Theatre

My Blood

13/08/24

theSpaceTriplex (Big), Edinburgh

In the rush and buzz of the Fringe, it’s easy to overlook the fact that there are plenty of amateur productions here, put together and performed by dedicated teams of young (and sometimes old) creatives. One of the best places to see these offerings is at theSpaceTriplex, a venue that offers ‘affordable’ rooms for such projects.

Something about the premise of My Blood captures my attention. A new play based upon Aeschylus’ Oresteia? That would be an ambitious project for a seasoned professional company, so I’m interested to see what this team from Oxford has come up with.

Playwright Leelou Lapteva has clunningly reimagined the old saga as a psychological thriller, set in the aftermath of the 2008 banking crisis. In this version of the story, King Agamemnon becomes Adam Atreides (Gilles McDonald), the CEO of a major bank and the father of Oliver (George Loynes) and Chloe (Victoria Kinne). He’s married to the vitriolic Sandra (Kelsey DeJesus, clearly having a field day with her expletive-littered lines).

But a mysterious cabal has Adam in its grasp and it soon becomes apparent that powerful forces are at work on him, forcing him to go to unspeakable lengths in order to ensure that the Atreides dynasty will survive the financial meltdown and continue to prosper.

But such an outcome comes at a hard price.

I’m impressed by Lapteva’s intriguing concept and there’s some excellent writing here. What’s more, the acting – especially from the sibling duo of Loynes and Kinne – is also pretty impressive, though it’s fair to say that every member of the seven-strong cast gives it their all. And if some of the dialogue occasionally feels a little histrionic… well, look at the source material.

What I’m less keen on in this production is the over-dependence on props. The impetus of the play keeps getting slowed down as the actors are obliged to lug items of furniture back and forth across the stage and there are too many scenes where characters are chair-bound, looking on silently while others speak their lines. Some polystyrene gravestones also seem like an unnecessary encumbrance.

I’d love to see this production stripped back, freed from the shackles of those pesky props, the actors able to prowl the stage as they perform. And could some of the developments in the story be shown through movement rather than dialogue (for example the masked sequence that Oliver describes)?

My Blood is an impressive production, a fresh interpretation of a classic piece of theatre that has plenty of appeal for a modern audience.

3.5 stars

Philip Caveney

Lie Club

13/08/24

Paradise Green (The Club), Edinburgh

We’re at a meeting of Liars Anonymous and Tracey (Rachel DeFontes) is holding forth about her life as a compulsive liar – the many ways in which that compulsion has brought her to the very edge of disaster. But, as she gleefully points out, in a world where Fake News holds sway, where serial fibbers can be elevated to the highest positions in society, can anybody be trusted to supply a straight answer to a simple question? Maybe, she suggests, lying is ultimately inevitable.

There’s a new face at the meeting. Ben (Peter Jeffries) is in a similar predicament to Tracey. His inability to tell the truth has already cost him his marriage and his prestigious job and yet he still feels the need to continue in the same vein. There’s an instant attraction between the two of them, and they soon find themselves entering into an edgy and unpredictable relationship as they probe each other’s lives. But how can there be any sense of trust when neither of them appears to be capable of saying a single true word and when no subject, no matter how sacred, is considered something to come clean about? 

Lie Club is a propulsive, fragmented slice of absurdist theatre, written and performed by DeFontes and Jeffries, a story that twists and spirals in unexpected directions as the lies the couple tell each other begin to spin out of control. 

But which of them will break first?

This is a fresh and compelling narrative, driven by powerful performances by the two actors who are clearly delighting in the absolute mayhem they are creating. Their characters’ actions invoke some bigger questions. Is anything we think we know about ourselves actually real? When is it acceptable to lie about a particular subject? When should you throw up your hands and admit you’re telling a porkie pie? And, perhaps most interestingly, are any scenes in the drama we’re watching to be taken at face value?

Lie Club is a great example of the Fringe at its best – a full-throttle two-hander that provides more questions than answers and has me leaving the theatre with plenty to think about. Luckily my chauffeur is waiting outside to pick me up in a stretch limo and he drives me straight back to my mansion in Murrayfield, where Donald Trump and Kamala Harris are eagerly waiting to hear my advice…

Whoah! I think this lying business might be contagious.

4.3 stars

Philip Caveney

My Grandmother’s Eyepatch

13/08/24

Zoo Playground 1, Edinburgh

Award-winning actor and clown Julia VanderVeen is hosting a memorial service for her beloved grandmother, the improbably-named Mamie Lee Ratliff Finger. It’s time for Julia to deal with her grief head-on, a mere eighteen years after Mamie’s demise.

We’re all here to pay our respects to the piratically-attired matriarch, and we’re soon ensconced in VanderVeen’s giddy, absurdist world, our cheeks hurting from laughing, our hands held to our mouths in gestures of oh-God-what-now? A lot of the comedy comes simply from VanderVeen’s exaggerated facial expressions and her tendency to skewer audience members with a scarily intense stare. Sometimes she moves achingly slowly, making us chuckle just to relieve the tension; other times, she capers about the small stage frenetically, or performs a ridiculously elaborate dance, contorting herself into a range of awkward poses. There are props a-plenty littering the stage – a more-is-more approach akin to Natalie Palamides’ in Weer.

Macbeth? Check. Card tricks? Check. Hobby horse? Of course. What else could you possibly ask for?

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the show tells us more about Julia than it does about Mamie, although we do learn quite a lot about her grandmother in the process. It would be a crime to reveal too much here, as it’s the unpredictability that makes it so entertaining; suffice to say, I’m pretty sure you’ve never been to a memorial service quite like this one – and if you have, I hope your therapist is good.

Sly, silly and absolutely hilarious, My Grandmother’s Eyepatch is the funniest show about grief I’ve ever seen.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

Outpatient

13/08/24

Summerhall (Anatomy Lecture Theatre), Edinburgh

Harriet Madeley’s debut solo show is all about that most popular of subjects… death. I know. Hard sell, right? But when entertainment journalist Olive is searching for the right subject matter for her next big project – you know, the one that will lift her career out of the doldrums and win her the Pulitzer Prize – she keeps returning to that theme. 

But of course, she soon discovers that, although everyone dies, few people are ready to talk about it until the event is imminent. So Olive hits on the idea of booking herself in for a hospital health-check, solely so she can sneak into the palliative care ward and chat to some of the patients. For some inexplicable reason, this doesn’t go down well with the staff. 

Then the results of Olive’s tests come back and, for the first time in her life, she finds herself a lot closer to death than she could ever have anticipated. To say that it puts a different spin on things would be something of an understatement…

Outpatient is a clever, darkly humorous tale, which – it turns out – is based on Madeley’s real life. She relates much of the narrative while pounding along on a running machine or bouncing around on an exercise ball. She explains how the experience makes her reassess everything in her life, leads her (inadvertently) into breaking the law and prompts her to form a new friendship with Evelyn, a woman with a fatal illness. 

If on paper it all sounds a bit grim, don’t be misled. Olive’s narrative is wryly funny, peppered with astute observations about everyday existence and the irony of her unfortunate experience boosting her own chances of literary success. Rather than being a downer, it’s ultimately life-affirming. Madeley’s performance is a delight and the standing ovation she receives at the play’s conclusion is proof that I’m not the only person in the audience with that view.

So live dangerously and go see this play about death. You’ll love it!

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

I Sell Windows

12/08/24

Assembly George Square (Studio 4), Edinburgh

Actors Daniel Blinkoff and Tamlyn Tomita, founders of LA Theatre Company Outside In, are committed to making a space where diverse voices can be discovered, evolved and shared. With its almost unimaginable variety of shows (more than three thousand, every day), the Edinburgh Fringe is a perfect match for such an endeavour, and Kacie Rogers’ I Sell Windows is an impressive addition to the programme.

Directed by Jaquita Ta’le, Rogers presents a monologue about love, trauma, thwarted ambition – and selling windows. Casement, sash, bay, awning: ‘Kacie’ can make your dreams come true. But first, you have to stop waiting to be ready and really start living…

The fragmentary structure of the play reflects Kacie’s uneven mental health, as she struggles to come to terms with the death of her grandfather and the realisation that she may never earn a living as an actor. Reeling from the impact of these twin losses, she begins to implode, jeopardising her relationship and spinning out of control. Her breakdown is beautifully illustrated by the use of intricate shadow puppets (courtesy of Brittaney Talbot and Perry Daniel), as well as a sequence of recurring dreams, lit like the Northern Lights. Along with Rogers’ heartfelt a cappella rendition of Tracy Chapman’s iconic Fast Car, this amounts to both a profound character study and a rumination on the ways in which we are taught to value (and undervalue) ourselves.

Performed with verve, wit and absolute precision, I Sell Windows is a thoughtful play, ostensibly about one young Black woman’s experience, but applicable to every one of us.

4.2 stars

Susan Singfield

One Sugar, Stirred to the Left

12/08/24

theSpace @ Surgeons’ Hall (Grand Theatre), Edinburgh

Jon Lawrence’s One Sugar, Stirred to the Left is an affecting drama, set in a hospice. Stephen Corrall plays Henry, an elderly man with terminal cancer, living out his final few months under the tender care of Doctor Choudry (Kareem Nasif), Nurses Carol (Eleanor Healing) and Bronwyn (Anne Yeomans), and tea lady Amala (Jiang). From his death bed, Henry muses on his complex past, his painful present and his ever-shrinking future. He wants to leave something special for his son, Justin (Dom Fraser). And maybe – just maybe – Bronwyn can help.

This ‘play with songs’ has some really interesting things to say about the human need to make peace with ourselves and others before we die. Corrall convincingly portrays Henry’s growing acceptance of his situation and, under David Kettle’s direction, the calm and tranquility of the hospice seems to expand, extending its solicitude to the whole audience. Kettle also provides the guitar accompaniment, while Jiang is the comic relief. But it’s Yeomans who provides the emotional heart of this piece, her plaintive vocals encapsulating a poignant mix of nostalgia, regret and love.

Perhaps some of the plotting is unnecessarily convoluted. It would be simpler and also make more sense if Henry were the one to hear Bronwyn sing, rather than learning second-hand from Justin that she “has a lovely voice.” As it stands, we have to suspend a whole lot of disbelief to accept that anyone would entrust fifty years’ worth of personal writing to someone and ask them to set it to music without knowing anything about their style or ability. I’m also not sure that the sub-plot – about Hamish (Duncan Airlie-James) – has enough space to breathe in this short play. Although Hamish is a well-drawn character and Airlie-James delivers a likeable performance, imbuing the former comic with a roguish charm, this strand feels like it belongs to a longer piece with a wider focus. I can’t help but feel that the large cast and sprawling storyline dilute the message.

On the whole, I like the naturalistic set, the cold, clinical room belying the hospice’s geniality and warmth. However, there are so many props that the space feels cluttered, the stage business sometimes distracting me from what’s being said.

Despite some minor criticisms, there’s no denying the emotional impact of this piece, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t crying at the end. Like so many, I’ve witnessed firsthand how important hospices are; I will be forever grateful to the staff at St Kentigern’s in St Asaph, North Wales, who provided so much succour to my parents when my dad was diagnosed with MND.

This production illuminates the importance of affording people dignity at the end of their lives, and of not being afraid to talk about death.

3.2 stars

Susan Singfield

Through the Mud

11/08/24

Summerhall (Main Hall), Edinburgh

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. 

Apphia Campbell’s Through the Mud is a chilling reminder of how little has changed over the years when it comes to Black liberation in America. Campbell plays Assata Shakur, the 1970s civil rights activist, who – convicted of murder – escaped from jail and has been living in exile in Cuba ever since. In a parallel storyline, forty years later, college student Ambrosia Rollins (Tinashe Warikandwa) finds herself caught up in the beginnings of the Black Lives Matter movement.

This is a powerful piece of theatre, as much a call to arms as anything else, and it feels especially apposite as racist riots are breaking out just over the border in England. Of course, Through the Mud pertains specifically to American politics, but bigotry and prejudice aren’t confined to one continent and we have just as much blood on our hands.

Co-produced by Stellar Quines and Edinburgh’s Royal Lyceum Theatre, the production values are as high as you’d expect, and director Caitlin Skinner deftly leads us through the intertwining timelines, allowing the women’s individual stories space to breathe as well as highlighting the connections. The characters contrast and complement one another perfectly: Campbell imbues Assata with a fierce dignity and a fighter’s strength, while Warikandwa’s Ambrosia is altogether sweeter and more naïve – until her first weeks of college coincide with the fatal shooting of Michael Brown by a white police officer, and she can no longer cling to the fair-world fantasy that her parents built for her. 

The sense of outrage at the heart of the play is brought to life by the music, where spirituals and gospel songs give voice to the protest. The women’s vocals are impressive: Campbell deep and powerfully resonant, while Warikandwa’s more plaintive tones offer an enchanting counterpoint. When the two harmonise, the effect is positively thrilling.

In the face of all the awful evidence, it’s to Campbell’s credit that Through the Mud feels somehow hopeful rather than dispiriting. The women’s indefatigable spirits spur us into thinking we ought to act too. 

Not enough has changed – but the fight goes on.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

VL

11/08/24

Roundabout at Summerhall, Edinburgh

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

Sort of.

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

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

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

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

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

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Lost Girl

10/08/24

Underbelly George Square (Wee Coo), Edinburgh

Tracey Emin… stereotype… train wreck. Oops! Sorry. Wrong notes. Let’s try again…

Amy Lever’s Lost Girl is a fascinating monologue, charting nineteen-year-old Birdy’s search for self-acceptance. She’s never been particularly clever (as her A level results confirm); she hasn’t any special talents and she doesn’t know what she wants to do with her life. Until now, none of this has really mattered, because she’s had her best friend Bex by her side, and they’ve been battling the world together. So what if Birdy didn’t make it into uni? Neither did Bex – or Jeremy Clarkson, for that matter – and they’re both doing okay.

But now Bex – resolutely Catholic – has unearthed some hitherto unknown Portuguese Jewish ancestry, which means she can claim an EU passport, and so she’s gone off travelling. Birdy, meanwhile, who is actually Jewish, has no such useful connections. “Hey, Siri,” she asks. “Is Syria in the EU?” Even Siri, who surely hears all sorts, isn’t programmed to deal with this level of ignorance. “Don’t be stupid,” he responds.

So Birdy feels lost. She’s plagued by recurring nightmares and angry with Bex for deserting her. She’s angry with her family too because… well, because they’re her family. Who else is going to bear the brunt of her frustration?

But when Birdy gets a job working in the archives of a local Jewish museum, she begins to unearth some secrets that make her see her relatives in a whole new light…

Lever is an accomplished actor, quickly earning our sympathy with her heartfelt performance. Her depiction of wannabe actor Bex’s disastrous one-woman show is very witty, as is her portrayal of the monosyllabic Sammy Morrison. The writing is good too, often causing us to laugh out loud, as well as giving us plenty to think about.

The simple, unfussy staging is well-suited to the piece, the frame of documents and photographs symbolising both cage and portal, illuminating Birdy’s contradictory impulses for stasis and for flight.

As much a character study as a play, Lost Girl offers a fascinating insight into the mind of a teenager seeking validation and coming to terms with her cultural identity.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Werewolf

09/08/24

Summerhall (Former Women’s Locker Room), Edinburgh

I’m a drama teacher by day (emerging as a theatre critic under a full moon) so I am au fait with the game Werewolf – the teenagers I work with are obsessed with it. For those less familiar with the concept, it’s a role-playing exercise set in a remote village, where the titular lupines feast on one unfortunate inhabitant each night. Every morning, the villagers (who include a doctor, a detective, a chief and – randomly – a Cupid) meet to try to work out who among them is a killer. Think The Traitors or Among Us, depending on your demographic. It’s a little bit like that.

New Zealand’s Binge Culture theatre company brings a heightened version of the game to this year’s Fringe, with extra layers of drama and complexity, and the immersive experience is a lot of fun. Before we’re ushered into Summerhall’s Former Women’s Locker Room, we’re told that we will each find a card on our seats. We should read them and follow the instructions without revealing their contents to anyone else. 

Once we’re seated, three wardens (Joel Baxendale, Hannah Kelly and Stella Reid) inform us that we’re in a containment bunker, and that we need to stay here for seven days to avoid – whisper it – “the contagion.” Post-Covid, this doesn’t actually feel like such a stretch, but things soon start to go awry. Obviously, I can’t give too much away because the element of surprise is key to this production. Suffice to say, the tension steadily mounts…

I love it. The wardens do an excellent job of inhabiting their characters at the same time as managing the narrative, expertly drawing what they need from the participants. The sound design (by Oliver Devlin) is crucial to the piece, creating an unsettling atmosphere and perfectly enhancing the horror elements. Everyone in the room appears committed to the game; we’re all determined to uncover the danger in our midst.

I highly recommend this piece, especially to families with teenagers in tow. If you want something entertaining and immersive, then Werewolf is surely what you’re looking for. It”s an absolute howl.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield