The Trouble with Jessica

06/04/24

Cameo Cinema, Edinburgh

The Trouble With Jessica is at the Cameo tonight, and so are director Matt Winn and lead actor Shirley Henderson, here for a Q&A. The place is bustling. Indeed, the only seats we can find are in the very front row, but that’s okay. We settle down in the comfy velvet chairs and stretch our legs out, making the most of the space.

TTWJ is essentially a comedy of manners, drawing on elements of farce. It goes to some dark places – including suicide, depression and rape – but always (trust me) with humour, eliciting belly laughs from tonight’s audience. Winn treads that precarious line well.

Sarah (Henderson) and Tom (Alan Tudyk) have invited their best friends over for what Sarah dramatically announces will be the last dinner party they’ll host in this house. Tom’s latest architectural project has flopped, and they need to sell their beloved home to save themselves from going under. But Beth (Olivia Williams) and Richard (Rufus Sewell) have brought along an extra guest, a mutual ‘friend’ called Jessica (Indira Varma), whose recent memoir has become a bestseller. Sarah is not pleased. She’s no fan of Jessica’s and, as soon as the titular character begins to speak, it’s easy to see why. She’s awful.

And then she kills herself in Sarah and Tom’s garden.

Sarah is furious. The house sale might be jeopardised! Her kids might have to go to state schools! They might have to live in a rubbish part of London! There’s nothing for it. They’ll have to move the body, pretend the suicide occurred elsewhere…

Through all the deliciously heightened nonsense that follows, the only thing I find hard to believe is that Sarah and Beth would keep up their friendship with Jessica. She doesn’t seem to have any redeeming features. She’s slept with two of Beth’s boyfriends and flirts incessantly with Tom. She’s rude and demanding and I don’t know anyone who’d put up with her.

That aside, I enjoy this film.

There is a charming cameo from Anne Reid as a nosey neighbour, and a wonderfully sinister series of scenes with Sylvester Groth as the potential house buyer. Jonathan Livingstone and David Schaal are very funny as PCs Terry and Paul, working-class foils to all the hoity-toity hogwash (although PC Paul recognises a decent clafoutis when he sees one).

It’s a stylish movie. The camera often lingers on the loveliness of the house, like an estate agent’s puff piece, reminding us of what’s at stake. Yes, Sarah and Tom are very privileged and it’s easy to mock their first world problems – but no one wants to lose what they have accrued; no one wants to fail, to have to step backwards. Of course they’d probably be fine if it all went tits up – but it’s no surprise they don’t want to put that theory to the test. It’s more relatable than its milieu might make it sound.

I like the title cards that act as introductions to the various ‘chapters’, each beginning The Trouble With… Tension mounts as the quartet struggle to come to terms with what they’re doing, as well as to manage the practicalities. Henderson in particular is riveting, her brittle capriciousness a delight to watch.

The Q&A is interesting too; it’s good to find out a little more about the process – especially Winn’s composition of the score – and it’s always a thrill to be in the same room as the people you’ve just been watching on the screen.

Once home, I find myself googling clafoutis recipes. Guess what we’re having for pudding tonight?

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Scoop

06/04/24

Netflix

What is the purpose of dramatising recent news events unless it’s to shine a different light on them? Scoop, directed by Philip Martin, doesn’t do that. Instead, it’s a pretty straightforward retelling of something we can all remember: Prince Andrew’s 2018 car-crash interview on BBC’s Newsnight.

Although it’s very watchable, the only fresh thing we’re actually offered here is a little look at some behind-the-scenes admin, and – frankly – that’s not enough. Based on Samantha McAlister’s memoir, her role as the ‘booker’ is almost laughably prominent. I’m sure she was very good at her job, but I don’t really care. “Person does the work they’re paid to do” isn’t much of a revelation. Nobody’s watching this because they’re interested in a “brilliant” TV producer. Self-aggrandising Sam (Billie Piper) gets the bus to work, eats kebabs and relies on her mum for childcare. Am I supposed to take something away from this?

We don’t get any original insights into Prince Andrew’s involvement with Jeffrey Epstein; we don’t learn anything new about his sexual exploitation of trafficked women. (I’m not calling him a paedophile because that’s not what he is. ‘Sexual predator’ and ‘rapist’ are the correct words. Abuse of women is bad enough; we don’t have to call it something else.) We don’t glimpse his reaction to the fall-out. We do see how attached he is to his teddy bears, which is amusing but hardly illuminating. The only vaguely unexplored territory covered is the impact on Prince Andrew’s aide, Amanda Thirsk (Keeley Hawes), who is portrayed here as a naïve and trusting woman, believing both Andrew’s assertions of innocence and McAlister’s assurances that this interview will be good for him. A brief moment with Andrew’s daughter, Beatrice (Charity Wakefield), also offers a little much-needed emotion, her lip quivering as she counters her father’s dismissal of Twitter (“I don’t look at that”) with a muted, sad-eyed, “I do.”

Rufus Sewell’s and Gillian Anderson’s impersonations of the key players are spot-on, although credit for that must be shared by the costume and make-up designers (Matthew Price and Kirstin Chalmers). The likenesses are uncanny. I just don’t know what they’re for.

I can’t help feeling that this is a pointless exercise. The actual interview – in all its startling horror – is available for anyone to see, so why bother watching a facsimile of it?

2.8 stars

Susan Singfield

This is Memorial Device

05/04/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

A band does not become a cult all on its own – it takes devoted followers to propel it into those glorious realms, and music critic Ross Raymond (Paul Higgins) is one such follower. We’ve been summoned to a cluttered storage room in Airdrie, wherein he has assembled all the mementos of his youth, the time when he fell head over heels in love with the titular band, the greatest musicians you’ve never heard of. And he so desperately wants to spread the love, to show us exactly why they are legendary, it’s almost embarrassing.

This is Memorial Device, produced in association with The Lyceum Theatre and the Edinburgh International Book Festival, is based upon the acclaimed novel by David Keenan. Graham Eatough’s adaptation is essentially a monologue, though it’s augmented by filmed contributions from four other actors – Julie Wilson Nimmo, Mary Gapinski, Sanjeev Kohli and Gabriel Quigley – all of whom have their own respective ‘memories’ to share. And there are, of course, the four showroom dummies, who stand in for the members of the band, lovingly assembled by Raymond as the story unfolds.

He proudly shows us the various bits and pieces he has curated over the years – the scrapbooks, the vinyls, the cassettes and the T-shirts, the various scribblings and doodles in which he perceives some kind of hidden meaning. His fervour is evident, his wild-eyed enthusiasm utterly compelling as he darts back and forth across the stage, attempting to demonstrate the qualities that first drew him in to the band’s orbit, that first made him want to give them his allegiance.

Higgins submits an extraordinary performance and there’s enough detail here to convince us that this band actually existed. The music by Stephen Pastel and Gavin Thomson completes the illusion and the production hits a fevered peak as Raymond attempts to lead us in a chant hidden within the music that (sadly) only he can hear. If you’ve ever fallen for the charms of an obscure rock band, purchased all their music and followed them from gig to gig with their name proudly emblazoned on a T-shirt, then you’ll identify with what’s happening here.

A hit at this year’s Fringe, This is Memorial Device is back for a short run at The Traverse. If, like us, you missed it, here’s your chance to rectify the situation and become a believer.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Godzilla X Kong: The New Empire

03/05/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

I am in the unusual position of having seen a Godzilla film recently and in the even more unusual position of having actually enjoyed it (Godzilla Minus One, thanks for asking). Today I am at something of a loose end, so I think, why not check out Godzilla X Kong: The New Empire? After all, it’s just opened to impressive box office returns and hey, how bad can it be? The answer to that question is ‘very bad indeed’ and I seriously doubt that anybody who has shelled out to see this incomprehensible twaddle has left the screening thinking, ‘well, that was entertaining.’

Kong is currently living in Hollow Earth, where life seems to consist of fighting the various weird creatures that live down there and occasionally eating them. He’s also suffering from a very bad toothache. His antics are being closely monitored by Scientist Dr Ilene Andrews (Rebecca Hall, looking vaguely embarrassed and doubtless wistfully thinking about the serious acting career she previously enjoyed). Meanwhile, Godzilla is up on the planet’s surface, occasionally letting off steam by wrecking whichever city happens to get in his way and taking the occasional nap in the Coliseum in Rome. For some inexplicable reason, the earth’s inhabitants seem to approve of him, despite the fact that he must be inadvertently killing hundreds of them every time he knocks down a block of flats. Go figure.

Andrews enlists a veterinarian, Trapper (Dan Stevens), to take care of Kong’s bad tooth and a podcaster, Bernie Hayes (Brian Tyree Henry), for no apparent reason other than to occupy the position of comic relief, while she wanders from location to location in true Basil Exposition style, explaining what’s going on. As the plot is needlessly complicated, these skills are in demand. Inexplicable happenings include her adopted daughter, Jia (Kaylee Hottle), the only surviving member of a Hollow Earth tribe, picking up what appear to be distress signals from deep underground; the presence of an (admittedly cute) baby Kong; and a tribe of giant apes in the underworld who are being ruled by a cruel dictator called The Scar King. In one scene, Dr Andrews looks at some carvings on a wall and is able to extrapolate an entire story from them in a matter of moments. Ah, the benefits of an education!

None of this makes any sense but it doesn’t actually matter, because what the film mostly boils down to is a series of extended ape vs reptile punch-ups that go on for just about forever. Weta studios have produced some brilliant CGI creations here, there’s no doubt about that, but if any member of their team has ever heard the adage that ‘less is more,’ there’s no evidence of it. The fight sequences (and there are a lot of them) are interminable, the screen filled with roaring, bellowing close ups of either Mr Kong or Mr Godzilla (though it should be said that the latter has much less to do than his simian adversary). Sometimes they fight each other, other times they fight as a kind of tag team as they take on Scar King and his followers. If roaring and bellowing is your go-to, then this could just be the perfect film for you. If not, then maybe give it a swerve. I wish I had.

I can’t stop thinking that this truly dreadful farrago must have cost millions of dollars to produce and that half a dozen low-budget films – with credible storylines – could have been produced in its place. For my money, Godzilla X Kong is just an empty exercise, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

1.5 stars

Philip Caveney

The Scaff

02/04/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

For someone who has always maintained a complete indifference to the game of football, I do seem to be watching a lot of plays about it lately, all of them at the Traverse. And the thing is, the standard has been incredibly high. First up, there was the five-star masterpiece that was Moorcroft. Then there was the wonderful Same Team, which also found a fresh approach to its chosen subject. Now here’s The Scaff, the final offering in the A Play, A Pie and A Pint spring season, which I approach with some trepidation.

Can the Traverse really hope to pull off a hat trick?

Happily, it turns out that they can. Written by Stephen Christopher and Graeme Smith, this is an assured and acerbically funny play, centred around a school football team. Jamie (Bailey Newsome) and Frankie (Stuart Edgar) live and breathe for the game. They spend most of their time out on the pitch, helping the team’s star player, Coco (Craig McClean), to rack up the goals. They’re also friends with Liam (Benjamin Keachie), but one day Jamie overhears Coco referring to Liam as ‘a scaff’. And while there may be some truth in the accusation – Liam’s Mum does buy own-brand crisps and Liam is forced to play in Mitzuma football boots, for God’s sake – Jamie encourages Liam to take his revenge on Coco by unleashing a hard tackle in the next game.

Liam takes his friend’s advice with disastrous consequences. Coco’s resulting injury means that the team will be without their top scorer as they approach the school cup final. Liam is in disgrace – and can Jamie and Frankie even admit to being friends with a boy who is now little more than a pariah?

Of course, The Scaff is about so much more than football. It concentrates on the subject of friendship and the difficulties that life can throw into its path. It’s also about the the constant longing to be liked and the awful fear of thinking that you are hated for things you have no control over. And mostly, it’s about the difficulties of escaping from an identity that others have bestowed on you, a term that is as degrading as it is dismissive.

The performances of the four leads are strong, each actor convincing in his respective role. I particularly enjoy Keachie’s physicality as a boy almost crippled by anxiety, forever giving sidelong glances to his companions, beseeching them for support and also forgiveness. Director Jordan Blackwood handles the tricky problem of making a quartet of actors on a bare stage convince as team players, and the performers give it their best, leaping, twirling and launching savage kicks at an imaginary ball. They manage to pull off the illusion, with the audience reacting delightedly to each successive goal. I find myself yelling and clapping along with them, something that no actual football match has never managed to make me do.

It’s been another strong season for A Play, A Pie and A Pint, and The Scaff provides a winning finalé that scores on just about every level.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney

Mothers’ Instinct

30/03/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Benoît Delhomme’s directorial debut looks beautiful: every scene is a pastel-perfect work of art. Stepford-ish wives Celine (Anne Hathaway) and Alice (Jessica Chastain) are next-door neighbours, with identikit McMansions, impeccable wardrobes and lookalike husbands. Even their sons, Max (Baylen D. Bielitz) and Theo (Eamon Patrick O’Connell), are a matching pair: they’re best friends, just like their moms. But not everything in this 1960s paradise is as peachy as it seems, and Max’s sudden death exposes more than just grief…

Mothers’ Instinct works well in many ways: Hathaway and Chastain deliver performances as flawless as their characters’ powder-pink co-ords. Celine’s brittle devastation and Alice’s mounting unease are slowly revealed, leading us first one way and then another, as we’re not sure whose version of reality to believe. The tension crackles and there’s some fine melodrama at play here.

Sadly – and don’t read any further if you’re worried about spoilers – there’s also an embarrassingly regressive subtext: women without children are monstrous. A generous reading might be that this is what happens to women when motherhood is the only role they’re allowed (Alice, keen at the start of the film to return to her work as a journalist, is told by her husband to contribute something to her son’s school newsletter). But, as the film progresses, it feels more like an indictment of childless women: driven mad by the frustration of their most basic desire, they are dangerous and should be feared.

It’s 2024. I honestly thought this was going to go somewhere different, that it would tease us with the clichés and then pull the rug from under us. But no. This actually is the grieving-mother-turns-psycho insult that is suggested from the start.

In the face of this deep-rooted misogyny, it seems pointless to quibble about minor plot details, such as why the police wouldn’t suspect foul play when so many deaths occur in one small neighbourhood, or how a woman can walk on a lawn in stilettos without getting mud on her heels or crawl through a hedge without mussing up her hair.

Mother’s Instinct has a lot in common with its lead character: it’s beautifully put together, but fundamentally fucked up.

2.7 stars

Susan Singfield

Late Night with the Devil

29/03/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

The majority of horror movies have recently settled into a predictable format – an unfolding sequence of jump-scares and body shocks with an open-ended conclusion that allows for the inevitable sequel. Late Night with the Devil comes as a reinvigorating breath of foul air to the genre. Written and directed by Australian brothers Cameron and Colin Cairnes (though the setting couldn’t be more convincingly American), the film is entirely set in a TV studio, a recording of a 1977 Halloween special, hosted by struggling chat show star, Jack Delroy (David Dastmalchian).

We’re first given a verité-style catch up on the man’s career: his slow steady rise to fame in the 60s, when he briefly challenged Johnny Carson for the top spot, and the rumours that his success is due to his membership of a mysterious cabal of wealthy entertainers and businessmen. But more recently his ratings have begun to slump, culminating in an awkward appearance by his wife, Madeline, on the show just weeks before her death from lung cancer. Subsequently, Delroy has been off screen for quite some time but now he’s back – and it quickly becomes clear that there’s a lot riding on tonight’s appearance.

And then we’re told that was his final show.

Delroy’s guests are revealed one by one. There’s ‘psychic’ Christou (Faysal Bazzi), who offers the usual ‘I’m getting a message from somebody beginning with D’ patter. There’s James Randi-style sceptic Carmichael (Ian Bliss), currently offering half a million dollars to anyone who can offer convincing proof of the supernatural. And there are the headliners, parapsychologist June (Laura Gordon) and her teenage ward, Lilly (Ingrid Torelli), whose jaunty, ultra-polite confidence is unsettling to say the very least. June believes that Lilly is possessed by a demon and has recently published a book about her conversations with the creature within. Pushing for more viewers, Delroy suggests that June might like to invite the demon into the studio for an interview. What could possibly go wrong?

The show is interspersed with commercial breaks, where a handheld camera follows Delroy around the building, filming his off-screen conversations with his producer (this is perhaps the one element that doesn’t entirely convince; who is filming these sequences and why?) but, suffice to say, as the evening proceeds, things begin to go wrong, initially in small ways but growing ever more disruptive, ever more sinister.

Dastmalchian captures his character perfectly, allowing us glimpses of the paranoia that lurks behind that smooth, unruffled exterior. I also like Rhys Auteri’s performance as his ever-smiling co-presenter, Gus, who clearly doesn’t relish the new direction in which the show is heading, but has to keep supplying the deadpan jokes until the bitter end, even when he’s provoked into interacting with the thing he hates most. Late Night with the Devil is also occasionally very funny, which is something of an unexpected bonus. The nuances of an American chat show are effectively captured – the eye rolls, the in-jokes, the relentless cheerfulness in the face of adversity. In places I find myself laughing out loud at the sheer audacity of it all and then, just as suddenly, I’m not laughing any more.

In its final stretches, the film hurtles headlong into bone-wrenching, head-exploding madness and I have no option but to strap in and go with it. It’s been quite a while since I have so thoroughly enjoyed a horror film and I look forward to whatever the Cairnes brothers have hidden up their respective sleeves for their next offering. Meanwhile, Late Night with the Devil serves as a perfect introduction to their evident skills.

4.8 stars

Philip Caveney

Road House

28/03/24

Amazon Prime

I’ve been a fan of director Doug Liman’s work since watching Go, way back in 1999 – and I’ve rated Jake Gyllenhaal since Donnie Darko in 2001. So when I hear that the two of them are teaming up to create a new version of Road House, a cheesy Patrick Swayze fight flick from 1989, my interest is immediately piqued. Why would anyone bother? Then I hear that Liman has officially disowned the film, because Amazon Studios promised him a theatrical release for it and reneged on the deal. Gyllenhaal, on the other hand, claims he was always told it would go straight to streaming.

Go figure.

Gyllenhaal (who has clearly been putting in some serious time down at the gym) plays Elwood Dalton, a former UFC middleweight fighter, now in disgrace after “something bad” happened. When we first meet him, he’s at a scuzzy ‘no holds barred’ event, where a local tough guy is taking on all comers. But one look at Dalton stepping into the ring and he’s off, leaving the disgraced celebrity to take the winnings. On the way out of the club, Dalton is stabbed, something he appears to take in his stride – and then he’s approached by Frankie (Jessica Williams), who owns a nightclub out in the Florida Keys and is looking for a new bouncer. It seems that the titular establishment has been attracting the wrong kind of clientele and punch-ups are now a nightly occurrence.

Dalton reluctantly turns up for the gig, only to discover that – for safety reasons – the bands perform in a chicken wire cage and the staff are of a distinctly nervous disposition. Rough stuff promptly ensues…

This version of Road House is a sizeable step up from its progenitor. It helps that Gyllenhall’s Dalton is a softly spoken, helpful sort of guy, who gives his opponents every opportunity to walk away before, as a last resort, dealing with them, quickly, effectively and with minimum fuss. There’s some chirpy dialogue and some dryly funny observations as the carnage ensues. Along the way, Dalton enjoys a brief romance with the local Police Chief’s daughter, Ellie (Daniela Melchior), and even finds time to establish a quirky friendship with Charlie (Hannah Love Lanier), a teenage girl attempting to run the local book store with her father, Stephen (Kevin Carroll).

The plot thickens when it turns out that all that violence at the club is being orchestrated by local business kingpin, Ben Brandt (Billy Magnussen), who – in turn – calls out his father’s preferred honcho, Knox (Connor McGregor in his debut screen role), to back him up. McGregor may not be Laurence Olivier, but he attacks his role with such evident glee that, despite his character’s repulsive qualities, he somehow manages to win me over, if only at the prospect of seeing him get his comeuppence.

Road House starts and finishes explosively and if, like an aging boxer, it gets a little bit flabby around the middle, well it’s certainly a big improvement on the original and a fun way to spend a couple of hours.

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney

Hotdog

26/03/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Hotdog (Chloe-Ann Tylor) is all dressed up and ready to party! 

Wearing a garish hired costume and carrying a handbag, a phone and a bottle of lemonade, she’s leaving the sanctuary of her flat and heading off to an undisclosed location to strut her stuff. Outspoken and full of pent-up bile, she is determined that tonight she will be the life and soul of the party. She will dance and drink and curse and laugh out loud! She will sweep aside anybody who has a single bad word to say about her and show them who’s the boss.

But, as is so often the case, her forced exuberance only exists to mask a deeper, darker truth. Because something bad happened to Hotdog in the recent past – something that it’s going to take her a very long time to come to terms with.

Written by Ellen Ritchie and directed by Beckie Hope-Palmer, with an enchanting central performance  by Chloe-Ann Tylor, the latest piece from A Play, A Pie and a Pint is an astutely observed drama that deals with the subject of trauma. Tylor (most recently seen by B&B in  Same Team: A Street Soccer Story and in the fabulous Battery Park) talks directly to the audience, discussing her character’s uncompromising, no-holds-barred approach to life. She tells us about her apparent hatred of her over-protective mother and her revulsion for the kind of fridge-magnet things that people are prone to say to her. 

As she chips steadily away at the brittle carapace she’s constructed around herself, the real story gradually emerges – and it’s utterly heartbreaking.

Tylor is joined onstage by Ross Allan, who at first undertakes the role of a silent stage hand, ensuring that props, music cues and sound effects are there whenever Hotdog needs them. It’s only in the poignant final stretches that he becomes Andy, the proprietor of the chippy where Hotdog tends to finish up her evenings. As in his previous role, he is exactly the helping hand she needs, the one who keeps a caring eye on her. He’s also the bearer of a truth universally acknowledged – that Joni Mitchell is the greatest lyricist of all time.

Kenny Miller’s set might at first glance seem overly complicated, but all those meticulous white lines on the floor – like Hotdog’s motivation – eventually fall into place.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Mowgli Street Food

24/03/24

Hanover Street, Edinburgh

We’re not big on chains, but some of them are worth it. Dishoom, Wahaca, Wagamama: we’re looking at you. And now we can add Mowgli to the list.

I’ve been past this place on the bus a few times, and it looks lovely: a grand old building with more twinkling lights than Fairyland at Christmas. My interest is further piqued by listening to owner, Nisha Katona, on the Off Menu podcast. The concept – “the kind of food Indians eat at home and on their streets” – seems strong and some of those dishes sound amazing. Treacle tamarind fries? Yoghurt chat bombs? I need to try them

We’re long overdue a catch-up with some friends, so what better excuse to head into what, it turns out, was once the Clydesdale? “I used to bank here,” our pal tells us. The conversion has been more sympathetically managed than the Edinburgh Hawksmoor, also housed in an old bank, and which we found very imposing and austere. Here, the lofty space has been cunningly sectioned off so that it feels cosy and inviting, as well as very glamorous.

The food is good. It’s all small plates, and between us we sample four items from the House Kitchen (Agra ginger chicken, house lamb curry, mother butter chicken and Aunty Geeta’s prawn curry), two from the Hindu Kitchen (temple dahl and green ginger and rhubarb dahl), three Curry Companions (Mowgli slaw, roti breads and basmati rice) and, of course, those treacle tamarind fries. To the disappointment of one of our friends, there’s no Mowgli house keema available tonight, but he’s happy enough with what he orders instead.

The standout dishes are the lamb curry, which is melt-in-the-mouth tender – and, surprisingly, the slaw. None of us has ever considered coleslaw as an accompaniment to curry, but it works a treat, offering a cool, crispy contrast to all those rich sauces. We’ll be aiming to repeat the trick at home. But almost everything tastes great: the flavours are robust and interesting; the spicing delicate. I only have minor criticisms: I find the tomatoes in the prawn curry a little too astringent, and I can’t really taste the rhubarb in the ginger and rhubarb dahl. The tamarind fries are a revelation though. They’re very sweet and rich, so one portion between four of us is certainly enough, but they’re truly delicious.

None of us drinks alcohol, but there are several mocktails on offer, as well as a couple of 0% beers. The Estrella Dam goes down well with the others, and I enjoy a bottle of sparkling water.

We’re too full for either of the ‘big’ puddings available (gulab jamun or a chocolate brownie) but we can always find room for a little sweet something, so we’re pleased to see homemade ice cream cones on the menu. Sadly, the same friend who wanted the keema now learns that there’s no coconut ice cream, so he decides to do without. The rest of us go for either the salted caramel or the mango sorbet, and both are excellent.

All in all, we have a lovely evening. Of course, a lot of that is to do with the company, but Mowgli feels like a strong addition to the Edinburgh food scene, and I’m sure that we’ll be back. After all, I still need to try those yoghurt chat bombs.

4.1 stars

Susan Singfield