Dyfan Dwyfor

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie

09/10/26

The Royal Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

The titular educator is an Edinburgh icon, her legacy woven into the fabric of the city, from the Vennel’s Miss Jean Brodie Steps to Bruntsfield’s Muriel Spark Walk. Her very name references Deacon Brodie, one of the city’s most infamous 18th century luminaries, a thief and philanderer she proudly claims as her ancestor. Perhaps her duplicitous nature is part of her DNA.

This vibrant production (from the National Theatre of Scotland, The Royal Lyceum and Pitlochry Festival Theatre) breathes new life into the old favourite, amplifying the teacher’s allure as well as her failings.

It’s 1935. In Europe, Adolf Hitler is a rising threat but Benito Mussolini, although polarising, is admired by many for his bold authoritarianism. Primary school teacher Miss Jean Brodie (Gayle Rankin) is certainly a fan: she shares his aesthetic obsession with order and control. Like the Italian fascist, she is a charismatic leader – and her classroom is her country.

Miss Brodie’s eleven-year-old pupils are in their final year of Juniors and she’s supposed to be preparing them for their Senior school entrance exam. Instead, as soon as her classroom door is closed, she kicks off her shoes and denounces the system. She lambasts the conservative Miss Mackay (Maureen Beattie), encouraging the girls to mock their headmistress. In lieu of maths, she shares bon mots; rather than history, she tells tales of her holidays. In short, Miss Brodie casts a spell over her students, inspiring a cult-like devotion that feeds her monstrous ego.

Of course, we’d call it grooming nowadays. Miss Brodie’s ‘set’ are carefully selected for their pliability and romanticism, wooed with flattery, sex-talk, secrets and booze. For preteens Sandy (Bobby Rainsbury), Jenny (Shreya Khaund Marshall), Monica (Tallulah Greive), Mary (Liberty Black) and Joyce Emily (Sophie Fortune), it’s a heady, irresistible mix, in stark contrast to Miss Mackay’s moribund regime. But children have a habit of growing up and noticing their heroines’ feet of clay. And who is Miss Brodie without her posse of adoring fans?

Written by David Harrower and directed by Vicky Featherstone, this adaptation of Sparks’ best-known novel is a triumph, with a clarity of vision that renders the play every bit as engaging as its protagonist. The three-hour running time flies by. Rankin is mesmerising as the charismatic lead; it’s easy to understand why the girls are so in thrall to her, not to mention her two suitors, drippy, devoted Mr Lowther (Brian Ferguson) and brooding badass Mr Lloyd (Dyfan Dwyfor).

Chloe Lamford’s spectacular set design – a giant semi-circle of tiered steps – resembles nothing so much as a Roman amphitheatre (with the auditorium completing the circle), the perfect venue for the gladiatorial-style battle Miss Brodie believes she is engaged in, determined as she is to promote individualism and free the girls from the tyranny of ‘team spirit’. Behind the steps, Lewis den Hertog’s enormous video projections throw up ever-changing images, from Proto-Renaissance art to fascist marches, Miss Brodie’s adult worldliness dwarfing her young acolytes’ limited experience. No wonder she clings to her job so passionately; in this arena, she appears all-knowing.

I love Anna Orton’s costume design, Miss Brodie’s outfits reflecting the different stages of the girls’ relationship with her. When Rankin first enters, striking a powerful pose centre stage, she’s dressed flamboyantly in a fitted pink leather skirt and a green shirt with oversized, wing-like sleeves. We see her through her pupils’ eyes as she morphs from exotic and exciting to strong and commanding, changing into a structured suit with sharp lines and pagoda shoulders. As the girls grow older and she confides in them about her love-life, she begins to dress in a more overtly sexy way (cue tight-fitting zebra print) before finally being cut down to size, literally undressed and relegated to a nursing home and a dull dressing gown.

The girls’ costumes are interesting too. In the first act, they wear simple black smocks, complete with white collars and black knee socks. After the interval, it takes me a few minutes to notice a subtle difference: the dresses are now sheer, the girls’ sensible underwear clearly visible beneath. The imagery is clever in its simplicity, showing how the girls are becoming young women, their sexuality burgeoning despite the school’s strictures.

It’s also a sign that Miss Brodie’s reign is coming to an end.

To be honest, when I re-read The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie a few years ago, I didn’t enjoy it, and I wondered if the story had lost its potency. Thanks to this magnificent production, I now know that it has not.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

The Seagull

15/10/25

Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

Sometimes a particular production of a play can be a revelation. The Royal Lyceum’s The Seagull is a good case in point. Chekhov famously insisted that his plays were actually comedies – yet every time I’ve gone along to see one, I have been presented with something ponderous and rather miserable.

This inspired interpretation of the Russian’s best-known play, adapted by Mike Paulson, finally sets the record straight. While it’s indisputable that the story has a tragic conclusion, the journey there is spirited and so chock-full of acerbic humour that, from the opening lines, I’m laughing.

In the first act, the elderly and infirm Pyotr Sorin (John Bett) is entertaining his family and their friends at his country estate. His younger sister, former actress Irena Arkadina (Caroline Quentin), has brought along her son, Konstantin (Lorn McDonald), who is deeply in his mother’s thrall and has aspirations to be a playwright. Irena is also accompanied by her lover, Trigorin (Dyfan Dwyfor), a fêted young writer, though it’s clear he derives very little pleasure from his success.

Although unnerved by Trigorin’s presence, Konstantin presses ahead with a performance of his latest project. He’s enlisted the help of an aspiring actress, Nina (Harmony Rose-Bremner), who lives on a neighbouring estate. He claims to be seeking a ‘new theatrical form’ and he’s devastated when his mother airily dismisses the monologue as ‘incomprehensible.’ He’s even more upset when Nina (who he clearly adores) seems much more interested in talking to Trigorin than to him.

Meanwhile, Masha (Tallulah Greive), the daughter of the estate’s boorish steward, Shamrayev (Steven McNicholl), is hopelessly in love with Konstantin, though he seems barely aware of her existence. She views the fact that shy local schoolteacher, Medvendenko (Michael Dylan), is in love with her as something of a major irritation.

In such a tangle of unfulfilled longing, it’s inevitable that tragedy is waiting somewhere in the wings…

There’s so much to enjoy here and not just Quentin’s perfectly-judged performance as the conceited, self-aggrandising Irena, intent on making every conversation all about her. The gathering of disparate characters is well-realised, with Bremner excelling in the role of the increasingly-unsettled Nina, whose obsession with becoming an actress threatens to lead her headlong into madness. Dylan generates a goodly share of the laughs as the hapless and self-critical Medvendenko, in particular during his pithy exchanges with the local physician, Dr Dorn (Forbes Masson), who seems to have brought along enough laudanum to put everyone out of their misery.

I’m entranced by Anna Kelsey’s autumnal set design, particularly in the first act where Konstantin’s outdoor stage has an ethereal beauty. Director James Brining brings out all the nuances of Chekhov’s witty script and the piece seems to zip along, buoyed by what I assume is the simple intention of making this one of the most accessible Chekhovs you’re ever likely to see – an aim that is accomplished with élan.

4.5 stars

Philip Caveney