Theatre

Tink

05/08/23

Underbelly Bristo Square (Clover), Edinburgh

In this coming of age tale, a thoroughly modern Tink navigates the awkwardness of adolescence. This sassy young fairy is very different from that other Tinkerbell’s pal, Peter – she definitely wants to grow up. What she doesn’t want is to follow the trajectory of most fairies, getting smaller and smaller as she ages, until all her lovely light goes out. “I’m going to stay big forever,” she declares, aged five, picking up her guitar and delighting us with a song. She’s an accomplished player.

But of course, not even fairies are immune to the toxic messages imparted by the patriarchy, and teenage fairies struggle just as much as human girls when the whole world seems intent on diminishing their verve.

Wittily performed by Kat Kleve (who also wrote the songs), Tink is a charming piece. Kleve has a lovely singing voice and I’m glad she’s not prepared to shrink, to hide her light under a bushel and pretend she’s not as brilliant as she is.

Co-writer and director Lizzy Connolly has forged a dynamic piece, making impressive use of the tiny space. The staging is very detailed and precise: I’m in the front row so I can see the intricacy of the beautifully sewn costume and the convincing magazine mock-up. The hanging bulbs are simple but effective, evocative of a fairy glen, as well as providing literal reminders of the metaphorical dimming that occurs every time Tink’s exuberance is quashed. 

There’s a little of Greta Gerwig’s Barbie about Tink, the same heady mixture of celebration and critique. Gen Z women are showing us that fairies and feminism can co-exist. It’s an exciting revelation, and this is a gently empowering show.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Wiesenthal

05/08/23

Pleasance Courtyard (Beneath), Edinburgh

Simon Wiesenthal is remembered as the infamous ‘Nazi hunter’ – the man chiefly responsible for bringing more than a thousand former members of the Third Reich to justice in the years following the Second World War. In this compelling monologue, written by Tom Dugan, we meet up with the titular character at an auspicious time: on his final day of work before his retirement. In a small, cluttered office, he shares some of his experiences. They range from the sweetly uplifting to the downright harrowing.

Christopher C Gibbs performs the piece with absolute authority, guiding us into Wiesenthal’s life and taking us through the many experiences that brought him to where he is now, still hoping to close his latest case before finally calling it a day. He is at times avuncular, charming, sharing a little joke, or a cannily constructed observation. At other times, we are aware of the righteous anger simmering within him, his outrage at the injustice that was systematically dealt out to an entire race of people.

At several points in this narrative, I’m aware of my eyes filling with tears and I’m powerless to stop them from flowing. But it’s by no means an ordeal. Dugan’s script is skilfully constructed, knowing just when to step back from the horror and when to unleash it. Indeed, what emerges most strongly is the central character’s sense of balance, his acceptance that evil happens and that we do not go after it with vengeance in mind, but with the supreme conviction that everyone must made to answer for their crimes. He also implores us never to forget and to guard against those world leaders who increasingly threaten to take us back down the same path.

Despite the gravity of the subject this is a strangely uplifting story of courage and tenacity, which makes for a riveting theatrical experience. It’s clear from the heartfelt intensity of the applause at the play’s conclusion that the entire audience feels the same way.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney

The Baron and the Junk Dealer

03/08/23

Assembly Roxy, Edinburgh

Okay, so the Festival doesn’t officially start until the 4th, but it would seem rude not to fit in an extra show when it’s right there for the seeing. The Baron and The Junk Dealer comes from the team behind The George Lucas Talk Show and concerns the adventures of two mysterious fugitives, who are the only survivors of a disastrous crash-landing on a desolate planet. It’s the kind of premise that traditionally calls for a decent production budget but this is the Fringe, and the charming shonkiness of the props somehow works in its favour. A ‘rescue pod’ which is actually an adapted one-person tent, operated by a stagehand, is a particular delight.

The Baron (Connor Ratliff) is a self-important sort, who dresses like a cross between an archbishop and a death metal guitarist. By contrast, the Junk Dealer (Griffin Newman) is twitchy and paranoid, liable to kick off at the slightest thing – and considering the two of them have virtually no provisions, he kicks off quite a lot. It’s also clear from the outset that both characters are hiding something about their respective pasts. As the two men wait for rescue a sort of Godot-like atmosphere prevails.

The snarky, deadpan script, written by Ratfliff, incorporates some interesting twists and turns, and makes wry observations about the nature of storytelling. It’s by turns acidly funny and thought-provoking.

However, as this is a play where we need to hear every word clearly, it’s a shame that Newman is hampered by a novelty elephantine nose, which hangs in front of his mouth and sometimes obscures what he’s saying. The acoustics are further impeded by a noisy air-conditioning unit.

Despite these reservations, I thoroughly enjoy the play and its clever observations. Fans of science fiction in particular will find this play suitably diverting and, for a non-believer like me, BATDD makes for an interesting and unusual start to Fringe 2023.

3. 2 stars

Philip Caveney

Bring It On

28/07/23

Festival Theatre, Edinburgh

If there’s one word that typifies the Beyond Broadway Experience it’s ‘exhilarating’. This revival of the cheerleader musical Bring It On (loosely based on the film of the same name) may be the most spectacular of their productions we’ve seen yet, with over 250 young performers dancing, singing and acting and even somersaulting across the Festival theatre’s massive stage. At regular intervals they also perform in the boxes and even in the auditorium. Between them, they generate enough energy to power the national grid.

Campbell (Ailsa MacLean) is a high school girl, who lives and breathes for cheerleading. Longing to be appointed captain of the accomplished Truman High School squad, she works alongside her pals, the self-obsessed Skylar (Cora Erskine) and her acolyte, Kylar (Jess Taylor). Meanwhile, the hapless Bridget (Ellen Ekland) keeps on trying out for the team, but she’s currently relegated to the role of Truman’s team mascot, complete with comedy costume.

Campbell’s hopes are cruelly dashed when she finds herself despatched to another local school, an entirely different institution from the bastion of privilege that is Truman. At Jackson High, the very idea of cheerleading is looked on with derision. The only other student from Truman to make the transition to Jackson is Bridget, who is delighted to find that she’s actually popular here. Not so Campbell. The ‘crew’ at Jackson, it turns out, have their own way of dancing and are happy to demonstrate how they think it should be done.

Undeterred, Campbell sets about befriending Jackson’s Queen Bee, Danielle (Rhianna Daley), eventually persuading her to set up their own cheerleading squad and even to go in for the National Finals. However, in order to win Danielle over, Campbell makes some pretty wild claims about the prizes that will be up for grabs, including some much-needed scholarships. And then the truth comes out…

There are some terrific performances here. MacLean has a soaring vocal range and Eklund’s assured clowning is a constant delight. I also enjoy the dorky Randal (Duncan Brown)’s impressive vocal performance but, more than anything else, this is an ensemble piece, and hats must be lifted to the choreography team, who have drilled their massive cast to perfection, enabling them to perform in thrilling, powerhouse set pieces that threaten to lift the roof of the building. The sizeable band show a lot of skill, and pump out the gutsy music with elan.

While this is an amateur production, the boundless talent and supreme dedication displayed by these young performers seems to render the word meaningless. Bring It On is, quite simply, a thrill ride.

4.2 stars

Philip Caveney

Titanic the Musical

21/06/23

Festival Theatre, Edinburgh

The tragic story of The Titanic has exerted a powerful hold on the public imagination ever since its doomed maiden voyage in 1912. It seems horribly ironic that, as we take our seats in The Festival Theatre, the vessel (or at least an ill-fated attempt to visit what remains of it) is once again dominating the news channels. Still, whatever you think about the subject, this stately musical by Maury Weston and Peter Stone offers an assured account of the events that led to one of the biggest disasters in maritime history.

In the first half, we’re introduced to the players as the ship prepares for departure. There’s Captain Edward Smith (Graham Bickley), looking forward to what he believes (rightly as it turns out) will be his final voyage. There’s the ship’s designer, Thomas Andrews (Ian McClarnon), proud of his own ingenuity and convinced that the ship he has built is ‘unsinkable.’ And there’s J. Bruce Ismay (Martin Allanson), the managing director of the White Star Line, presented here as the villain of the piece, a man whose rampant hubris is held largely responsible for the disaster. The truth is rather more complicated than that, but every story needs a villain, I suppose.

Around this triumvirate flock the passengers: the privileged toffs in first class, the hopeful emigrants looking forward to a brand new start in second, and the poor and the dispossessed down in third. There’s also the many members of staff who wait on more than two thousand passengers. The twenty-five members of the cast certainly have their work cut out to represent so many doomed travellers and, it has to be said, with umpteen speedy costume changes, they do a pretty good job of it.

Yeston’s sombre score avoids the cheesy power ballads so often associated with this kind of production, opting instead for a kind of operetta approach. In the jollier moments (and yes, there are a few in the first half), there’s even a hint of Gilbert and Sullivan in the delivery, as members of the cast waltz merrily across the deck.

But of course, the second half can’t be anything but mournful as the ship, having kept its rendezvous with that iceberg, begins (spoiler alert!) to sink beneath the waves.

It’s here, to be honest, that the production struggles to recreate the ensuing chaos. David Woodhead’s set design is impressive but stolid, and I find myself longing for some state-of-the-art special effects to contribute more Sturm und Drang to the closing moments. What’s more, it’s impossible to be surprised when the story I’m watching is so ingrained into my memory that I find myself picking up on its occasional deviations from the truth.

Still, there are some strong moments here. I particularly enjoy the duet between Frederick Barrett (Adam Filipe), sending a marriage proposal to his sweetheart back in England, and Harold Bride (Alistair Hill), the Marconi radio operator who enables him to do so. And anybody who can keep a dry eye through the final duet of elderly couple, Isador Straus (David Delve) and his wife, Ida (Valda Aviks), as they decide to face their fate together, is certainly made of sterner stuff than me.

The production closes with a tribute to the 1,500 people who lost their lives on that fateful night – and, after the enthusiastic applause has died away, Bickley steps forward to deliver the cast’s heartfelt hope that the passengers aboard the missing Titan submersible might be found safe and well.

That of course – like the Titanic itself – will soon become a matter of historical record.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Leopoldstadt

16/06/23

National Theatre At Home

With live theatre events relatively thin on the ground at the moment, it seems a propitious time to indulge in NT Live’s ‘At Home’ selection – and the obvious first choice is Tom Stoppard’s Leopoldstadt, a play in five acts, which chronicles the lives of the Merz family in Vienna. With a cast of forty actors, this is a mammoth undertaking and, while Patrick Marber’s direction occasionally struggles to contain so many disparate characters, it’s nevertheless an education for me, providing an overview of world events that eventually led the Jewish people to the edge of annihilation.

The play opens in 1899, where Merz family patriarch, Hermann (David Krumholtz), his wife Greta (Faye Castelow), and their extended family are celebrating Christmas. Hermann (like many other Jewish businessmen) has converted to Catholicism in order to prosper in his everyday dealings, but he’s only too aware of the antisemitic sentiment of the true gentiles around him and at the party (where one of the children unthinkingly puts a Star of David at the top of the tree) there is already wistful talk of the idea of a Jewish homeland in Palestine.

As the story progresses – we jump first to one year later, then to the jazz era of the 1920s – we are aware that nothing has improved for the Merz clan and that their freedom to thrive is being rapidly diminished. The next section, set in November 1938 on the evening of Kristallnacht, is perhaps the most harrowing sequence, as the family home is visited by a sneering Nazi overseer, who quite literally gives them their marching orders, his callousness exemplified by the seemingly small act of brazenly stealing Hermann’s beloved fountain pen.

A moving coda, set in 1955, features three of the few survivors of that night, comparing notes and remembering the many – the very many – who died in the Nazi death camps. The play begins with a huge extended family on stage, but as the story progresses, their numbers steadily diminish until there are hardly any of them left and the performance space is almost empty. It’s a powerful moment when, in the final minutes, the rest of the cast drift back to stand behind the three survivors, silent witnesses to their own terrible fates.

While it’s nobody’s idea of an uplifting evening at the theatre, Leopoldstadt – which may well be Stoppard’s swan song – is an important and ambitious piece of theatre that highlights how an entire race of people, perhaps because of their very determination to succeed in the face of overwhelming odds, has been systematically tyrannised and subjugated throughout history.

While the complex nature of the Merz family tree (and the actors doubling as different characters) occasionally gives rise to some confusion as those we first see as children return as adults, it’s worth persevering for the powerful melancholy of that extraordinary epilogue, which for quite some time leaves the live audience in stunned silence before the applause finally begins.

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney

ChildMinder

10/06/23

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Edinburgh-born Joseph lives in New York, where he is a celebrated child psychiatrist. He seems to be living his best life, with a beautiful, clever girlfriend, as well as a stellar career. But Joseph’s success is built on shameful foundations and a reckoning looms. Reparations need to be made on both the micro and the macro level – for his own transgressions as well as his country’s.

There are two distinct strands here, each echoing the other, their links compelling if not always quite clear.

On the one hand, we have a pretty straightforward ghost story, its origins laid bare in the opening scene, where Joseph (Cal MacAninch) is confronted with a repressed memory from when he was five years old: his baby brother’s murder. This shocking revelation opens the door to other carefully-buried feelings of guilt, and Joseph soon finds himself tormented by the ghost of a thirteen-year-old patient, Sam (Ben Ewing), who holds the doctor accountable for his death.

On the other hand, we have a meditation on the nature of colonisation, symbolised by Joseph’s relationship with Cindy (Mara Huf), a Native American anthropologist. Cindy’s culture, all-but erased by white settlers, has now been commodified for their entertainment, and the couple indulge in an ‘authentic’ 1700s dinner in a fancy Manhattan restaurant. At first, the pair are in celebratory mode. After all, Cindy has just completed her PhD. But, as Joseph insists on sharing a long and rambling fantasy, a feeling of unease begins to grow, and it’s a relief when Cindy calls him out, and the allegorical nature of his proprietorial daydream is made evident.

This is an ambitious piece of theatre, and the actors are clearly revelling in its complexity. Ewing is particularly striking, both as the mysterious “wait”-er and the troubled Sam. The set, by Kenneth MacLeod, is stark and simple, the squares of light redolent of the glass-box apartments on Edinburgh’s Quartermile, ex-home of the Royal Infirmary, where Joseph used to work. These borders also serve to hem the characters in, trapping them in a claustrophobic nightmare.

For the most part, Kolbrún Björt Sigfúsdóttir’s direction is flawless, imbuing the piece with all the gravitas it requires. Even the scene transitions are eerie, each prop moved with intent – all carefully choreographed for maximum impact. However, all this precision makes the use of dry ice especially irritating. It adds nothing; it’s just invasive, obscuring the stage and making the audience cough.

I like what McClure is trying to achieve here. It’s an exacting script with a vast scope. I’m not sure it always comes off – a little more transparency wouldn’t go amiss – and it’s certainly not a crowd-pleaser (there are five walk-outs in tonight’s show). But we need theatre that pushes boundaries and challenges our expectations, and ChildMinder certainly gives us that.

3.7 stars

Susan Singfield

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

31/05/23

Festival Theatre, Edinburgh

I was a big fan of Deborah Moggach’s books back in the 80s and 90s. You Must Be Sisters, in particular, made an indelible impression. Although I didn’t read These Foolish Things, when it hit the silver screen in 2011 as The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, I was primed to enjoy it – and I kind of did. Under John Madden’s direction and with a stellar cast, it struck me as a good-natured, feel-good slice of cinema.

It seems to be a truth universally acknowledged that a successful, ‘uplifting’ film should be adapted into a touring play, so it’s no surprise to find TBEMH added to the roll call. This gentle comedy tells the tale of the widowed Mrs Kapoor (Rekha John-Cheryan) and her hapless son, Sonny (Nishad More), owners of the dilapidated titular hotel. His mother wants to sell the failing business, but Sonny has another idea. He’s been reading about the way old people are treated in the UK: abandoned by their families; ripped off by care homes. Why not repurpose their building as a residential hotel, where elderly white English people can see out their days?

Enter a rag-tag of pensioners: mousy Evelyn (Tessa Peake-Jones), recently widowed and terribly timid; smug married “been-there-done-that” know-it-alls Jean (Eileen Battye) and Douglas (Paul Nicholas); mysterious ex-broadcaster Dorothy (Paola Dionisotti); would-be comedian Norman (Graham Seed); sexy Madge (Belinda Lang), on the hunt for a fourth husband; and Muriel (Marlene Sidaway), ex-cleaner and current bigot. Of course, they’re all on journeys of self-discovery, and India provides the perfect exotic backdrop…

The jokes land well with tonight’s audience and there is much laughter in the auditorium but, in all honesty, it’s an uncomfortable watch. It’s 2023, and we’re all more aware than we were back in 2011. Now, the white saviour narrative feels dated and horribly self-aggrandising. I wince as Muriel points out the inequity of the caste system, thus enlightening Mrs Kapoor and convincing her to promote the ‘Untouchable’ sweeper (Anant Varman). I cringe as the old white women solve Sonny’s relationship problems by telling him to marry for love and reject the idea of an arranged marriage. I squirm as Evelyn educates the lively call-centre workers (Shila Iqbal and Kerena Jagpal), smashing their sales targets with a bit of good English common sense. There is the occasional attempt to temper this (“It was the young people’s idea”), etc., but – basically – it’s the Indians’ role to inspire the Brits by smiling through adversity, and it’s the Brits’ role to show the Indians how to get things done. Sigh.

I’ll file this one under ‘A’ for ‘Awkward’.

2.5 stars

Susan Singfield

The Stamping Ground

24/05/23

Festival Theatre, Edinburgh

As jukebox musicals go, The Stamping Ground – inspired by the back catalogue of the near legendary (and now, sadly defunct) Gaelic rock band, Runrig – is more coherent than most. Writer Morna Young has skilfully repurposed twenty of the band’s songs into the story of a community of contemporary villagers struggling to save their way of life.

Euan (Ali Watt) is the author of a series of bodice-ripping novels set in the Scottish Highlands, but his career has stalled. After his teenage daughter, Fiona (Caitlin Forbes), is beaten up by a gang of bullies, he and his wife, Annie (Jenny Hulse), decide to relocate from their home in London to Glenbeag, (‘Little Valley” in Gaelic), the remote village where they were raised, and where his widowed mother, Mary (Annie Grace), still lives. But Euan is horrified to discover that Mary is now close friends with Summer (Naomi Stirrat), the daughter of the man who, years ago was responsible for Euan’s father’s death.

The family have arrived at a turbulent time for the village. The local inhabitants, who have already lost their cafe and post office, are now reeling from the news that their beloved pub may be the next thing to go, repurposed into holiday flats for visiting tourists. They all put their heads together to think of ways to raise money and it’s Annie who comes up with the idea of hosting a harvest festival. But when bad weather intervenes, its clear that a solution to the problem is not going to be easily found…

The Stamping Ground is, quite simply, a love letter to Scotland, a paean to the concept of people’s relationship to the land in which they live. It’s bold and vivacious, filled with likeable characters and fuelled by a mixture of plaintive melodies and rousing reels powered along by Stuart Semple’s propulsive drumming, John Mckenzie’s guitar and John Kielty’s keyboards. Members of the talented cast regularly grab other instruments to augment the songs as the story unfolds. While events occasionally come perilously close to sentimentality, I’d be lying if I denied filling up during Summer’s emotive ballad about leaving her friends – and, likewise, if I denied laughing out loud at some of the villager’s mischievous banter.

There’s a lot more here to enjoy. Kenneth McLoud’s fabulous set design, centred around the broken remains of an ancient standing stone, is a particular delight, while Jade Adams choreography and Luke Kernaghan’s direction keeps the whole enterprise bubbling to its stirring conclusion. By the end of the night the audience is on its feet clapping joyfully along to a rousing rendition of Loch Lomond.

The Stamping Ground is Scottish to its roots and never shies away from proudly saying so.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Anna Karenina

21/05/23

Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

As dares go, this one – from Scottish writer Lesley Hart to British-Russian director Polina Kalinina – has turned out rather well, resulting in this sparky adaptation of Tolstoy’s classic novel. It certainly disproves Kalinina’s original contention that Russian texts tend to “lose vigour and immediacy in translation”: this piece is both vigorous and immediate.

The plot is well-known. Anna (Lindsey Campbell) – bored society wife and loving mother – visits her sister-in-law Dolly (Jamie Marie Leary)’s family estate, hoping to persuade her to forgive Anna’s feckless brother, Stiva (Angus Miller), for his affair with a governess. But it’s a fateful visit, because it’s here that Anna meets Vronsky (Robert Akodoto) – and embarks upon a tumultuous affair that will have a terrible impact. The story is pared back here, of course – four-hundred-thousand words of prose are condensed into a tight two-and-a-half-hours of drama – and it’s all the better for it. The book’s lengthy histrionics are economically conveyed by Xana’s deliberately grating sound design, which feels akin to being in a dentist’s chair, the screeching somehow inside your head. It’s not pleasant, but it’s strikingly effective.

Hart’s script highlights the biting unfairness of a patriarchal order, where Stiva’s many sexual transgressions cause him only minor trouble when they’re revealed, while Anna’s single affair turns her into a social pariah, shunned by her former peers, and – most painfully – banned from seeing her own son (played tonight by Noah Osmani). Her tragic end, prefigured by a brutal train accident at the start of the play, hangs literally over her head throughout: Emma Bailey’s stark design is dominated by this sword of Damocles, a huge screw-like ceiling pendant, each action causing it to turn another notch, embedding itself into Anna’s heart.

I love the urgency of the opening: a dinner party tableau that stutters and lurches into life. The characters are boldly drawn and instantly recognisable, from Karenin (Stephen McCole)’s supercilious reserve to Stiva’s self-indulgence and Levin (Ray Sesay)’s naïve modesty. The sliding screen upstage is ingenious too, opening to reveal a snowy railway platform, or pastoral wheat fields that seem to offer the hope of a simpler life.

Campbell’s Anna is a believable creation, beautiful and confident and relatively content – until she’s blindsided by her attraction for Vronsky. The tragedy here is as much about the corruption of their love as it about her death. What they have is real, but it’s destroyed by social mores and jealousy. It’s not their relationship that ruins Anna; it’s the stifling rules we humans impose upon ourselves.

So is Tolstoy still relevant and appealing in the twenty-first century? If this Royal Lyceum and Bristol Old Vic production is anything to go by, the answer is a resounding yes!

4.2 stars

Susan Singfield