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The Rip Current

18/08/22

Pleasance Courtyard (Above), Edinburgh

The Rip Current, written and co-directed by Molly Keating, is an ambitious piece of theatre, dealing with themes of truth and identity. It’s his first year at uni, and Jamie (Charlie Bolden) should be proud of his success: he’s made it to Cambridge, after all. But, as a working-class Scot, he’s struggling to fit in. Posh-boy Bertie (James Cummings) keeps putting Irn Bru posters on Jamie’s door, and teasing him about his accent. Adrift, trying desperately to stay afloat, Jamie starts to have nightmares – “or flashbacks” – about his absent dad, Ruiraidh (Max Hanover). The few memories Jamie has are fond ones, so why did his mum, Bridie (Megan Burns), force Ruiraidh to leave? And why won’t she talk about it? After a term away, Jamie’s determined to find out more – about who he is, and where he comes from.

It’s an interesting premise, and throws up a number of intriguing ideas. However, the structure is a little unbalanced. The opening monologue, delivered convincingly by Bolden, sets the subject matter up nicely, but the following scene, at university, is perhaps somewhat overdone. Cummings inhabits Bertie’s role extremely well, but the dialogue makes his sneering too overt, so that it’s not quite credible. The relationship between the two young men is compelling, but – beyond a fleeting vignette in the final moments – we never get to see this develop, nor learn how things play out.

Instead, we’re whisked back home with Jamie, for a long and detailed analysis of how his parents’ marriage went wrong. There are some excellent moments here: Ruiraidh’s slow, deliberate removal of his belt, for example, works well; this restrained and understated piece of direction creates a chilling atmosphere. I also like the way Bridie’s constant busy-ness and bright chatter contrast with Jamie’s inertia and sullen monosyllables; Keating and her co-director, Tess Bailie, clearly have some strong concepts. But the conversation is too repetitive: the dialogue needs to be pared back, to ensure this second half doesn’t lose momentum.

I’m not sure about some of the symbolism. Why does Ruiraidh always enter and exit through the wardrobe door? Is it because he’s been closeted away and kept secret or is it a reference to the fact that Jamie only sees him in dreams? Whatever it’s supposed to represent, it doesn’t quite work for me, and seems a little clunky. The dinner scene is another problem. There are both too many props and too few: the scene is cluttered with dishes, a grater and a loaf of bread, but there’s no sign of the three-course feast they’re supposed to be eating, and this feels like a compromise too far. It would be better either to opt for a more abstract approach, where we don’t see the meal at all, or to at least fill the glasses with water and put something on the plates. Personally, I’d favour the former approach, but either way, something more consistent would benefit the scene.

The Rip Current certainly has potential, but I think it needs some judicious editing before we can really see it at its best.

2.6 stars

Susan Singfield

The Tiger Lillies: One Penny Opera

16/08/22

Underbelly Bristo Square (Cow Barn), Edinburgh

Describing an act as ‘unique’ is often considered a cop-out, and yet I can’t think of a more appropriate word to describe The Tiger Lillies, three remarkable musicians currently strutting their inimitable stuff at The Cow Barn on Bristo Square. Originally formed way back in 1989, they’ve been through a number of personnel changes over the years, though the macabre compositions of singer-songwriter Martyn Jacques have remained a constant. They describe themselves as “Brechtian Punk Cabaret”, and who am I to argue with them?

The current lineup shambles onto the stage looking like characters from your worst nightmare, plastered in grotesque makeup and wearing eccentric outfits. They launch headlong into their opening song, a Germanic foot-tapper that recalls the music of pre-war Berlin, jaunty and uncompromising, while Jacques’ lyrics spin an introduction to a tale of darkness and dismay, a world of crime and vicious retribution, featuring Mack the Knife and Polly Platt. Indeed, the entire hour is devoted to the continuing adventures of these miscreants and their various accomplices, so this is as much a storytelling session as it is a concert.

These days, Jacques handles accordion and keyboards, anchored by the drumming of Budi Butenop and embellished by Adrian Stout’s mercurial musical flourishes. Watching Stout conjure ethereal sounds from the theremin, the electric bass and, at several points, from a battered old saw is like watching a gifted magician at work. If you thought a saw was only good for cutting down trees, think again! Occasionally, Jacques switches to keyboards and offers us beautiful ballads that juxtapose poignant melodies with tales of murder and bestiality. His voice, a weird, soaring soprano, is quite extraordinary too.

I could say that this won’t be for everyone, but judging by the large, spellbound crowd that’s in tonight, The Tiger Lillies’ dark cabaret clearly has an ardent following – and if you need any more convincing, the band won an Olivier Award back in the day for their cult musical Shock Headed Peter.

Those looking for a unique – yes, that word again! – blend of music and theatre should head down to the Cow Barn without delay for a truly unforgettable experience.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Nope

15/08/22

Cineworld, Edinburgh

From it’s earliest beginnings, Jordan Peele’s Nope has been cloaked in the kind of secrecy, normally reserved for Christopher Nolan movies – and inconveniently, it’s arrived slap bang in the middle of the Edinburgh Festival, a month I usually devote entirely to comedy and theatre. Nevertheless, I make time to see it. Now having done that, I’m not entirely sure I’m any better off.

Nope is the story of the Hayward siblings, OJ (Daniel Kaluuya) and Emerald (Keke Palmer), who, after the mysterious death of their father – struck by something unidentified from the heavens – are struggling to keep their business going. They supply horses to the film and television industry but OJ isn’t the best at getting on with people, while Emerald is his polar opposite, too interested in promoting her own projects. (We also learn that Haywards are direct descendants of the unnamed black jockey from the iconic silent film by Eadweard Muybridge.)

With revenue falling, OJ decides to sell some of his stock to Ricky ‘Jupe’ Park (Steven Yeun), who runs a ramshackle Western show, based not far from the Haywards’ ranch. Ricky is a former child actor, whose career was infamously ended when the simian star of his TV series ran amok and attacked his human co-stars. Scenes from the carnage in the studio prefigure the main action, but this feels like an entirely different idea grafted uncomfortably onto the main storyline.

OJ begins to suspect that something is hiding in the clouds above the ranch, something that’s responsible for his father’s death and which might be of extra-terrestrial origin. He and Emerald decide they need to photograph it, telling themselves that the resulting pictures will be their ‘Oprah’ moment, the answer to all their money worries. With this in mind they enlist local tech worker, Angel (Brandon Perea), to help them achieve their goal and they set about capturing the mystery on film.

But what’s up there might not be what they think it is…

Many films are short of ideas, but Nope has the opposite problem. Not content to make a straightforward UFO film, Peele throws in a whole mess of different images and subtexts. Some of them are great, others mystifying, but what’s for sure is that they don’t coalesce enough to make a satisfying whole. While there are certainly spectacular moments here – especially when the IMAX photography concentrates on the heavens and the action taking place up there, I leave feeling annoyed that Nope is neither fish nor foul. It could have been a superior sci-fi epic or it could have been a sinister horror tale. It can’t successfully be both those things.

Which ultimately means that Peele started at the top of his game with Get Out, slipped up somewhat with his second release, the ambitious but flawed Us, and now needs to consider very carefully where he goes next.

3 stars

Philip Caveney

Christopher Bliss: Captain Words Eye

15/08/22

Pleasance Courtyard (Beneath), Edinburgh

Christopher Bliss is just too good to be true. He swaggers into the room to the strains of Living La Vida Loca, slapping the upraised hands of the front row as he sweeps by. He’s dressed in truly horrible style – including the fashion ‘NO!’ of orthopaedic sandals with white socks – and, without further ado, proceeds to deliver his ‘masterclass in novel writing’ with not an ounce of self-awareness. Writing a novel is easy he assures us; he’s written hundreds! He never spends more than five minutes on each of them and he never ever rewrites a single word!

As a (ahem!) novelist, I can only sit there and reflect on the sorry fact that I’ve been doing it wrong for so many years.

Bliss, of course, is a construct (think David Brent or Alan Partridge). He’s the creation of comedian, Rob Carter, but we won’t hold that against him, especially when he’s mastered every written art save for one – the thing that’s always eluded him is character comedy. Meta? I guess so! He proceeds to commandeer the room and quickly has the audience eating out of his hand. Perhaps what we’re witnessing here is actually a master class in audience manipulation. He’s clearly in his element as he interacts with the crowd and soon has us shouting out suggestions, making noises of both attraction and repulsion, even bellowing his ‘catchphrase’ (“Ruddy hell!”) at regular intervals. It seems that he’s on the lookout for an apprentice and one of us might just be that lucky person.

Bliss is a new name to me and I can only regret that it’s taken me this long to encounter him. He’s that rarest of things, a brilliant character comedian… and a literary genius to boot. I can’t wait for his words of advice on poetry, which I have long considered my Achilles heel.

Those seeking his words of wisdom should hurry on down to the Pleasance Courtyard without further delay – it can only be a matter of time before the literary festival claims him as one of their own.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Chris Dugdale: Ethermind

11/08/22

Assembly Rooms (Drawing Room), George Street, Edinburgh

We’re already approaching the end of the first week of the Fringe. Our feet are just about walked off, we’re knackered, but we’re happy, because Fringe is back in full swing and we’ve seen some incredible new acts – plus a few familiar favourites. Chris Dugdale definitely falls into the latter category. We first caught his act way back in 2015 and he’s a been a fixture on our schedule ever since. It’s not that we’re fans of magic, per se, but there’s something about this magician that just clicks with us. The cheery patter, his likeable personality – and the fact that he never ever fails to astonish us.

His speciality is close-up magic. He even provides a video camera, trained on his hands, as he goes through an extended card routine with an astonished young lad picked from the crowd. ‘I want to show you a trick,’ says Chris. And we gasp out loud. How does he do that? Every time I think, ‘I’ll really concentrate this time and I’ll see how he gets that card into the box without even touching it. One year, he’ll let his guard down and I’ll catch him out.’

And every year, I’m just as baffled.

And then there’s the mind-reading tricks, the way he seems able to reach into your head and make you do stuff that you cannot rationally explain. Remember the old familiar trick your granddad did when he pulled a coin from your ear at Christmas parties? Mr D gives the routine a fresh new twist and puts you right back in that enchanted state of mind you had in childhood

But listen, I’m not going to bore on about this. If you see only one magician at the Fringe this year, there’s a logical choice. Now concentrate! I want you to picture something. Are you concentrating? I’m seeing a name in my mind… it’s appearing gradually in front of you, like something approaching through a dust storm. It’s taking shape… Can you see it now? Correct!

The name is CHRIS DUGDALE. Now go grab a ticket before they sell out.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

BriTANick

08/08/22

The Box, George Square

Comedy sketch duo (trio, if you include their invisible horse, Midnight), Brian McElhaney and Nick Kocher, hail from Atlanta, Georgia, and call themselves BriTANick (it rhymes with Titanic). They are currently appearing in an adapted shipping container on George Square, much to Nick’s evident disgust, but the place is sold out tonight and the punters are lapping it up.

“Brian” is the more driven of the two, intent on pursuing his art and attaining his goals, while “Nick” has clearly been created for the sole purpose of putting his partner’s dreams through the shredder, mostly by whingeing about stuff: the flight attendant who gave him inferior seats on the flight to Edinburgh; the fact that he and his wife had agreed to have no sexual contact until their wedding – which has already been postponed for two years because of the pandemic; he’s not a happy bunny.

Sketch comedy is notoriously difficult to get right but McElhaney and Kocher do an excellent job of it – they are confident performers, adept at incorporating whatever happens into their show. A couple of late arrivals find themselves featured at one point to much hilarity. They also have a flair for the surreal – Midnight is the first invisible horse we haven’t seen at this year’s Fringe. The sketches are wide ranging, skipping effortlessly from Pythonesque whimsy to clever character studies, and their post-modernist approach to taboo subjects allows them to get away with material that, in less skilled hands, might make audiences uncomfortable.

Of course, the acid test is does it make you laugh? And the answer is a resounding ‘yes!’ I spend the hour giggling, chortling, sniggering and yes, even laughing out loud at some of their more absurd antics. I particularly enjoy an extended thread about dreams. Is Brian really going out with Salma Hayek? Is that an invisible knife I don’t see before me? Only one sketch (a piece abut man-snogging) feels a little over-extended, but most sequences are short and punchy and I do admire the way they keep drawing a line through to earlier sketches to ensure that everything, no matter how disparate, hangs together as a whole.

Audiences hungry for laughter – and let’s face it, after recent world events, that’s most of us – will find it waiting for them in a metal box on George Square. Grab your tickets, form an orderly queue and head inside… but mind you don’t step on Midnight’s tail.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

The Midwich Cuckoos

17/06/22

Now TV

I first encountered the novels of John Wyndham while still at school. I started, like many others, with The Day of the Triffids and remember being blown away by the sheer inventiveness of it. Wyndham’s ‘home counties disaster’ genre was unlike anything I’d ever read before. And then I picked up a copy of The Midwich Cuckoos, which again had an inspired idea at its heart and was deliciously creepy.

It’s not surprising that the movies soon got in on the action. Cuckoos was first filmed in 1960 as Village of the Damned, only two years after the novel’s release. It’s a bold move to attempt to bring Wyndham’s story up to date, but this seven part series from Sky Max, created and written by David Farr, does a pretty good job of it.

Keely Hawes stars as psychologist Dr Susannah Zellaby, struggling to connect with her daughter, Cassie (Synnove Karlsen), who has a history of poor mental health and drug abuse. On a rare trip into London, Susannah is horrified to hear of a mystifying occurrence in her home village of Midwich. After a sudden, inexplicable loss of power, everybody in the village falls unconscious at the same moment. When they wake, twenty-four hours later, it’s to the bizarre discovery that every female resident – including Cassie – has fallen pregnant. Susannah finds herself increasingly drawn into working with the initially bewildered new mothers.

The government quickly moves in to keep the event a closely guarded secret. As time moves on, the babies are born and it’s soon becomes apparent that these are no ordinary children. They grow faster than they ought to, they demonstrate learning abilities beyond their years and, it transpires, they have a collective ‘hive’ consciousness. If something happens to one of them, the rest know about it instantly. And they are very, VERY protective of each other.

The Midwich depicted here is entirely believable: a middle-class, middle-income suburb, populated by characters who are fleshed out beyond the usual stereotypes. The production team have wisely moved away from the blonde-haired Village of the Damned kids and created something entirely different – and the creepiness of the source novel is effectively conveyed, the young actors exuding their sinister presence. Resident police officer Paul Haynes (Max Beesley), who ironically lost his pregnant wife during the blackout, has the unenviable task of attempting to make sense of it all, while also establishing a relationship with his wife’s sister, Jodie (Lara Rossi), and the strange boy she has given birth to.

Plaudits should go to the four cinematographers who filmed the lush, sun-drenched locations, which contrast effectively with the eerie sci-fi elements, making them all the more powerful. The story builds effectively over seven episodes to a suspenseful – and quite cold-blooded – climax. I’m slightly perturbed by the fact that this is referred to as ‘Season 1.’ I seriously doubt there’s much more to say about this story, but of course, Village of the Damned had its own (inferior) sequel back in the day and perhaps it’s inevitable that more will follow.

For now, this makes for the perfect binge-watch.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Cluedo

10/05/22

King’s Theatre, Edinburgh

The game of Cluedo was something I only played occasionally as a kid – and, because I had an annoying habit of disobeying the rules (why would I answer questions honestly if I might be the murderer?), I was rarely asked to play a second time, as my presence tended to plunge every game into chaos.

This stage version, based on an original screenplay by Jonathan Lynn and adapted by Sandy Rustin, is pretty chaotic too. It’s directed by Mark Bell (of The Play That Goes Wrong) and, as you might expect, leans heavily into the absurd.

All the usual suspects are in evidence: the mysterious Miss Scarlett (Michelle Collins), the accident-prone Reverend Green (Tom Babbage) and the dim-witted Colonel Mustard (Wesley Griffith). Throw in the pompous Professor Plum (Daniel Casey) the enigmatic Mrs White (Etisyai Philip) and the boozy Mrs Peacock (Judith Amsenga) and we have the full set. Of course there’s a butler, Wadsworth (Jean Luke-Worrell), who acts as our guide and explains that those colour-coded names are simply pseudonyms. The six guests have been invited here by a certain ‘Mr Boddy’, who has information about their nefarious goings-on. Each of them is issued with their own unique murder weapon (you all know what they are) and the fun dutifully ensues.

And it is fun, provided you don’t pause too long to consider the sheer improbability of it all. Without wasting any time, the story galumphs happily from one unlikely event to another. A cunningly devised set is repeatedly opened up like a puzzle box to reveal secret corridors and adjacent rooms and there’s plenty of silly, tongue-twisty wordplay – particularly from Luke-Worrell: his rapid fire replay of ‘what’s happened so far’ is the play’s best sequence and earns a round of applause all of its own. Hats off to Harry Bradley, who keeps popping up in a variety of guises only to be promptly murdered – it’s a living of a kind, I suppose. A repeated motif where a character utters another character’s name ad infinitum is also the cause of much mirth and it’s clear that tonight’s audience are having great fun with the proceedings.

And that’s pretty much what Cluedo is – fast, funny and frenetic, it does what it says on the Waddington’s box.

3.4 stars

Philip Caveney

All My Sons

29/04/22

Teviot Underground, Edinburgh

There are good playwrights and there are great ones. Arthur Miller definitely belongs in the latter category. It’s a brave student theatre group that dares to tackle one of his works but, down in the crowded basement of the Teviot Underground, EUTC take on his 1947 play All My Sons and, with great skill and determination, make it their own.

This is the story of the Keller family and it takes place entirely in the garden of their home. It’s the night after a storm has uprooted a beloved tree, planted three years earlier in memory of the family’s youngest son, Larry, a fighter pilot who went missing in the war. Patriarch and factory owner, Joe (Ted Ackery), has survived accusations of shipping defective airplane parts to the military during the conflict and has subsequently prospered, even though his partner, Steve, still languishes in jail, found guilty of the charge.

Joe’s devoted son, Chris (Conor O’ Cuinn), is in line to take over the family business, but it’s not going to be plain sailing. He is hopelessly in love with Ann Deever (Olivia Carpenter), Larry’s former fiancée and she, in turn, has feelings for him. But Chris’s mother, Kate (Lucy Melrose), steadfastly refuses to give up hope that her lost son will one day return – and accepting this new union would, for her, be the final nail in her missing son’s coffin.

As ever with student theatre, the staging here is clearly constrained by budget, but the set designers have applied themselves to the task with great ingenuity; and using the canteen area at the back of the stage to depict the interior of the family home is a terrific idea. Interestingly, the costuming evokes the late 1960s and snatches of Bob Dylan and The Doors on the soundtrack accentuate the idea that this is a tragedy that could just as easily be applied to the Vietnam War – or any other one, come to that. The spectre of profiteering from war is, I’m afraid, universal.

But what really comes across in this production are the performances, with the four leads in particular submitting thrilling interpretations of their roles. And it doesn’t end there. The supporting roles of the family’s neighbours – who all know that Joe is guilty but have conspired to overlook the fact – are also delivered with utter conviction. There’s no weak link here – and there’s a palpable moment in the middle of the first act, when you sense these young performers coming to the realisation that they have their characters nailed and are going to make them fly.

Into this volatile atmosphere comes George (Priya Basra), Ann’s older brother, now a successful lawyer, who has previously accepted Joe’s acquittal and refused to see his own father ever since the trial – until now, that is. Now he has talked to his father and the wool has finally been pulled from his eyes. He visits the Kellers intent on seeking revenge.

The slowly rising tension builds steadily to a climax of extraordinary power. It’s a hard-hearted soul indeed who won’t be moved to tears by its shattering conclusion. EUTC have achieved something here that they can be truly proud of and, if you have the chance to catch this performance, then I’d advise you to take it.

It’s an assured interpretation of one of Arthur Miller’s greatest works.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney

Ondine

27/03/22

Teviot Underground, Edinburgh

We’re at another student production, down in the Teviot Underground, where we’ve seen many excellent Fringe shows over the years. It’s here that Theatre Paradok have taken on Ondine, a fascinating play by Jean Giradaux, first performed in 1938 (and which, in the 1960s, famously featured Audrey Hepburn in the title role).

All the usual problems are in evidence tonight: a tiny, oddly-shaped stage; a selection of cobbled-together costumes and ramshackle props. There’s also a background buzz of voices coming from the bar next door, and yet the sizeable cast overcome these problems with admirable skill and determination. 

In a remote cottage, Fisherman Auguste (Huw Turnbull) and his wife Eugenie (Sophie Craig) await the return of their ‘daughter,’ Ondine (Clare Robinson). They are fully aware that she’s not their real child, but a changeling, substituted for their infant years ago, and now running wild in the midst of a storm. Ondine is a nature spirit who, though supposedly fifteen years old, has actually been around for centuries and is immortal.

Into this weird scenario wanders Hans (Kristjan Gudjonsson) a knight-errant, currently in love with and betrothed to Princess Bertha (Alice Humphries). He’s ridden into the country to contemplate his upcoming nuptials, but one look at Ondine and he is entranced. She too seems impetuously keen to be his bride.

But by the play’s second act, it’s already clear that the new union is beset by insurmountable problems, not least the fact that, in order to become Hans’s bride, Ondine has been forced to make a draconian pact with The Old One…

To suggest that Ondine is a weird play would be something of an understatement. It occasionally borders on the deranged. But its themes seem powerfully prescient today – the frailty of mankind, the ways in which we have lost touch with the healing powers of nature – and are right there in the story’s subtext. There are some terrific performances here, particularly from Robinson, who manages to keep the feverish intensity of the central character blazing throughout and whose inability to tell lies is the cause of much humour. Gudjonsson is also terrific, imbuing Hans with a sardonic wit and a sense of fatalism, which make his final scenes genuinely poignant. I also enjoy Adam Wu’s double role of The Old One and The Illusionist, managing to slip effortlessly from silent threat to cheerful swagger, while Angus Morrison and Trudy Kalvynaite offer a cheerfully knockabout double act as the two pompous magistrates called in to judge Ondine’s ‘infidelity.’

Director Philomène Cheynet has worked wonders with the uncompromising performance space, making me forgive its shortcomings and allowing me to focus on the strength of the performances. 

Ondine continues until the 30th March, and those looking for something quirky and absolutely unique should definitely seek it out.

4 stars

Philip Caveney