Edfringe 24

F**king Legend

14/08/24

Pleasance Courtyard (Bunker Two), Edinburgh

Olly Hawes isn’t a bad guy. Okay, so maybe things get a little out of hand on stag dos now and again, but he and his pals are not like those other lads, misbehaving drunkenly in historical European cities. Sure, they go to the same places and drink the same booze, but their raucousness is performative and self-aware. They’re being ironic – and that makes all the difference. Right?

In this one-man show, Hawes veers between biting humour and apocalyptic despair; it is at once a confessional and a call to arms. The affable persona he creates serves as a hook, allowing him to reel us in and bring us face-to-face with our own hypocrisies.

There’s a gulf between the opening scene, where Hawes stands contemplating which socks to wear, and the terrifying ending, where we all stand on the precipice of a climate disaster. But Hawes is an effective guide, leading us from an introspective focus on the daily minutiae to a bird’s eye view of what’s happening just out of shot. If this sounds bleak, it is, but don’t be misled – it’s also very entertaining.

There’s an overt meta-quality to this monologue. Hawes invites us to picture our own lead character. It might be him or it might just be someone a bit like him. It might be us. (It is us. We’re all guilty.) The piece is presented as a screenplay, with Hawes narrating the cues, which works well as a simple means of establishing where we are in time as well as place.

There’s no denying that the ending is frenetic and hyperbolic – but it feels earned. This is clever writing with a relatable protagonist, striking exactly the right tone to keep the audience on board.

And we need to actually do something about climate change, don’t we? The planet’s burning while all us f**king legends look away and party.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

My Grandmother’s Eyepatch

13/08/24

Zoo Playground 1, Edinburgh

Award-winning actor and clown Julia VanderVeen is hosting a memorial service for her beloved grandmother, the improbably-named Mamie Lee Ratliff Finger. It’s time for Julia to deal with her grief head-on, a mere eighteen years after Mamie’s demise.

We’re all here to pay our respects to the piratically-attired matriarch, and we’re soon ensconced in VanderVeen’s giddy, absurdist world, our cheeks hurting from laughing, our hands held to our mouths in gestures of oh-God-what-now? A lot of the comedy comes simply from VanderVeen’s exaggerated facial expressions and her tendency to skewer audience members with a scarily intense stare. Sometimes she moves achingly slowly, making us chuckle just to relieve the tension; other times, she capers about the small stage frenetically, or performs a ridiculously elaborate dance, contorting herself into a range of awkward poses. There are props a-plenty littering the stage – a more-is-more approach akin to Natalie Palamides’ in Weer.

Macbeth? Check. Card tricks? Check. Hobby horse? Of course. What else could you possibly ask for?

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the show tells us more about Julia than it does about Mamie, although we do learn quite a lot about her grandmother in the process. It would be a crime to reveal too much here, as it’s the unpredictability that makes it so entertaining; suffice to say, I’m pretty sure you’ve never been to a memorial service quite like this one – and if you have, I hope your therapist is good.

Sly, silly and absolutely hilarious, My Grandmother’s Eyepatch is the funniest show about grief I’ve ever seen.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

I Sell Windows

12/08/24

Assembly George Square (Studio 4), Edinburgh

Actors Daniel Blinkoff and Tamlyn Tomita, founders of LA Theatre Company Outside In, are committed to making a space where diverse voices can be discovered, evolved and shared. With its almost unimaginable variety of shows (more than three thousand, every day), the Edinburgh Fringe is a perfect match for such an endeavour, and Kacie Rogers’ I Sell Windows is an impressive addition to the programme.

Directed by Jaquita Ta’le, Rogers presents a monologue about love, trauma, thwarted ambition – and selling windows. Casement, sash, bay, awning: ‘Kacie’ can make your dreams come true. But first, you have to stop waiting to be ready and really start living…

The fragmentary structure of the play reflects Kacie’s uneven mental health, as she struggles to come to terms with the death of her grandfather and the realisation that she may never earn a living as an actor. Reeling from the impact of these twin losses, she begins to implode, jeopardising her relationship and spinning out of control. Her breakdown is beautifully illustrated by the use of intricate shadow puppets (courtesy of Brittaney Talbot and Perry Daniel), as well as a sequence of recurring dreams, lit like the Northern Lights. Along with Rogers’ heartfelt a cappella rendition of Tracy Chapman’s iconic Fast Car, this amounts to both a profound character study and a rumination on the ways in which we are taught to value (and undervalue) ourselves.

Performed with verve, wit and absolute precision, I Sell Windows is a thoughtful play, ostensibly about one young Black woman’s experience, but applicable to every one of us.

4.2 stars

Susan Singfield

One Sugar, Stirred to the Left

12/08/24

theSpace @ Surgeons’ Hall (Grand Theatre), Edinburgh

Jon Lawrence’s One Sugar, Stirred to the Left is an affecting drama, set in a hospice. Stephen Corrall plays Henry, an elderly man with terminal cancer, living out his final few months under the tender care of Doctor Choudry (Kareem Nasif), Nurses Carol (Eleanor Healing) and Bronwyn (Anne Yeomans), and tea lady Amala (Jiang). From his death bed, Henry muses on his complex past, his painful present and his ever-shrinking future. He wants to leave something special for his son, Justin (Dom Fraser). And maybe – just maybe – Bronwyn can help.

This ‘play with songs’ has some really interesting things to say about the human need to make peace with ourselves and others before we die. Corrall convincingly portrays Henry’s growing acceptance of his situation and, under David Kettle’s direction, the calm and tranquility of the hospice seems to expand, extending its solicitude to the whole audience. Kettle also provides the guitar accompaniment, while Jiang is the comic relief. But it’s Yeomans who provides the emotional heart of this piece, her plaintive vocals encapsulating a poignant mix of nostalgia, regret and love.

Perhaps some of the plotting is unnecessarily convoluted. It would be simpler and also make more sense if Henry were the one to hear Bronwyn sing, rather than learning second-hand from Justin that she “has a lovely voice.” As it stands, we have to suspend a whole lot of disbelief to accept that anyone would entrust fifty years’ worth of personal writing to someone and ask them to set it to music without knowing anything about their style or ability. I’m also not sure that the sub-plot – about Hamish (Duncan Airlie-James) – has enough space to breathe in this short play. Although Hamish is a well-drawn character and Airlie-James delivers a likeable performance, imbuing the former comic with a roguish charm, this strand feels like it belongs to a longer piece with a wider focus. I can’t help but feel that the large cast and sprawling storyline dilute the message.

On the whole, I like the naturalistic set, the cold, clinical room belying the hospice’s geniality and warmth. However, there are so many props that the space feels cluttered, the stage business sometimes distracting me from what’s being said.

Despite some minor criticisms, there’s no denying the emotional impact of this piece, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t crying at the end. Like so many, I’ve witnessed firsthand how important hospices are; I will be forever grateful to the staff at St Kentigern’s in St Asaph, North Wales, who provided so much succour to my parents when my dad was diagnosed with MND.

This production illuminates the importance of affording people dignity at the end of their lives, and of not being afraid to talk about death.

3.2 stars

Susan Singfield

Through the Mud

11/08/24

Summerhall (Main Hall), Edinburgh

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. 

Apphia Campbell’s Through the Mud is a chilling reminder of how little has changed over the years when it comes to Black liberation in America. Campbell plays Assata Shakur, the 1970s civil rights activist, who – convicted of murder – escaped from jail and has been living in exile in Cuba ever since. In a parallel storyline, forty years later, college student Ambrosia Rollins (Tinashe Warikandwa) finds herself caught up in the beginnings of the Black Lives Matter movement.

This is a powerful piece of theatre, as much a call to arms as anything else, and it feels especially apposite as racist riots are breaking out just over the border in England. Of course, Through the Mud pertains specifically to American politics, but bigotry and prejudice aren’t confined to one continent and we have just as much blood on our hands.

Co-produced by Stellar Quines and Edinburgh’s Royal Lyceum Theatre, the production values are as high as you’d expect, and director Caitlin Skinner deftly leads us through the intertwining timelines, allowing the women’s individual stories space to breathe as well as highlighting the connections. The characters contrast and complement one another perfectly: Campbell imbues Assata with a fierce dignity and a fighter’s strength, while Warikandwa’s Ambrosia is altogether sweeter and more naïve – until her first weeks of college coincide with the fatal shooting of Michael Brown by a white police officer, and she can no longer cling to the fair-world fantasy that her parents built for her. 

The sense of outrage at the heart of the play is brought to life by the music, where spirituals and gospel songs give voice to the protest. The women’s vocals are impressive: Campbell deep and powerfully resonant, while Warikandwa’s more plaintive tones offer an enchanting counterpoint. When the two harmonise, the effect is positively thrilling.

In the face of all the awful evidence, it’s to Campbell’s credit that Through the Mud feels somehow hopeful rather than dispiriting. The women’s indefatigable spirits spur us into thinking we ought to act too. 

Not enough has changed – but the fight goes on.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

Lost Girl

10/08/24

Underbelly George Square (Wee Coo), Edinburgh

Tracey Emin… stereotype… train wreck. Oops! Sorry. Wrong notes. Let’s try again…

Amy Lever’s Lost Girl is a fascinating monologue, charting nineteen-year-old Birdy’s search for self-acceptance. She’s never been particularly clever (as her A level results confirm); she hasn’t any special talents and she doesn’t know what she wants to do with her life. Until now, none of this has really mattered, because she’s had her best friend Bex by her side, and they’ve been battling the world together. So what if Birdy didn’t make it into uni? Neither did Bex – or Jeremy Clarkson, for that matter – and they’re both doing okay.

But now Bex – resolutely Catholic – has unearthed some hitherto unknown Portuguese Jewish ancestry, which means she can claim an EU passport, and so she’s gone off travelling. Birdy, meanwhile, who is actually Jewish, has no such useful connections. “Hey, Siri,” she asks. “Is Syria in the EU?” Even Siri, who surely hears all sorts, isn’t programmed to deal with this level of ignorance. “Don’t be stupid,” he responds.

So Birdy feels lost. She’s plagued by recurring nightmares and angry with Bex for deserting her. She’s angry with her family too because… well, because they’re her family. Who else is going to bear the brunt of her frustration?

But when Birdy gets a job working in the archives of a local Jewish museum, she begins to unearth some secrets that make her see her relatives in a whole new light…

Lever is an accomplished actor, quickly earning our sympathy with her heartfelt performance. Her depiction of wannabe actor Bex’s disastrous one-woman show is very witty, as is her portrayal of the monosyllabic Sammy Morrison. The writing is good too, often causing us to laugh out loud, as well as giving us plenty to think about.

The simple, unfussy staging is well-suited to the piece, the frame of documents and photographs symbolising both cage and portal, illuminating Birdy’s contradictory impulses for stasis and for flight.

As much a character study as a play, Lost Girl offers a fascinating insight into the mind of a teenager seeking validation and coming to terms with her cultural identity.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Werewolf

09/08/24

Summerhall (Former Women’s Locker Room), Edinburgh

I’m a drama teacher by day (emerging as a theatre critic under a full moon) so I am au fait with the game Werewolf – the teenagers I work with are obsessed with it. For those less familiar with the concept, it’s a role-playing exercise set in a remote village, where the titular lupines feast on one unfortunate inhabitant each night. Every morning, the villagers (who include a doctor, a detective, a chief and – randomly – a Cupid) meet to try to work out who among them is a killer. Think The Traitors or Among Us, depending on your demographic. It’s a little bit like that.

New Zealand’s Binge Culture theatre company brings a heightened version of the game to this year’s Fringe, with extra layers of drama and complexity, and the immersive experience is a lot of fun. Before we’re ushered into Summerhall’s Former Women’s Locker Room, we’re told that we will each find a card on our seats. We should read them and follow the instructions without revealing their contents to anyone else. 

Once we’re seated, three wardens (Joel Baxendale, Hannah Kelly and Stella Reid) inform us that we’re in a containment bunker, and that we need to stay here for seven days to avoid – whisper it – “the contagion.” Post-Covid, this doesn’t actually feel like such a stretch, but things soon start to go awry. Obviously, I can’t give too much away because the element of surprise is key to this production. Suffice to say, the tension steadily mounts…

I love it. The wardens do an excellent job of inhabiting their characters at the same time as managing the narrative, expertly drawing what they need from the participants. The sound design (by Oliver Devlin) is crucial to the piece, creating an unsettling atmosphere and perfectly enhancing the horror elements. Everyone in the room appears committed to the game; we’re all determined to uncover the danger in our midst.

I highly recommend this piece, especially to families with teenagers in tow. If you want something entertaining and immersive, then Werewolf is surely what you’re looking for. It”s an absolute howl.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

Mutant Olive 2.0

08/08/24

Gilded Balloon Patter Hoose (Nip), Edinburgh

Mutant Olive 2.0 is a wild ride of a show. Adam Astra (Mitch Hara) is auditioning for a part in Hamilton Unplugged and he’s determined to stand out from the crowd. Sure, he’s an ex-addict, his headshot is twenty years out of date, and he’s left his props on the kitchen table but, as the audience becomes a room full of directors, producers and casting agents, we are urged not to let any of this cloud our view. He’s going to wow us with a Shakespearean monologue. What could be more appropriate?

Except, would we mind waiting just a minute, because his Dad’s calling? Sorry about that. The problem with his Dad is… “Okay. Puck. I am that merry wanderer of the night…” His phone rings again.

Hara is a kinetic performer, almost sparking with energy. He dazzles with his smile and prowls the small stage, lurching from sly camp to devastating emotion, somehow keeping us with him all the time. The stories of Astra’s childhood – his speed-freak alcoholic mother; his hitman father – seem utterly fantastical, but it turns out they are largely autobiographical, based on Hara’s own experiences. 

The audition, of course, careens out of control, like the seventeen cars Astra has crashed whilst high. And in amongst all of the gloriously riotous, outrageous tales, we see the man emerge, scarred but intact, resolute in his determination to succeed on his own terms.

Directed by Carlyle King, Mutant Olive is a true delight. I’ll certainly be seeking out more of Hara and King’s work, starting with Smothered, their short form series on Amazon Prime. Meanwhile, do yourself a favour and head to the Gilded Balloon for a chance to see a fairy goblin in a whole new light. 

4.6 stars

Susan Singfield

Rita Lynn: Life Coach

07/08/24

Pleasance Dome (Ace), Bristo Square, Edinburgh

“My suicide note was so good, it made me want to live.”

Enter Rita Lynn, life coach extraordinaire. After all, who better to advise the rich and foolish than a woman at rock bottom with a penchant for hard drugs? 

Imogen Wood (Louise Marwood) used to be a dancer, but it turns out no one wants to employ an addict, who disappears for days on end, then turns up drunk, hungover or high. Stuck in a codependent relationship, she can’t see any way out – until a chance encounter with a wealthy worrier sparks an audacious thought and Imogen’s alter ego, Rita Lynn, is born. For just £250 per hour, she’ll counsel ‘Helen’ – and all her well-heeled friends.

Loosely based on Marwood’s own experience with addiction, this is a cleverly crafted tragicomedy. Not only is her performance a real tour de force, the writing is mightily impressive too; Marwood is clearly a talent. 

She’s extraordinarily engaging, one of those actors who seem to carry their own light, and so we’re irresistibly drawn to Imogen despite her bitchiness, able to see beneath the brittle façade she’s constructed to protect herself from her inner demons. We want her to beat her addiction and emerge happy on the other side.

Marwood also plays a raft of supporting characters, including her toxic boyfriend, her therapist, her clients and her best friend, switching from one to the other, sometimes mid-sentence, never leaving us in any doubt about who she’s meant to be. This is a heightened, almost melodramatic piece, the humour emanating from Imogen’s outrageousness, as well as her biting criticism of the way society wants her to behave. She’s caustic and dismissive, bold and fearless – and as fragile as can be. 

At once laugh-out-loud funny and desperately sad, Rita Lynn: Life Coach is a must-see show. Just don’t be tempted to employ her to sort your problems out. 

4.8 stars

Susan Singfield

Lynn Faces

06/08/24

Summerhall (Main Hall), Edinburgh

There’s no denying it’s an original premise. After all, there aren’t many bands inspired by the facial expressions of Alan Partridge’s long-suffering assistant, Lynn.

But Lynn Faces are here and they’re ready to perform. Leah (Madeleine Macmahon) is turning forty tomorrow, and – after splitting up with her boyfriend, Pete – she needs to do something big to mark the occasion. Encouraged by her friends, Shonagh and Ali (Holly Kavanagh and Peyvand Sadeghian), she’s booked a gig for the hastily-formed titular punk band. Okay, so the drummer they’ve never met is AWOL and – with the exception of Shonagh’s recorder – none of them can actually play an instrument, but how hard can it be? Leah did meet Viv Albertine from The Slits once; she’s bound to have absorbed some talent, right? 

Er, wrong. 

While silly on the surface, Laura Horton’s sophomore play also has some serious points to make about domestic abuse. Leah is devastated by her break-up with Pete,  eagerly awaiting messages from him and reminiscing fondly about how they met. But piece by piece the jigsaw builds until we have a clear picture of what he’s really like and how much damage he has done to her.

Unfortunately, the problem is that the gig really is as bad as it purports to be. Unlike say, The Play That Goes Wrong, where the apparently shoddy is actually perfectly drilled, Lynn Faces is an hour of non-musicians performing bad songs. The poignancy of the final stretches doesn’t feel earned and so it doesn’t land for me. It doesn’t help that I’m sitting next to an air conditioning unit, so any dialogue that happens away from the mic (or behind a Lynn mask) is hard to hear. 

There are some genuinely funny moments – Shonagh’s recorder solo and the Cunt x 40 song, for example – and Summerhall’s Main Hall is sold out, full of people laughing and enjoying the show.

For me though, this feels a bit dialled in. 

2.7 stars 

Susan Singfield