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Òran

13/11/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Òran is a retelling of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, a powerful one-man monologue written by hip-hop artist Owen Sutcliffe and performed by Robbie Gordon. The piece is centred around a pulsing, haunting soundtrack by Vanives and Ben Dean, and the story is given a contemporary makeover. Òran (Gordon) a pupil in a Scottish high school is witness to the cruel cyber-bullying of his best friend, Euan, but does nothing to help him.

Overcome with guilt, Òran feels compelled to descend into the Underworld (via a conveniently located lift) in an attempt to find Euan and pull him free from the pit of desperation into which he has disappeared.

This is a spoken-word production, with Gordon sitting either at a desk – controlling the small mixing deck which contains the labyrinthine layers of the soundtrack – or racing frantically around the stage, interacting with the audience, making us both witness to and part of the story. This is especially effective in one emotionally-charged moment when we help to create a moment of theatrical magic.

I can’t help but notice that a large group of teens sitting across from me are absolutely spellbound by this performance, staring transfixed as the story unfolds, their reactions writ large. 

Sutcliffe’s Scots poetry alternates between the fierce and the poignant, often breaking into rap. The piece is sensitively directed by Jack Nurse and the production is also elevated by Benny Goodman’s evocative lighting design. I particularly enjoy the clever depiction of the descent into the Underworld, which is simply but effectively achieved. I also like the way that Gordon’s voice is dramatically transformed whenever he assumes the persona of Hades.

Perhaps the story’s late-stage revelation loses some of its power in the midst of what is essentially an aural assault, but that’s a quibble. Òran grabs an ancient myth by the scruff of its neck and gives it a right good shaking.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Predator Badlands

08/11/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

2022 was a pretty grim year for obvious reasons but one of its few bright spots was the opportunity to watch Dan Trachtenberg’s Prey on streaming. Those with long memories will remember the original Predator film, an Arnold Schwarzenegger vehicle from 1987. It introduced us to the titular alien hunter, a creature with a face like a crab doing press-ups on a mirror – and most definitely the villain of the piece. While the film was no masterpiece, it was a fun sci-fi / horror / shoot-‘em-up and it made a big splash at the box office. Inevitably there would be sequels.

Which is where the problems began. A whole barrage of them were released over the years, all inferior to the original. An attempt to combine them with the Alien franchise led to the most disappointing examples of a sorry bunch, turgid retreads of the same-old, same-old.

So when Prey was announced, my expectations were pretty low. However, Trachtenberg did something unexpectedly different with the premise, sending the whole thing back in time and pitting the villainous hunter against a bunch of Native Americans, armed only with bows and arrows, adding a compelling layer of social commentary. It worked big time. Now the pressing question is: can the director pull it off a second time?

And the answer is, yes, he can. The latest twist on the concept comes in the form of an unspoken question. What if the predator were more sympathetic?

Dek (Dimitrius Schuster-Koloamatangi) is a bit of a disappointment to his father, Njohrr (Reuben de Jong). For one thing, Dek is noticeably smaller than the average Yautja warrior and nowhere near as ruthless as Dad would like him to be. In a fight with his big brother, Kwei, Dek can’t even bring himself to kill his bruv. Oh, the shame! His dad is determined to have him eradicated for this weakness but instead Dek heads off to the planet Genna with the intention of defeating the ‘unkillable’ Kalisk, thus proving himself to the old man beyond all reasonable doubt.

Once on Genna, Dek discovers that the place is a total death trap, featuring more predatory creatures than you could shake a plasma sword at. But then he bumps into Thia (Elle Fanning), a Weyland Yutani synthetic. Or rather, he bumps into half of her because, thanks to the Kalisk, she is now missing her lower body, though she’s determined to stay cheerful about the situation. Dek grudgingly takes her along with him, thinking that he will use her knowledge of the planet to locate the creature he is seeking. But as they travel, something unexpected occurs. He begins to care about her…

Hardcore Predator fans (apparently that’s a thing) have argued vociferously that this film has ‘softened’ the concept, but that’s fine in my book, because the interplay between Dek and Thia does make me feel for the characters in a way that even the original never managed. And for those who come to this series for the weird creatures and the rampant bloodshed, there’s still plenty of that thrown into the mix. (Weirdly, the fact that none of them is human has resulted in a 12A certificate, but the amount of carnage that goes on here feels, to my mind, more in the vicinity of a 15.)

My only real quibble is that the first fifteen minutes or so, set on Dek’s home planet, are so poorly lit that it’s sometimes hard to follow the action, but that issue is resolved the moment Dek blasts off Into space and things continue to improve as his friendship with Thia develops. I even liked Bud, a cute little alien that the duo encounter on their travels.

There are just enough elements from the Alien films here to show how blending two franchises can work seamlessly – one reference in the film’s latter stages is a particular delight (fans of Aliens will recognise it when they see it). Okay, so Predator Badlands won’t be picking up any awards at the Oscars but, for my money, this is is up there with the best films of the Predator cannon and, while you could argue that it’s a pretty low bar, it’s nonetheless a testament to Trachtenberg’s abilities that, once again, he has managed to breathe life into a dead Yautja.

4.2 stars

Philip Caveney

Dead of Winter

05/10/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Dead of Winter has only been granted a limited screening in UK cinemas before moving on to streaming, but provided a multiplex near you is showing it, it’s well worth making a trip out for. This edgy action thriller has me in its tenacious grip pretty much from the word ‘go.’

Barb (Emma Thomson) leaves her remote home in Northern Minnesota to make the arduous drive to the even more remote Lake Hilda for a reason that’s only gradually revealed as the story unfolds. As you might guess from the film’s title, she’s chosen a pretty challenging time of year to undertake her journey. On the way to the lake, she stops off at an isolated homestead to ask for directions and encounters ‘Camo Jacket’ (Marc Menchaca), who is acting in a decidedly suspicious manner. Barb can’t help but notice an ominous splash of blood in the snow, which the man attributes to ‘deer.’

She continues to the lake where she engages in a spot of ice-fishing, but then witnesses a young girl fleeing from Camo Jacket. Barb watches horrified as she is dragged back in the direction of his cabin and then follows at a distance. It’s soon apparent that the girl is being held hostage in the cellar of the man’s house. But what can Barb do? She cannot call the police since there’s no phone signal in these parts, but she’s nevertheless determined to help Leah (Laurel Marsden) and will not quit, even when Camo Jacket’s trigger-happy wife, The Purple Lady (Judy Greer), turns up at the cabin and the bizarre motives behind the kidnapping are explained…

Written by Nicholas Jacobson-Larsen and Dalton Leeb, and masterfully directed by Brian Kirk, Dead of Winter alternates scenes of extreme tension with gentler flashbacks to Barb’s youth, where she’s played by Thompson’s real life daughter, Gaia Wise. While I involuntarily bristle at nepotism, I have to grudgingly admit that this is a convincing move and, happily, the enormous potential for sentimentality in these scenes is skilfully side-stepped: indeed, I find them genuinely affecting.

We’ve all seen those ‘geri-action’ movies where elderly men miraculously transform into athletic heroes, capable of throwing kicks and punches like pros, but this iteration keeps everything within the realms of believability. Barb shows the limitations of her age but also displays her stubborn determination to just keep going no matter what, putting one snow-boot in front of the other. And, having existed in this hostile land for many years, she has a few tricks in her tackle box that will give her a competitive edge.

The snowbound locations, often filmed using drones – it was actually shot in Finland – look absolutely ravishing on the big screen, and you’re uncomfortably aware of the sub-zero temperatures throughout. Those of a nervous disposition should be warned that a scene where Barb is obliged to perform surgery on herself – with a fishing hook – might make you want to avert your gaze.

It’s impossible not to watch this and picture Frances McDormand in the lead role but Thompson is a brilliant actor and captures this character in every detail, as well as doing a very creditable job of handling the Minnesotan accent. Greer is also compelling as a woman driven to unreasonable acts by her own tragic circumstances. It’s only in the final scenes that all the pieces fall into place and I manage to get my breathing back to its usual rhythm.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Our Brother

16/09/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

‘American’ (Nicole Cooper) recounts her memories of what happened back in 1978, when she was working as a photojournalist and introduced naïve Scottish academic ‘Stranger’ (Bobby Bradly) to the man he idolised. ‘Brother’ (David Lee-Jones) is the leader of the Khmer Rouge, the party who imposed communism in Kampuchea in 1975. Stranger has been totally seduced by Brother’s rhetoric about the currency-free society he’s founded and the resulting equality he envisages. Indeed, Stranger is eager to record his hero’s every word so he can produce a revised edition of the book he’s already published: In Defence of Kampuchea.

But he soon discovers that Brother is less than transparent about the ways his new doctrine is imposed – and, when Stranger insists on pushing him for more information, he finally begins to understand the awful truth behind the man’s evangelising.

This three-hander, written by Jack MacGregor and directed by Andrea Ling, serves as a timely warning not to be seduced by the carefully-chosen words of ruthless despots. Brother is, of course, the man who came to notoriety as Pol Pot – responsible for the genocide of more than a million people before finally being deposed.

The three actors all play their characters with authority but the piece occasionally feels a little too didactic. It’s anchored in the same location throughout, and there’s sometimes the feeling that we are being told what’s happening rather than shown it – though I do like the moments when American chooses to ‘rewind’ a scene to replay it in a version that’s closer to the way she actually remembers it. She also uses a handheld red light to pick out key moments in the action, as though developing images in a darkroom.

The distressing conclusion offers little in the way of surprises – indeed, it’s something I’ve been expecting from early on – but, at a time when extremism is once more on the rise, Our Brother serves as a sobering reminder of the horrors that lie behind the reassuring smiles of demagogues.

3.6 stars

Philip Caveney

Highest 2 Lowest

13/09/25

Filmhouse, Edinburgh

I first became aware of the work of director Spike Lee way back in 1986 at the press launch for his second feature, She’s Gotta Have It, and subsequently followed his cinematic evolution with big hitters like Do the Right Thing and Malcolm X. But since 2018’s BlackKkKlansman, Lee increasingly seems to have struggled to find focus.

Highest 2 Lowest (a loose remake of Akira Kurosawa’s 1963 film, High and Low) represents a considerable step up – a big, brash love letter to New York City, to Black music and, in particular, to Lee’s favourite basketball team, The Knicks.

The film begins in grandiloquent style with a rendition of Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin as cinematographer Matthew Libatique’s cameras glide magisterially around the gleaming highrise apartment building that is home to near-legendary record producer, David King (Denzel Washington). He’s about to embark on a crucial bid to buy the record label that made his reputation, but his plans are rudely disrupted when he receives news that his son, Trey (Aubrey Johnson), has been kidnapped and held ransom to the tune of seventeen million dollars.

When it’s revealed that the kidnappers have mistakenly grabbed Trey’s best friend, Kyle (Elijah Wright), the son of David’s loyal chauffeur, Paul Christopher (Jeffrey Wright), things become very complicated indeed. David loves and respects Paul – but can he really be expected to pay an amount that will surely bankrupt him for the release of another man’s son?

It would be criminal to reveal anything more about the plot, but Highest 2 Lowest is an ambitious undertaking that largely succeeds. Since David is so involved with music, composer Howard Drossin has been given full rein to create a mesmeric soundtrack and, though in early scenes it can occasionally seem intrusive – in places his keyboards and strings seem to run rampant behind really important lines of dialogue – in others it meshes perfectly with the action. An extended sequence on a subway train packed with very vocal Knicks fans, intercut with scenes filmed at New York’s Puerto Rican Mardi Gras, is masterfully done and is one of the film’s high points.

Washington shows once again why he is one of the greatest actors of his generation. David King has music at his core and Washington’s mood seems to evolve with whatever track he’s listening to. His hostile confrontation with ambitious young rapper, Yung Felon (A$AP Rocky), evolves into a kind of rap duel which might sound strange on paper, but is a genuinely thrilling progression. If I have an issue, it’s that David’s wife, Pam (Ilfenesh Hadera), seems unbelievably submissive, bowing to her husband’s every decision – even when the result might leave her homeless – as though she has no say in the matter.

Reservations aside, this is bold and adventurous filmmaking of the highest order, with the sheen and dazzle of a 50s technicolour extravaganza. It deserves to be seen on the biggest screen available and is proof, if ever it were needed, that veteran filmmaker Spike Lee still has plenty to offer.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney

Edfest Bouquets 2025

It’s that time of year when we award virtual bouquets to our favourite shows from this year’s Fringe.

Once again, we’ve seen some absolutely magnificent productions, so – without further ado – here’s our pick.

Shake Rag Hollow – Assembly Rooms (Front Room)

“A powerful play that gradually builds to a shattering crescendo…”

Alright Sunshine – Pleasance Dome (Jack Dome)

 “Cowan’s taut, almost poetic script is brought powerfully to life by Geddes’ mesmerising performance: a tour de force with real emotional heft…”

She’s Behind You! – Traverse Theatre

“McKnight has the audience in the palm of his spangly-gloved hands, eliciting gales of laughter as well as contemplative silences…”

Bury the Hatchet – Pleasance Dome (Queen Dome)

“An inspired piece of theatre, wonderfully propulsive, perfectly judged and by turns shocking, intriguing and acerbically funny…”

The Other Mozart – Assembly George Square Studios

“An object lesson in reclaiming women’s history, The Other Mozart is exquisitely conceived and realised, a magnum opus in its own right.”

Lost Lear – Traverse Theatre

‘Feels worthy of its progenitor: a clever, multi-faceted drama; a treatise on the nature of life and death…”

Vagabond Skies: The Van Gogh Musical – Gilded Balloon at the Museum

“It’s when all the voices come together that the piece really dazzles, the harmonies soaring…”

Lachlan Werner: Wondertwunk – Pleasance Dome (10 Dome)

“There are elements of horror in the story, which put me in mind of the theatre of Grand Guignol…”

Macbeth – Zoo Southside

“Lively and engaging, switching from up-tempo toe-tappers to plaintive ballads at the drop of a stetson…”

1984 – Pleasance Courtyard (Above)

“It’s chilling to acknowledge that, in today’s turbulent world, Orwell’s warnings about totalitarianism seem more relevant than ever…”

Mariupol – Pleasance Courtyard (Beneath)

“Mariupol is an expertly-crafted piece of theatre, starkly illustrating the brutality of war without ever sensationalising it.”

The Insider – Pleasance Dome (King Dome)

“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.”

Susan Singfield & Philip Caveney

Animal Farm

16/08/25

Assembly George Square Studios (Studio One), Edinburgh

It seems today is the day for literary adaptations: we’ve just come from Macbeth and, after Animal Farm, we’ll be taking in Lord of the Rings. This being the Fringe, it’s not just the source material that’s wildly varied, but also the approaches taken. Macbeth (by Barden Party) is a raucous bluegrass musical rendition of the play, while Fly, You Fools! is Recent Cutbacks’ Foley-focused parody of LOTR. Guy Masterson’s Animal Farm is the most earnest of the three: a faithful retelling of Orwell’s damning political allegory, performed by one actor (Sam Blythe) with no costume changes and almost no props.

This pared-back approach is the play’s greatest strength – but also its weakness. Blythe’s performance is undeniably impressive, as he switches from animal to animal, using only his voice and physicality to differentiate between them. This works best when the creatures are clearly discrete from one another: Moses (the raven) is especially well-done, as is Molly (the prancing pony). It’s harder to tell the difference between the various pigs, of course, but Blythe is adept at ensuring we know who’s who. The story is accessibly evoked, and I like the well-placed allusions to our current societal concerns, such as “fake news” and a bullet purportedly grazing a leader’s ear.

However, for those of us who know the novella well, there’s not much new to be gleaned. This production doesn’t shine any fresh light on proceedings; it doesn’t ask us to reconsider our response. Instead, it’s a straightforward retelling of the story, which I think is best suited to an audience unfamiliar with the book, who can still be shocked and discomfited by the way things pan out.

A bravura performance of an important apologue, this version of Animal Farm is well-worth seeking out if you’ve always wondered what all the fuss is about but just haven’t got around to reading it yet…

3.8 stars

Susan Singfield

A Small Town Northern Tale

12/08/25

Underbelly, (Iron Belly), Edinburgh

Nathan Jonathan’s engaging 60-minute monologue is based on his own recollections. He tells the story of ‘David’ – a Jamaican-English teenager, who, after he and his mum suffer domestic abuse at the hands of his dad, is forced to move from the city of Manchester to an unspecified small northern town.

Dumped into a local school, where he literally doesn’t know anyone, David’s is the only non-white face in evidence. Perhaps inevitably, he suffers repeated bullying at the hands of the school’s hardcase, ‘Kevin.’

It’s the early noughties and, over the ensuing four years, David navigates his way through the trials of puberty, a disastrous first date with an Emo girl he’s fallen for, and the trials and tribulations of adapting to a newly burgeoning phenomenon: the internet. In one flashback, he cuts away from the scene depicting the incident that made his mum flee their home, promising us that he will return to it…

Jonathan is an engaging and fearless performer, racing energetically back and forth across the stage of Iron Belly as he takes on a whole gaggle of characters, slipping into different accents, as he demonstrates the many pitfalls that lie in wait for luckless strangers in small towns. It’s not all dark and despairing. A scene where Jonathan goes through a series of noughties dance routines has me laughing in recognition.

There’s no doubting the commitment of this young actor/writer, though I do think that, when he finally returns to that earlier scene, he pulls his punches somewhat. I’d prefer to see the scene addressed full-on, the true horror of the situation stripped bare, thus offering catharsis to the audience.

Nevertheless, A Small Town Northern Tale is an impressive debut, one that explores racial identity without ever falling into the pitfalls of cliché.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Rob Auton: CAN (An Hour-Long Story)

07/08/25

Assembly Roxy (Upstairs), Edinburgh

I haven’t seen Rob Auton performing live before, but I have heard him on The Elis James and John Robins Show and found him appealing. So I’m looking forward to this hour, my introduction to a new (to me) comedian. He doesn’t disappoint.

In what is (I learn) something of a departure for Auton, CAN is a character comedy. The eponymous ex-motivational speaker charts his ascent from an ordinary man doing a home workout to a global influencer, changing hearts and lives. And then he tells us of his descent, his growing disillusion with the whole idea of motivation, his acceptance of normality.

Can tells us it’s hard to describe our existence on earth; likewise, it’s hard to describe this hour-long story. It’s gentle and life-affirming, silly and bleak, familiar and strange. Auton’s dry, deadpan delivery belies the emotional heft; he’s mocking motivational speakers and yet somehow motivating me (just into a kind of general positivity; I’m not planning on doing anything drastic like moving the toaster…).

I don’t want to give too much away, but the hour flies by in a carefully-orchestrated onslaught of ideas. There’s some pretty standard observational stuff mixed in with the surreal; some poetic riffs and some important points. I’m sold. And I’ll be back to see whatever Auton does next.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

James Phelan: The Man Who Was Magic

06/08/25

McEwan Hall at Underbelly, Bristo Square, Edinburgh

James Phelan was probably destined to be a magician. After all, his uncle was the late Paul Daniels, a man known for the infamous catch-phrase, ‘You’ll like this. Not a lot, but you’ll like it.’ Not that I would apply that description to Phelan’s show, which I do enjoy. A lot. It’s bigger, more grandiose than the kind of offering his Uncle Paul was known for and features several WTF moments that have me shaking my head in disbelief.

Phelan enjoyed a palpable success at last year’s Fringe, though we didn’t get the opportunity to add him to our watchlist. This year, you’ll find him in the cavernous surroundings of the McEwan Hall, which is great news for him – the importance of bums on seats is not to be ignored – but in some ways works against him, because some of the tricks inevitably lose their power by being distanced. Though we’re seated in the stalls, I sometimes find myself struggling to maintain a clear sight-line and one routine in particular, which takes place right on the edge of the stage, is lost to view behind a sea of heads.

Of course it would be unfair to share details of any of the illusions; suffice to say that some of them are quite bewildering and I find myself wracking my brains for hours afterwards, wondering how a particular bit of wizardry was achieved. A prominent sign when we enter announces that ‘no stooges are used in the show’ or words to that effect. So how the hell did he…?

Trust me, don’t go down that road.

Overall, The Man Who was Magic is an accomplished production and Phelan is a relaxed performer who takes the audience into his confidence and enjoys playing with their expectations. But I do have reservations. At one point, the theatre is plunged into total darkness for several minutes, which just feels downright suspicious, an opportunity for his stage crew to tinker with things. To give him his due, Phelan announces that he’s not entirely sure about keeping this bit in and I think I agree. We all know there’s no such thing as magic, only the power of suggestion and the trick of misdirection – but for something to be truly astounding, we need to believe we’ve seen every single moment in crystal clear detail.

Still, the audience troops out talking excitedly about what they’ve just witnessed – and at the end of a Fringe show, that’s exactly the effect that every performer is hoping for.

4 stars

Philip Caveney