Theatre

Her

02/10/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

High school can be a minefield for some students, as Her (Eleanor McMahon) discovers when partially- clothed photographs of her start to appear on social media and are gleefully shared around her class, fuelling heartless gossip and ill-founded assessments of her character.

But who is to blame? Is it her so-called boyfriend, Ryan, who took the photos without her consent? Is it his friends, who shared them without his? Is it Him (Reno Cole), the boy she grew up alongside and who has always seemed so supportive but doesn’t stand up for her now? She knows that he has problems at home and that he sometimes struggles with his own issues, but how could he let her down like this?

Meanwhile, B1 (Zara-Louise Kennedy) and B2 (Alex Tait) are always on hand to analyse things, making snarky, acerbic observations like some kind of teenage Greek chorus, moving swiftly from role to role as they deliver their characters’ different reactions to the situation.

Strange Town’s tightly-structured production, written by Jennifer Adam and directed by Steve Small, is an object lesson in how to deliver a polemic and should be required viewing for teenagers across the land. Tight, propulsive and perfectly-pitched, its anchored by excellent performances by its four young actors, the serious message punctuated (but never diluted) by the quirky witticisms expertly delivered by Kennedy and Tait.

In the age of social media, moral lines can sometimes seem blurred, but Her sets out its premise with absolute clarity. As the show embarks on its third tour, its message seems more relevant than ever – and, while it’s clearly aimed at young audiences, it’s a production that speaks to people of all ages.

4.5 stars

Philip Caveney

Night Waking

01/10/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Adapted from Sarah Moss’s novel, Shireen Mula’s Night Waking is complex and demanding, exploring motherhood, colonisation and the ramifications of history. Nicola Jo Cully performs this challenging two-hour monologue with aplomb, segueing between a range of disparate characters, convincingly portraying the protagonist’s mounting despair.

To be fair, despair seems like a reasonable response to the situation Anna finds herself in. Temporarily uprooted from Oxford to a remote Scottish island, she feels marooned, alone all day with her two young children, while her husband, Giles, conducts his ornithological research into the declining puffin population. Her own academic career has stalled since she became a mum, and her attempts to write are stymied by the overwhelming demands of childcare and housework. She’s already feeling angry and depressed – murderous, even; suicidal – so the discovery of a baby’s bones in the garden is the final straw.

And it’s not the only skeleton in the manor house’s cupboard. Giles has recently inherited the island, and historian Anna is horrified when she uncovers evidence of the atrocities his ancestors perpetrated. No wonder the locals are so unfriendly; old resentments run deep.

I love the overlapping nature of the storytelling here, the way the script skips back and forth in time, slowly peeling back the layers to reveal more about both Anna’s situation and the island’s dark history. Rebecca Atkinson-Lord’s agile direction is complemented by Hugo Dodsworth’s impressive set and video design: the projected background images jolting us from one scene to another, as scattered and disconnected as Anna’s sleep-deprived thought processes; the open grave an unmistakable metaphor for digging up the past.

However, I’m not always convinced by the content. The historical aspects are a matter of record so – shocking though it is – I can easily believe that landowners forcibly shipped the impoverished islanders to Canada, and that infant mortality rates were devastatingly high. It’s the contemporary sections that stretch credulity. Am I really supposed to accept that an Oxford professor would allow her husband’s complete abdication of parental responsibility? That an educated, well-to-do 21st century man would interrupt his wife’s work meeting because their baby won’t stop crying? Any family wealthy enough to own an entire island would surely hire a nanny if they were struggling to cope.

A play to admire, perhaps, rather than to enjoy, Night Waking is wide-ranging and ambitious, as thought-provoking as it is informative, and I find myself utterly absorbed in Anna’s tale. The play’s closing statement, revealing how little has changed for the Highland’s inhabitants over the years, provides a hammer-blow of a conclusion.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

FEIS

23/09/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

All is not well at Maguire’s School of Irish Dance. Back in the day, this Glasgow-based outfit was seen as a leader in its ghillie-footed field, when Deirdre (Louise Haggerty) won enough rosettes to paper the walls of her teenage bedroom. Decades later, the school’s fortunes are flagging disastrously and she’s been reduced to offering a ‘VIP’ service, performing online for an exclusively male clientele, who are not above offering extra money for her used socks.

Deidre’s mother, Maura (Julie Coombe), is blissfully unaware of these new measures but, when her teenage granddaughter, Aoife (Leah Balmforth), falls flat on her face at the 2023 Irish World Championships, things look pretty grim. Then Maura manages to scare off the school’s only other decent dancer and it’s clear that something has to give…

Billed as a dark comedy – though perhaps the term ‘farce’ might be more appropriate – FEIS (pronounced fesh) is a cautionary tale about ambition and the lengths to which some people are prepared to go to in oder to secure a win.

Writer Anna McGrath pursues the laughs with a vengeance, though it has to be said that the various twists and turns of the story often defy credibility and, in one particular instance, a real-life star of the Irish dance world has a pretty heinous accusation levelled against him.

Haggerty gives the lead role her all, even throwing in what looks to this novice like an impressive bit of Irish-dancing, but I remain unconvinced that anybody would go to the lengths Deidre does in order to attain her objective. Balmforth feels severely underused throughout, while Coombe’s is obliged to deliver a series of fat-shaming comments at an unseen dancer that feel somewhat at odds with contemporary thinking. (This may be the point but it feels ill-judged to me.)

Musician Brian James O’ Sullivan adds some spirited jigs and reels to the proceedings. Michael Flatley, meanwhile, was unavailable for comment.

3 stars

Philip Caveney

The Talented Mr Ripley

16/09/25

Festival Theatre, Edinburgh

The enduring appeal of Patricia Highsmith’s anti-hero reasserts itself here in Mark Leipacher’s stylish adaptation. First unleashed on the novel-reading public in 1955, the murderous con-man has somehow kept us all rooting for him through four sequels, as well as numerous film and TV dramatisations. Can this stage version offer us anything new?

Tom Ripley (Ed McVey) is a chancer, living on his wits in NYC, largely untroubled by conscience. When the wealthy Herbert Greenleaf (Christopher Bianchi) approaches him with a lucrative offer, of course Tom accepts. No matter that Greenleaf’s proposal is predicated on an error: Tom is not friends with the old man’s errant son, Dickie (Bruce Herbelin-Earle); indeed, he’s only met him once. But Greenleaf Sr is desperate. Not only is Dickie frittering away his trust fund in Europe, playing at being an artist instead of taking over the family business, but his mother (Leda) is sick, and she wants to see her boy. If Herbert pays his expenses, will Tom travel to Italy and persuade Greenleaf Jr to come home?

You can bet Dickie’s life he will.

Before long, Tom has insinuated himself into Dickie’s world, revelling in the carefree habits of the idle rich, with spontaneous weekends in Rome or Nice, lounging on the beach and eating in restaurants. But when Herbert calls off the unsuccessful enterprise, Tom is faced with a dilemma. How can he go back to his old life now?

The abstract set design (by Holly Pigott) locates us firmly within Tom’s psyche, as he struts his stuff on the raised white square, nimbly avoiding the perilous hole in the middle, where all obstacles to his success are thrown. The threats to Ripley’s carefully-constructed façade appear as a chorus of noir detectives, complete with belted trench-coats and wide-brimmed Fedoras. “Do you ever feel like you’re being watched?” he asks repeatedly, as they peer at him from the shadows, always one step behind. The image is bold and memorable.

There are lots of directorial flourishes, some more successful than others. I love the Venetian plague doctor masks that also represent pigeons, and the way Dickie’s girlfriend, Marge (Maisie Smith), doubles as a Renaissance statue. I also like the convergence of Dickie and Tom. I’m less convinced by the fourth wall-breaking shouts of “Cut!” precipitating a reset. I understand the point – we’re following Ripley’s thought-processes as he figures out a course of action – but it’s distracting, further complicating an already-labyrinthine plot. The second act, in particular, feels cluttered, and would definitely benefit from paring down.

McVey delivers a star turn in this demanding role, exploring the complexity of Ripley’s multi-faceted character. Perhaps a smaller theatre would allow us a more nuanced view of his performance; as it is, we’re only able to see the broad strokes, but these are impressive enough.

An ambitious, stylish piece of theatre, proving that there’s plenty of life in Tom Ripley yet – if not in those who dare to get too close to him.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Wallace

10/08/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

“The Scottish can’t rap!”

Thus proclaims one of the three-strong cast of Wallace, shortly before they launch into their opening salvo and prove that – hell, yes – they really can! This intriguing production, which launches the autumn season of A Play a Pie and a Pint, is obviously inspired by the success of Hamilton. It proudly proclaims that Scottish history is just as deserving of a contemporary retelling as anything that ever went on in the USA and, in that ambition, it succeeds big time.

Three friends chatting over drinks in a bar become extra-animated when one of them claims to be an actual descendent of William Wallace – you know, the guy from Braveheart. This is the precursor to a deep dive into the hero’s history, as the three players musically discuss the known facts, the probable myths and even the possibility that (whisper it) WW might not have existed.

Written by Rob Drummond, with music and lyrics by Dave Hook (who also performs alongside Patrica Panther and Manasa Tagica), Wallace offers an audacious exploration of Scotland’s most celebrated warrior, all backed by a pumping four-four beat. The trio of performers switch effortlessly between characters merely by throwing on a jacket or a hat, depicting Wallace’s supporters as well as those who fought against him in his doomed bid for Scottish independence.

Hook stays in the role of Wallace, while Tagica does a splendid job of portraying Edward Longshanks, complete with dark glasses and a red fur coat. Panther, after pointing out that women have been virtually written out of history, takes on the swaggering persona of Robert the Bruce with evident relish.

Whip-smart, caustically funny and actually pretty informative (I come out knowing a lot more about the titular Scot than I previously did), Wallace snaps from song to song and from argument to argument like the proverbial tiger on vaseline, holding the audience spellbound right up to the final triumphant chord. Snappily directed by Orla O’Loughlin, this is a perfect example of how to make history vibrant and compelling enough to dazzle a contemporary audience.

It’s pure dead brilliant.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Motorhome Marilyn

24/08/25

Gilded Balloon Patter House (Doonstairs)

Our last Fringe show of 2025 is Motorhome Marilyn, a choice inspired by my mum, who listened to Michelle Collins talking about the play on Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour, and was taken with its backstory. Back in the late 90s, Collins was in LA, trying to build on her UK fame. While she was there, she noticed an old lady emerging from a dilapidated motor home, dressed as Marilyn Monroe. The image stayed with her for years until, in 2018, she mooted the idea for a play to her writer friend, Stewart Purmutt, and they started work on it. When Purmutt died in 2024, Ben Weatherill took over, and now Motorhome Marilyn – more than quarter of a century in the making – has finally parked up at this year’s Festival.

The set, by Joshua Beaumont and Matthew Emeny, is pretty lavish by Fringe standards. We’re inside a camper van, stuffed to the pop-top with Monroe memorabilia. There are posters, tea towels, mugs and cushion covers: if there’s an available surface, Marilyn’s face adorns it. And there’s Denise (Collins), a Marilyn lookey-likey, whose own identity has been subsumed over the years, so that she’s no longer sure who she really is.

There’s also Bobby, Denise’s confidante, who just happens to be a snake…

Directed by Alexandra Spencer-Jones, the story works quite well: there’s a Miss Havisham-like quality to Denise, who is tragically stuck in a role she’s aged out of. Her hopes for stardom have come to nought, but she’s nothing else to cling to, no option but to don that platinum-blonde wig and paint on a scarlet smile. Collins imbues the character with pathos, although there are moments when I’d like to to see her emotions heightened – with some Eastenders-style excessiveness, perhaps.

Occasionally, too much is spelled out for the audience: we are not left to infer anything, but spoon fed each detail. This detracts from the authenticity of the dialogue, which is a shame. Nonetheless, Motorhome Marilyn is a sometimes funny and always engaging piece of work, an ode to failure and broken dreams.

3.4 stars

Susan Singfield

Revolver

23/08/25

Pleasance Courtyard (Beneath), Edinburgh

In 1966, when Revolver was released, my mum was 18 years old, and had already been a fan of The Beatles for quite some time. As a Liverpudlian teenager, she’d spent many a lunchtime in the legendary Cavern Club, and was lucky enough to attend the Fab Four’s notorious 1964 homecoming gig at the Empire. She was, naturally, a member of their fan club – and still has her Christmas Flexi Discs to prove it. So, when she was scheduling her visit to this year’s Fringe, it was obvious that there was one production she wouldn’t want to miss…

Writer-performer Emily Woof’s play doesn’t disappoint. It’s about three women, the first of whom is Jane Fraser, a former teacher turned TV-researcher, delighted to be working on a documentary about female fandom through the ages. The second is Helen, Jane’s mum, who spent her adolescence dreaming about John Lennon. And the third is Valerie Solanas: writer, activist – and pistol-wielding would-be killer.

Directed by Hamish McColl, Revolver is an intricate piece of theatre, dealing with the very questions Jane thinks the ‘Fangirls’ documentary should address. But, while the protagonist is thwarted in her endeavours by James, the ratings-driven film-maker who hired her, Woof makes her points cogently, drawing salient connections between fame and feminism, reverence and rage.

James’s sensationalist approach to the documentary – he favours the tagline ‘Young, Dumb and Fun’ – undermines the girls who screamed for their pop idols, ignoring the sociopolitical circumstances that gave rise to them. Woof uses Helen and Valerie to illuminate the disconnect between history and herstory, to validate the heightened emotions of teenage fans – and to shed light on the boiling rage that drove Solanas to shoot Andy Warhol.

Tracks from The Beatles album are played throughout, sometimes to mark transitions and sometimes as the soundscape. This works best when there is a clear association between the songs and what is happening onstage, e.g. Tomorrow Never Knows provides the perfect background to an acid trip. Occasionally, the song choices seem a little random, taking me out of the moment while I try to understand the link (Tax Man plays us out, for instance, and I don’t know why), but overall the soundtrack serves the piece well.

I like how knotty this is: Woof doesn’t shy away from the complexity of the issues at hand, and her performance is both bold and nuanced. I’m not entirely convinced by the sexual fantasy sequence (the language seems too sophisticated for an inexperienced young girl), but that’s my only quibble with the writing.

A thoughtful, exacting play, Revolver demands serious consideration from its audience. “Nobody can deny that there’s something there.”

4.4 stars

Susan Singfield

Wodehouse in Wonderland

22/08/25

Assembly George Square (Studio 3), Edinburgh

Not so much an impersonation as a celebration, Robert Daws is clearly having a whale of a time in William Humble’s Wodehouse in Wonderland, and, after a few minutes of uncertainty while I tune in to the tone of the piece, so am I. Wodehouse is, of course, one of those writers who almost defy belief: incredibly prolific, very successful in his own lifetime – but remembered now for the accusations levelled at him for his ‘collaboration’ with the Nazis during World War Two.

We meet him in the 1950s, living in exile in Long Island and reluctant to return to his British homeland. He’s still writing fiction (though a book now takes him six months rather than three) and he’s also hankering after another shot at writing for the theatre with his old partner, Guy Bolton, who lives nearby.

Daws offers a relaxed and jovial performance as Wodehouse, mixing martinis as he talks, expressing his intense dislike for the great Russian authors (too gloomy) and making slyly humorous observations about his wife, Bunny’s profligacy. He also speaks lovingly about his adopted daughter, Leonora – or ‘Snorkles’ as he prefers to call her – who he claims is his ‘Number 1 critic.’

He talks – with great reluctance – to his American biographer, who eventually nudges him in the direction of that unfortunate business with the Germans… and, lest the tone grow too serious, every so often, Daws interrupts proceedings to launch into a rendition of one of the author’s comic songs.

Wodehouse in Wonderland is a revelation in many ways. I was a fan of Jeeves and Wooster back in the day and read several of their adventures when (just like Wodehouse in his youth) I was sequestered in a rather unpleasant boarding school. I learn quite a lot about the author over the hour and realise that I have been misinformed about that ‘collaboration’ business – so it’s nice to have the record set straight.

Towards the conclusion, there’s also a moment of sweet sadness, which Daws handles with absolute assurance. While this may be best suited to those familiar with Wodehouse’s work, it’s not essential. Those looking to spend a pleasant and rewarding hour on the Fringe should find plenty here to keep them thoroughly entertained.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

The Insider

21/08/25

The Pleasance Dome (King Dome), Edinburgh

We’ve reached that point in August where, when I see a fabulous show at the Fringe, I come away wishing I’d caught it earlier, all the better to extoll its virtues. Mind you, Teater Katapult’s The Insider is selling out the Pleasance’s 174-seat King Dome with apparent ease, so perhaps they don’t need any help from me.

As we file into the performance space, we cannot help but notice actor Christoffer Hvidberg Rønje, dressed in a smart business suit, glaring balefully at us from the confines of a large glass cubicle, like some exhibit in a freakish zoo. He will not emerge from his enclosure until the play is done. As per our instructions, we all put on the stereo headphones we’ve been supplied with to be greeted by the sound of a blues performer singing about money and how he needs it really REALLY badly. (Well, we’ve all been there.) Then the lights go down on us, the glass box is illuminated and the play begins.

It’s 2017 and Hvidberg Rønje plays a banker – we are never given his name – involved in the Cum-Ex insider trading scam that resulted in high street banks losing billions of dollars. But now he’s been called to answer for his actions. The actor speaks his lines to a series of pre-recorded accomplices and inquisitors and, because it’s all filtered through headphones, every single utterance – every bump, squeak and scratch – is weirdly amplified in the crucible of my head. The result is totally immersive and weirdly compelling. It’s astonishing that somebody like me – a poster boy for dyscalculia – can be transfixed by a story about mathematics, but there’s no other adjective for the state in which I find myself.

That glass box where the story plays out could so easily be reductive, but the walls occasionally feature vivid projections and rows of information. Occasionally, Hvidberg Rønje draws on the glass with a white pen, illustrating how the great scam was achieved in ways that even I can understand.

The actor goes through a whole range of moods during the performance – the sequence where he makes his first ‘killing’ has him dancing around his enclosure in a drunken frenzy and performing a gymnastic leap from the top of a filing cabinet that makes me gasp – and, once again, that amplified sound system has us sharing every mood with him, from those early bouts of ecstatic glee to a sense of mounting paranoia as his malpractice is uncovered.

Brilliantly directed by Johan Sarauw, with sound design by Peter Albrectsen and Sun Tee Engelstoft, The Insider is quite simply mesmerising. If you can get hold of a ticket for one of its last few performances, I urge you to do so. You’ll be watching one of the Fringe’s most original productions.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Ghouls Aloud: Elysium

20/08/25

Appleton Tower, (Ruby)

In the final week of Fringe 2025, it’s gratifying to chance upon an act that feels quite unlike anything else we’ve seen this year. Ghouls Aloud are Milly Blue and Jessie Maryon Davies, the former a singer/storyteller, the latter a musician. The show begins in straightforward fashion with a song, Blue accompanying herself on acoustic guitar, before breaking off and launching into a story, described by its creators as contemporary horror. It is, I suppose, a piece of gig theatre.

It’s the tale of a young couple who, with their new baby, move into the protective surroundings of Elysium Fields, a gated community somewhere in prosperous South London. ‘The woman’ (we don’t learn her name) likes the feel of their new home – with one exception. The little garden at the back of their house is covered with a layer of astroturf, and she vows to remove it to plant vegetables and wild flowers.

But she will learn that Elysium Fields has a dark history and there are things in its soil that might better be left undisturbed…

Blue becomes the central character of the piece and also personifies a clutch of others in and around Elysium Fields: friends, neighbours, the odd gatekeeper who the residents call ‘Penfold.’ Blue switches accents and mannerisms with great skill, so there’s never any doubt who she is portraying at any given moment. Maryon Davies also chips in with lines of dialogue, whilst supplying original keyboard compositions, ranging from beautiful melodic ballads to eerie, unsettling soundscapes as the tension begins to build.

Occasionally I find myself distracted by a few too many complications, minor characters who don’t really add enough to the narrative to earn their place, however skilfully they’re portrayed – and I’m not entirely convinced that a subplot that talks about the conflict between Israel and Gaza is a comfortable fit here – though arguably, that may be the point.

But I do admire the ambition of Elysium and the distinctive ways in which the duo go about telling the central story. If I am reminded of anyone, it’s the much-missed Will Greenway, who, for several years was a must-see at the Fringe and who also has a highly individual way of creating a story with music – albeit much more gentle than this. Overall, I find this compelling enough to keep me hooked right up to the unsettling final scene – and I’ll be interested to see what Ghouls Aloud come up with next.

4 stars

Philip Caveney