A Play A Pie and A Pint

Bottom’s Dream

20/10/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Bottom’s Dream is the last of this season’s A Play, A Pie and A Pint productions (boo!) but, as final flourishes go, this one is rather fabulous (hurrah!).

Writer/performer Martin O’Connor plays Nick Bottom. You know the one: Shakespeare’s rude mechanical, the amateur player who’s turned into an ass for the fairies’ amusement, the butt of all the jokes. In this iteration, he’s still a weaver and wannabe actor, but it’s 2026 and he lives in Glasgow. Oh, and he speaks in iambic pentameter. In Scots.

The monologue opens at an audition, where Bottom is trying out for Hercules. He doesn’t know the protocol; heck, he’s not even sure how to pronounce the character’s name. Still, what he lacks in experience, he makes up for with enthusiasm. He’ll give anything a go if they’ll offer him a chance. But there’s the rub: they won’t. He doesn’t fit the industry’s idea of an actor. The only parts he’s cast for are junkies and thugs.

O’Connor imbues Bottom with both a weary dignity and a righteous anger, illuminating his frustration with a world that pigeonholes him as a tradie and blocks him from fulfilling his dreams. He’s proud of his work – there’s a gloriously lyrical section about weaving as the bedrock of language and art – but he doesn’t want to be reduced to it. He attends acting lessons, but he doesn’t fit in with his middle-class peers, who assume he got his place because he “ticked a box” (as if they’re not there because they tick all the invisible boxes). Why are there so many obstacles?

Debbie Hannan’s direction keeps everything building. By the time we get to his end-of-term showcase, we’re fully invested in Bottom’s dream – and devastated for him when it all goes wrong. There’s a lot resting on the performance: the grande dame of casting agents, Titania Peaseblossom, has deigned to leave London for her native Glasgow in order to offer feedback to the students. Bottom is disappointed to have been cast as a donkey, but he tries to make the most of it, desperately pushing himself further and further into the role. He gives it his all.

To no avail. No one gets it. They think he’s ridiculous. So ridiculous, in fact, that one of his classmates films him and posts a clip online. He goes viral – and not in a good way. He’s meme fodder.

But it takes a lot to keep Bottom down. Working-class actors don’t have many routes in – and it turns out being a social media ass can open doors. There’s a lot of snobbery about influencers and reality TV celebs, but there aren’t many other ways in for the dispossessed, for those aspiring creatives with neither family money nor industry connections. O’Connor’s bravura one-man performance illustrates just how un-level the playing field is, and how the working-classes often have to abase themselves to get a foot on the first rung.

There’s a lot to this play. The script is clever, combining wit with sharp political commentary. And in the end, Bottom roars loud enough to “do any man’s heart good to hear [him].”

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

Contact

13/10/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Play number three of the Traverse’s current PPP season is top-notch: a taut two-hander about a complex mother-son relationship.

Although the subject matter is serious – covering generational trauma and domestic violence – it’s served with a generous helping of playwright Jonny Donahoe’s trademark wit, so that there is plenty of light to make the shade palatable.

Blythe Duff plays Mother, a lonely Gen X-er with a tough protective layer of sarcasm and defensiveness. Her Gen-Z son (Mark Barrett) is fed up of her constant needling so he issues her an ultimatum. His wife is pregnant and he wants things sorted before his child is born. Otherwise, he’ll never see his mum again.

Mother reluctantly agrees to a weekly meeting, although she finds it hard to open up in the way he wants her to. She’s all for (metaphorically) sweeping things under the carpet and (literally) burning old photographs; meanwhile, he wants to take her to task about the way her parenting has shaped him, to talk about his abusive father and the myriad ways Mother has always let him down.

They’re both in therapy but it doesn’t really seem to help. Maybe they need to go together instead of separately. As it is, Mother’s counsellor tells her Son has stifled her potential, while Son’s mentor has instigated this all-or-nothing plan. It doesn’t seem as if there’s any way through.

The humour comes from Mother’s unfiltered sniping. “You’ve put on weight,” she tells him – and that’s the nicest thing she says. No wonder Son thinks she’s brutal and uncompromising. But Duff’s nuanced performance allows the audience to see more: a brittle, damaged woman, just trying to survive.

The writing is superb, presenting a thorny situation without pretending there is an easy answer (or, indeed, any answer at all). Director Ben Standish keeps things simple, allowing the dialogue to do the work. I like the contrast between the abstract style of the confrontations and the hyper-realistic ending, perfectly complemented by Gillian Argo’s set design.

Contact is a compelling, provocative play – and an ideal fit for the one-hour lunchtime slot. Catch it if you can!

4.6 stars

Susan Singfield

Whaur’s Yer Wullie Shakespeare Noo?

08/10/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

The second Play Pie Pint production of the Autumn season is written and directed by the company’s Artistic Director, Brian Logan – and it’s hardly surprising that a playwright so immersed in Scottish theatre would choose Scottish theatre history as his theme.

It’s 1756, the age of Scottish Enlightenment. The movement’s core thinkers are resoundingly pro-theatre but they are met with opposition – not only from Westminster’s Licensing Act but also from the the Kirk, where strict Calvinists like John Witherspoon (Gavin Jon Wright) view play-acting as the Devil’s work.

Encouraged by philosopher David Hume (Fraser Sivewright), minister John Home (Lewie Watson) illegally stages his play, Douglas, sparking an infamous furore. The production is a remarkable success, prompting one particularly enthusiastic audience member to yell out the titular question, convinced that Home’s talent surpasses Shakespeare’s.

But for minister Alexander Carlyle (Kevin Lennon), attending his friend’s play means facing charges in an ecclesiastical trial…

A fierce moral and philosophical battle ensues, polarising the country.

Unfortunately, there are times when WYWSN? becomes bogged down in the weight of its material. Although I am fascinated by what I learn about Scottish theatrical history, some of the early dialogue is very expositional, while the courtroom scene is somewhat static and over-long.

However, the four actors are terrific, tearing through this playful Scots romp with alacrity and aplomb. There’s a lot packed into the sixty-minute running time but, under Logan’s direction, they handle it all with apparent ease – switching from hammed-up scenes from Douglas to earnest religious debate, from Python-esque ditty to court room drama. Memorable moments include the English Lord Bute (Wright) patronising Home when his play transfers to London, and the aforementioned silly song.

As for Home’s playwriting prowess, the scenes from Douglas are certainly enjoyable – but I don’t think they pose any real threat to the Bard of Avon’s legacy…

3 stars

Susan Singfield

Wallace

30/09/26

King’s Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s an auspicious night. We’re finally back at the King’s Theatre after a four year absence and the Old Lady of Leven Street is looking absolutely glorious, every surface gleaming after a £41 million upgrade. Ironically, similar observations might be made about Wallace. We were lucky enough to catch its humbler iteration last year as part of the Traverse’s A Play, A Pie and A Pint Season. It was clear from the get-go that this Scottish hip-hop bio-musical had the potential to fill more than the stripped-back propulsive hour it occupied then.

One glance at Neil Haynes’ magnificent set design, where the carcass of a deer dangles over a series of steps and ramps, confirms that the show has indeed taken a big leap – though ironically, composer/lyricist Dave Hook has taken a literal step back. He’s still cast as the titular Scottish hero but spends most of his time behind a sound deck, only stepping out to perform specific songs. The bulk of the narration goes to ‘Scotsman’ (Ross Mann), who proudly boasts that he is a direct descendent of William Wallace – and who has a hissy fit when he’s informed, later in the show, that his hero (if he existed) might not even have been Scottish.

Original show performers, ‘Sasenach'( Manasa Tagica) and ‘wummin’ (Patricia Panther) return to the fray. This time, Panther is accompanied by Madeleine Grieve and Kimberly Mandino, the three of them popping and locking in perfect time as they belt out the lyrics, making the most of the opportunity to sing about how women usually get overlooked in these alpha-male historic recreations.

What makes this musical really distinctive is that it has the guts to question its hero. Was William Wallace really any better than his adversary Edward “Longshanks?” (Yes, he was.) Didn’t they both emerge from cauldrons of calamity and cruelty, taught to be savage by the very savagery heaped upon them as they grew up?

There has been much talk of Wallace as the Scottish Hamilton, and perhaps that’s as good a description as any. Suffice to say, it makes a confident, swaggering transition to this bigger, longer production and the new material blends seamlessly with the old. Derek Anderson’s dynamic lighting designs add some truly dazzling effects and I love the perfectly-timed drop that ends the first act.

Of course, some things can be lost in translation. Perhaps this isn’t quite as sleek as that leaner, meaner original – and yes, occasionally in the sonic fury of the sound mix, those whip-smart lyrics are harder to follow. But nonetheless, Wallace is a satisfyingly epic production that confirms the suspicion I had when I saw it in its original guise: this is a winner – and as it moves on to an extended Scottish tour, it can only get better.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney

The Whaler’s Wife

29/09/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Hurrah! A Play, A Pie and A Pint is back! There’s something so alluring – almost illicit – about sneaking in a bit of culture in the middle of a working day; surely this is how all lunch hours should be?

This new season kicks off with The Whaler’s Wife, written by Izzy Gray and directed by Beth Morton. Set in 1820s Orkney (Gray hails from the islands), the script is arguably too complex for its one-hour running time. As the play opens, we are introduced to three women whose husbands’ whaleboat, The Diamond, is missing. Marion (Joyce Falconer), a no-nonsense matriarch to whom the others usually defer, is all for carrying on as normal, but Elsie (Shawney Henderson) is keen to write the men off as dead. She’s glad the boat hasn’t returned; she’s not a fan of married life. Meanwhile Bess (Emma Tracey), who has a lot to say about the whalers’ ethics, is clearly nursing a secret…

Woven into this framework is a tantalising mix of folklore, tradition, sea shanties and social history. We learn about the pitiless nature of the women’s lives, as they scrape a living from the sea and land, gutting mackerel and smuggling booze. The men have an even harder job – and it’s brutalised them. Bess deplores not only the whalers’ bloodlust, but also their new habit of seizing ‘wives’ from the lands they visit. It’s all fascinating – but a lot to take in. The unfamiliar (to me) Orcadian dialect lends the piece both lyricism and authenticity, but it does make it harder to follow the – at times literally – labyrinthine plot.

The Whaler’s Wife is handsomely staged, Gillian Argo’s set and costume design belying the limited PPP budget. The songs (arranged by Bethany Tennick) somehow manage to be both haunting and rousing, reinforcing the contradictions at the heart of the story: the poetry and savagery of island life.

Morton’s direction works well: the play ebbs and flows like the tide, from raucous to thoughtful, horror to hope. I’m left with the abiding image of billowing sheets, concealing and then revealing. I’m hooked, but also frustrated. This needs to be a full-length play to give the myriad ideas more breathing space.

3.4 stars

Susan Singfield

The Hen Night

18/06/26

Assembly Roxy, Edinburgh

The fourth and final offering in Assembly Roxy’s season of A Play, A Pie and A Pint is based around an event that any Edinburgh resident will be familiar with. The Scottish capital is a regular venue for parties of the Stag and Hen persuasion – and it’s not unusual to see many such celebrations playing out simultaneously on any given weekend.

Coral has proudly announced that she is going to marry her boyfriend, Scott and her three best friends – Jade (Dani Heron), Lilac (Laura Lovemore) and Amber (Anna Russell-Martin) – have decided to give her the best hen night in recorded history. Jade will do most of the planning; she has a spreadsheet and everything. The escapade (in Edinburgh, naturally) will involve dancing and boozing and er… kayaking and… flower arranging…

So what if none of the girls are exactly over the moon about Coral’s choice of Scott, who is, to put it mildly, a bit toxic? No, they are going to make this an event to remember. And when Coral’s mysterious Irish cousin, Luna, unexpectedly turns up at the nightclub where the girls are getting utterly smashed, it’s clear from the way that all the men are fainting at the very sight of her that there’s something special about the new arrival. Something other-worldly…

The Hen Night, written by Debbie Hannan and directed by Laila Noble, is a bright and breezy production, that nevertheless has plenty of serious things say about female friendship and why women shouldn’t settle for less than they desire. The three players embody their respective roles with pizzazz and also occupy other characters, with both Russell-Martin and Lovemore portraying Coral at various points, while Russell-Martin also gives us the mysterious Luna and a surly, smirking Scott. The brilliantly simple device of a character switching around her hen night sash alerts the audience to who’s being who at any given moment.

Fuelled by the momentum of its own internal logic, The Hen Night powers along, powered by a steady diet of laugh-out-loud quips and astute observations, yet still has the skill to slam home those aforementioned serious points with utter conviction. I must confess that I had some reservations about the play based on its title, but I’m even happier to admit that my assumptions were soon dashed. This makes a satisfying final flourish to what has been an outstanding first season of PPP at Assembly Roxy.

More please!

4.3 stars

Philip Caveney

The Corinthian

11/06/26

Assembly Roxy, Edinburgh

The third play of Assembly Roxy’s inaugural A Play, A Pie and a Pint season is The Corinthian, a compelling monologue about real-life footballer, Andrew Watson, who experienced extremes of both prejudice and privilege throughout his lifetime. If the name is unfamiliar, here are a few key facts: Watson was the first Black international football player; the first Black man to captain a national team, as well as winning the Scottish cup three times in 1881, 1882 and 1886. Oh, and he was also distantly related to William Gladstone. And yet, the chances are you’ve never heard of him.

Born in 1856 in Demerara, British Guiana (now Guyana), he was the son of wealthy plantation-owner Peter Watson and local woman Hannah Rose. He had a fairly idyllic childhood but that all changed when the family relocated back to Peter’s native Scotland. It was here that young Andrew experienced the aforementioned prejudice – from his neighbours, his fellow pupils and even from his father’s servants. He was also suddenly impacted by the tragic suicide of his mother.

Joe McCann’s monologue, evocatively performed by Dayton Mungal, conveys Watson’s determination to succeed at all costs and to overcome the various hurdles flung in his path as he makes the long climb to the top of his game. Mungal handles the role with aplomb, occasionally talking directly to the audience and also slipping in and out of various supporting characters. 

Because the play is mostly interested in the time he spent as a football player, it consequently skips over a lot of the intervening years – his schooling in Halifax, his college tuition in Wimbledon and the year he spent at the University of Glasgow studying natural philosophy. I do find myself wondering if this piece would benefit from a longer running time, where Watson’s life could be examined in more detail, offering more nuance to the story. 

For The Corinthian though, the story really kicks off when he is signed to play for local team Parkgrove, where he soon learns that some of the toughest discrimination he will need to overcome emanates directly from his teammates…

Director Martin McCormick throws in some impressive imaginative flourishes, while keeping everything well-paced as Mungal runs, skips and leaps energetically around Heather Grace Currie’s simple set. In quieter, more reflective moments, the actor manages to tug at the audience’s collective heartstrings as he recalls what his mother taught him about perseverance.

The applause at the play’s conclusion is enthusiastic. Though I’m left with the conviction that there’s probably more to say about Watson than there is space for here, The Corinthian nonetheless manages to put the ball convincingly into the back of the net.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Funeral For My Boobs

21/05/26

Assembly Roxy, Edinburgh

A double mastectomy is not generally something to make a song and dance about… but that’s pretty much what you’ll get from Hannah Howie’s Funeral For My Boobs. If you are expecting something dour and po-faced, let me assure you that this is an upbeat show that hurtles gleefully through a whole range of songs, dance routines and comedy exchanges. Which is not to say that it doesn’t have its more thoughtful moments, because it most surely does.

The story is based on Howie’s own experience of choosing to undergo the aforementioned surgical procedure after learning that she had inherited a gene through her family line that gave her an 85% chance of contracting breast cancer, leaving her with difficult decision. The play takes a holistic approach, exploring the complex relationship we have with our bodies, the myths and the realities of life with mammary glands, and the pressures heaped upon young girls as they go through puberty.

Opening in madcap grande guignol fashion, Howie rejoices in throwing out just about every breast-related pun you can think of, before singing and dancing up a storm. She’s brilliantly supported by Right Boob (Kirsty Malone) and Left Boob (Gregor John-Owen), who also slip in and out of a whole variety of other roles.

Musical director Stuart Fleming provides some impressive keyboards and Chris Stuart Wilson directs with flair and precision. A special nod should go to Heather Grace Currie for her inventive set and costume design, which belies the modest budget of A Play A Pie and a Pint.

Here’s the beauty of it. Whenever I think I’ve got the measure of the piece, it takes off in an entirely different direction and delights me all over again. There’s an impressive range of familiar songs to relish, ranging from Fleetwood Mac and Billie Eilish, to an beautifully-sung excerpt from Bizet’s Carmen – and, just when you wonder if there’s anywhere else this can go, we’re given a rendition of Celine Dion’s theme from Titanic that literally has me crying… with laughter. 

And then, to top it all off, Howie slips behind the keyboards to deliver a heartfelt ballad dedicated to her grandma, who died from the same condition in her early 30s.

I really can’t find anything to fault in this utterly fabulous production. I urge anyone who can grab a seat for one of the last couple of shows at the Roxy to do so and, while you’re there, to maybe consider making a donation to The House of Hope, Scotland, who provide support to people impacted by breast cancer.

Expect to have your expectations shattered… in a good way.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Off the Rails

30/04/26

Assembly Roxy

Off the Rails is Stephanie MacGaraidh’s professional writing debut – and what a debut it is. Playwright, songwriter, actor, musician: this is a one-woman show in every sense of the phrase. And it’s extraordinarily affecting.

It’s an auspicious start to the Assembly Roxy’s first ever season of Òran Mór’s A Play, A Pie and A Pint, whose productions usually play at the Traverse when they come to Edinburgh. The venue works well for the small-scale black box shows that PPP is known for, although the old building is not very accessible, which might exclude some of the Traverse’s regular patrons. If the rest of the plays are as good as this one, it will be a real shame for them to miss out.

MacGaraidh is Maggie, a woman on the run – or, more specifically, a woman on a train. In the quiet coach. Wearing pyjamas. With only an empty tote bag and a stale Go Ahead bar as luggage.

It’s not the way most people dream of spending their 30th birthdays…

The tone evolves with the people Maggie meets on her journey north, from raucous hen party to lonely widower. MacGaraidh plays every character with conviction, eliciting both laughter and tears. Maggie’s story emerges bit by bit, revealed through an enticing mix of song and monologue, slowly revealing a young woman who has never really recovered from high school bullying, and whose adulthood is blighted by social anxiety.

I’ve rarely seen a looper used to such excellent effect, not only as backing vocals and added guitar, but also as interior monologue, amplifying the tension as Maggie’s life veers off the rails. The intrusive train announcements intensify the pressure even further, so that we’re as relieved as Maggie when one final encounter brings her back from the brink.

Directed by Katie Slater, Off the Rails is a triumph – and MacGaraidh is surely a star in the ascendance.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

Miss Lockwood Isn’t Well

01/04/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s April Fool’s Day and the final offering in this season’s A Play A Pie and a Pint seems an apt choice for the occasion. Miss Lockwood Isn’t Well focuses on the trials and tribulations of primary school teacher Alice Lockwood (Karen Young), who has been suspended from work after experiencing a series of visions. Each encounter features a saint, who arrives in her classroom bearing helpful advice. Mind you, the insights she’s granted aren’t (at least, initially) in Joan of Arc territory.

That earring she lost? It’s under the fridge. Apparently.

Dr Freer (Jane McQuarry) has been given the tricky task of determining whether or not Alice is fit to return to work. For the assessment, Alice has requested that her parish priest, Father Mackin (Mark Cox), should also be in attendance, presumably to offer some moral support – though his snarky, mocking attitude probably isn’t what she was hoping for. Dr Freer asks Alice to explain, in her own words, the bizarre encounters that have brought her to her current situation and her ensuing account makes up the substance of James Reilly’s acerbic and occasionally hilarious play.

Young manages to keep her character grounded throughout, wide-eyed with dismay that anybody would think her a potential danger, but occasionally slipping into a kind of altered state – whereupon some of her revelations really do seem to verge on the miraculous. It’s an intriguing twist. Cox is given the lion’s share of the one-liners, which he handles with perfect timing, coaxing big laughs from the audience – and McQuarry makes an excellent job of the play’s trickiest role, refereeing the constant sparring of her two companions, yet still managing to create a convincing and utterly professional character.

This is an undeniably intriguing piece. The revelation that there are actually thousands of patron saints recognised by the Catholic church – and that many of them have pretty inane responsibilities – adds to the general air of amusement. Did you know, for instance, that there’s actually a patron saint of dysentery? St Polycarp. Thanks for asking.

Catriona McLeod handles the direction with her usual skill and Heather Grace Currie’s neon-splashed set revels in the innate tackiness of Catholicism (sorry, lapsed Catholic speaking). If the play’s conclusion doesn’t quite smack home with a killer punch, this is a thoroughly entertaining way to spend a Wednesday lunchtime.

Come to think of it, there’s probably a patron saint for those too. Saint Pie-us? I’ll get my coat.

4 stars

Philip Caveney