to finish, with even the final bows making a statement. It’s double-plus good.

4.4 stars

Susan Singfield