Edinburgh

Theatre Bouquets 2025

Another varied year of theatre-going presents us with the usual problem of choosing what we think were the twelve best shows of the year. But once again, here they are in the order we saw them.

Vanya (National Theatre Live)

“Glides like gossamer through the cuts and thrusts of a family drama – even a scene where Scott is obliged to make love to himself unfolds like a dream…”

Dr Strangelove (National Theatre Live)

“This brilliantly-staged production is a weird hybrid – part play, part film – and at times astonishing in its sheer invention…”

Wild Rose (Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh)

“A fabulously entertaining story about ambition and acceptance, anchored by a knockout performance from Dawn Sievewright…”

Chef (Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh)

“Sabrina Mahfouz’s Chef is an extraordinary play, a monologue delivered in a lyrical, almost poetic flow of startling imagery…”

Lost Lear (Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh)

“Dan Colley’s beautifully-conceived script intertwines excerpts from Lear with moments in the here and now, gently but relentlessly uncovering the horrors of cognitive decline…

Alright Sunshine (Pleasance Dome, Edinburgh)

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

A Streetcar Named Desire (Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh)

“Eschews the victim-blaming that so often blights interpretations of this play and turns up the heat on the sweaty, malevolent scenario, so that the play’s final half makes intense, disturbing viewing…”

Common Tongue (The Studio at Festival Theatre, Edinburgh)

“A demanding monologue, Caw’s performance is flawless, at once profound and bitingly funny: the jokes delivered with all the timing and precision of a top comedian; the emotional journey intense and heartfelt…”

Little Women (Bedlam Theatre, Edinburgh)

“Watching events play out, I feel transported back into the cocoon of my childhood, curled up in bed reading about these faraway adolescents and their travails…”

The Seagull (Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh)

“There’s so much to enjoy here and not just Quentin’s perfectly-judged performance as the conceited, self-aggrandising Irina, intent on making every conversation all about her…”

Wallace (Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh)

“Whip-smart, caustically funny and actually pretty informative (I come out knowing a lot more about the titular Scot than I previously did), Wallace snaps from song to song and from argument to argument like the proverbial tiger on vaseline…”

Inter Alia (National Theatre Live)

“Doesn’t offer any easy answers or let anyone off the hook, but expertly straddles the fine line between trying to understand assailants without diminishing their victims…”

Susan Singfield & Philip Caveney

Beyond Monet/Van Gogh

23/12/25

Royal Highland Centre, Edinburgh

Beyond Monet: The Immersive Experience offers visitors the chance to see “Monet like they’ve never seen him before.” This isn’t quite true for us though: we’ve been to the Carrières des Lumières in Provençe about a dozen times, and – unsurprisingly – many of those exhibitions have focused on the famous impressionist’s work, particularly those pieces that depict the area. So, although we’re keen to see what this travelling showcase has to offer, we don’t really expect images projected onto the interior walls of the Royal Highland Centre – where we went to get our Covid jags – to wow us in the same way as they do in the disused quarry beneath Les Baux’s castle.

We’re pleasantly surprised. Despite the conference-venue vibes of the building, the immersive experience has been so cleverly curated that we soon forget where we are. What we lose in size and majesty, we gain in subtle animation and a clear visual narrative. Beyond Monet is showing ‘in rep’ with Beyond Van Gogh and, in all honesty, we’d have chosen to see Vincent if we could have made the dates work. That didn’t pan out, so we’ve settled for Claude – and we’re delighted with the result.

We already knew we loved Van Gogh, but we’ve tended to dismiss Monet as a bit too pretty, a bit too safe. But under Mathieu St-Arnaud’s creative direction, we see just how transgressive the artist really was, not only for the ‘unfinished’ look of his art, but also in his obsession with painting the same scene over and over, in order to capture it in different weathers, different lights. Seeing the various giant iterations of the Haystacks and the Houses of Parliament – sometimes side by side, sometimes layered over one another – really helps to illustrate his aim of capturing his immediate sensory reaction to a particular scene.

The Waterfall Room, which we enter first, gives us an eight-minute ‘starter’, where we stand, enraptured by the fleeting impressions (sorry!) of what is coming up, with glimpses of Monet’s paintings projected onto the walls and floor. In the Infinity Room next door, people are sitting on benches and cushions, settling in for the ‘main course’ – which runs on a thirty-five minute loop. Combined with Jean-Sébastien Côté’s hypnotic soundtrack, the hallucinatory imagery wraps itself around us, creating an intense auditory and visual experience that keeps us entranced for the whole running time.

Finally, we enter the Reflection Room, which has been mocked up on one side to look like the Giverny gardens, while the other features Van Gogh’s starry night skies looming over a field of giant sunflower sculptures. Like all the best desserts, it’s fun and light – and gives us an opportunity to take a selfie or two.

If it’s showing near you, I highly recommend you visit this extraordinary exhibition – and take the chance to see Claude Monet in an entirely new… ahem… light.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

The Apartment

19/12/25

Filmhouse, Edinburgh

It’s the last day of term: I’ve taught my final drama class before the holidays, and I’m ready to wind down. Fortuitously, the Filmhouse has chosen this evening for a members’ free screening of one of Philip’s favourite Christmas movies, The Apartment. Although we arrive early, the foyer is already buzzing, people queuing amiably for the complementary mulled wine and mince pies that are being served. It smells delicious but, as we’re both tee-total, I’m gluten-free and Philip would rather starve than eat dried fruit, we don’t bother joining the line. Instead we head on upstairs to secure ourselves some decent seats.

When it comes to iconic festive movies, I’ve got a bad track record. I didn’t see 1992’s A Muppet Christmas Carol until 2019, but that 27-year lull pales into insignificance compared to the 65 years that have lapsed since Billy Wilder directed (and co-wrote) The Apartment. So I’m excited to finally catch up with this film that Philip is so enamoured of – and what a treat to see it on the big screen in an immaculate 4K restoration.

A study in toxic masculinity, where powerful middle-aged men exploit vulnerable young women, and the only way for anyone to get ahead in the workplace is to submit to the demands of their narcissistic bosses, this feels like a very contemporary tale. Indeed, if it weren’t for the monochrome cinematography, the 1960s fashions and the rolodexes on the office workers’ desks, this could easily pass for a #MeToo-inspired drama. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose…

It’s Christmas-time in New York City, and CC Baxter (Jack Lemmon) is a lowly clerk with just one advantage: he has managed to secure a reasonably-priced apartment in a sought-after location near Central Park. When his supervisors learn where he lives, they promise him promotion… so long as he lets them use his conveniently-situated abode to conduct their extra-marital affairs. Cue comedic mayhem as CC struggles to maintain control of an overfull schedule, often forced to kill time lurking outside his own home as he waits for the lovers to leave. As if that weren’t enough, he also has to endure his neighbours’ disapproval: they think he’s some sort of Lothario, entertaining a parade of women. Still, if it means he can get on at work, then it’s worth it, right? And anyway, he doesn’t know how to refuse…

But then CC strikes up a friendship with lift attendant Fran Kubelik (Shirley MacLaine) and his priorities begin to shift. When he learns that she’s having an affair with the odious manager, Mr Sheldrake (Fred MacMurray), he’s devastated, but their warm relationship endures – and, in the end, their mutual affection saves them both.

It’s a beautiful film: at once funny and heartwarming, bleak and hopeful. Wilder and co-writer IAL Diamond’s script is vivacious and witty, and Lemmon and MacLaine are both dazzling in their roles, their naïvety and powerlessness so utterly appealing that I want them to flourish from the moment I see them on screen. Meanwhile, MacMurray makes an excellent villain, all surface charm and barely-concealed self-interest. Convincingly drawn, this is a perfect study of human nature – with an ultimately life-affirming and seasonally-appropriate message.

Merry Christmas! And don’t forget the fruitcake.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

4Play: 4 New Plays by 4 Scottish Playwrights

12/12/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Last year, 4Play comprised four full plays, performed over two nights. This time around, it’s a truncated affair, with excerpts rather than entire scripts. The first two pieces are only ten minutes long, while the second pair are given longer to develop their themes, each with a running time of approximately twenty-five minutes.

We open with a short extract from Ruaraidh Murray’s Chips, directed by Michael Nardone and Jake Sleet. Nothing to do with the California Highway Patrol, this is a fictionalised account of a true-life tale of… microchip theft. Apparently it was a thing in the 1990s. As if breaking, entering and taking apart computers wasn’t enough of a challenge, Kaz (Christie Russell-Brown) is heavily pregnant, and her partner-in-crime, Wan (Calum Manchip), isn’t exactly focused on the job…

The second piece is Brace, written by Geraldine Lang and directed by Matthew Attwood. Paul (Jack Elvey) and Lewis (Kieran Lee-Hamilton) are apprentice scaffolders, struggling to learn their trade without any real guidance. In their business, mistakes have material consequences, and it’s the people at the bottom of the pile who have to pay. Although I appreciate that the physicality of the boys’ work is key to the piece, I can’t help feeling that it’s a mistake to spend so much time constructing the scaffolding; I’d prefer to hear more dialogue and delve further into the plot.

After the interval, it’s Sunday Palms, which is by far our favourite of tonight’s plays. From the opening soundscape – an oddly unsettling aural representation of a man returning home from work to his empty flat – to the awkward dialogue that follows the unexpected appearance of a childhood friend, Sean Langtree’s script is utterly compelling. Directed by Grace Ava Barker, the piece is immediately intriguing, and I’m fascinated to know where the story leads. Why is Brian (Daniel Campbell) so alarmed by Nathan (Langtree)’s presence? Whose victory does the title presage? Langtree’s Nathan is perfectly observed – just that little bit too needy, too edgy – while Campbell nails Brian’s discomfort, his attempts to hold to societal norms in the face of Nathan’s peculiar demands.

Last up, it’s Hunt by Andrea McKenzie, directed by Gwen M Dolan. We’re in the near future, and AI has taken over the cities. Mags (Deborah Whyte) and Joel (McKenzie) are yearning for a simpler life: to step away from their computers and connect with nature. The trouble is, they’re more familiar with tech than they are with tents, neither has remembered to pack the kettle – and how exactly do you light a fire? What’s more, Joel soon discovers that Mags hasn’t been entirely honest with her, and there’s more to this trip than she’s been told…

Reductions in length notwithstanding, 4Play – and other schemes like it – are vital to ensuring that new voices are heard in theatre. 4Play has had considerable success, introducing Katy Nixon’s Cheapo and Mikey Burnett’s Colours Run, which have both spread their wings and flown to critical acclaim. As Scotland’s new writing theatre, it makes perfect sense for the Traverse to support the event, and we’re delighted to have this opportunity to see emerging playwrights develop their skills.

3.2 stars

Susan Singfield

Wicked: For Good

06/12/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Despite being dazzling, bold and unashamedly in-your-face, Wicked: For Good somehow manages to fall flat. Perhaps the problem lies in the year-long gap between the two parts of this story; it’s like a glass of champagne that’s been left out too long and lost its fizz.

That said, in many ways I prefer this second act (which I’m refusing to call a sequel, because it isn’t: the story arc spans both films, and neither stands alone). At least there’s a resolution here, and I enjoy the creative ways the storyline feeds into The Wizard of Oz. Narratively, For Good – directed by Jon M Chu – is stronger than Wicked, but as a musical? I’m no aficionado, but even I can tell there’s only one real banger in this show (Defying Gravity), and it isn’t reprised here. As a result, the big song and dance numbers, even with Christopher Scott’s sumptuous choreography and the cast’s impressive vocals, just aren’t very memorable.

We catch up with Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo) and Glinda (Ariana Grande-Butera) after their erstwhile friendship has been well and truly shattered by the Wizard (Jeff Goldblum) and Madame Morrible (Michelle Yeoh). Neither young woman is exactly happy about the way the duo uses propaganda and misinformation to control the citizens of Oz but, while Glinda opts for a pragmatic, ‘if-you-can’t-beat-’em-join-’em’ approach, Elphaba favours revolution, exposing the truth at any cost. Each feels betrayed by the other…

The two leads are magnificent: perfectly cast and with crackling on-screen chemistry. Their combined talent is beyond formidable, and the strongest scenes are those where they’re together. But they’re let down by a histrionic script (by Winnie Holzman, Dana Fox and Gregory Maguire), where emotions are always dialled up to eleven, and unrequited love is enough of an excuse to destroy a realm. It’s all very teenage – and all very one-note. Nessa (Marissa Bode) fares especially badly, her death-by-Kansas-farmhouse so fudged that you wouldn’t know what had happened if you weren’t familiar with the tale.

There’s plenty to admire here: the production values are second-to-none, and the world-building is exquisite. I just think that it would have been better to make one excellent three-hour film rather than two quite good ones, whose combined five hours add up to less than the sum of their parts.

If you’ve already seen Wicked, then you’ll need to watch For Good to see how it all turns out. It’s not dreadful (there are certainly worse ways to spend a winter afternoon). But is it worth all the money and the hype? You’ll have to decide for yourself if you want to follow the yellow brick road back to Oz.

3.5 stars

Susan Singfield

The Fifth Step: NT Live

01/12/25

Dominion Cinema, Edinburgh

As if NT Live performances weren’t enough of a treat, we’ve recently ramped up the indulgence levels by choosing to watch them at Edinburgh’s most bougie cinema, the Dominion. At 3pm this afternoon, we zip up our raincoats and venture out into the December drizzle, ready for the half-hour walk that will take us to our huge, reclining seats.

The Fifth Step is a compact, one-act play by Jack Ireland, and its ninety-minute running time is perfectly judged. This is a tight and concentrated piece, where small impulses are magnified, vague doubts forensically explored. The in-the-round set, designed by Milla Clark, is almost brutalist, comprising a stark square with raised, cushioned sides, reminiscent of a boxing ring or a trampoline: a taut jump mat, ready to absorb the characters’ anger, or give them the push they need to set themselves free.

We’re in the world of AA, where acceptance meets strict protocols and kindness sometimes seems harsh. Jack Lowden plays Luka, a twenty-something alcoholic, scared that he’s turning into his dad, and desperate to avoid this destiny. Nervy and uncertain, he isn’t sure that he can do it, not when sobriety leaves a booze-shaped void he fills with loneliness and self-loathing. Hovering in the room after a meeting, he gets chatting to James (Martin Freeman), who has been on the wagon for more than twenty-five years. The older man knows exactly what Luka is going through, and offers to become his sponsor. From hereon in, we watch as their relationship develops – and as they both continue to battle against their respective addictions.

Ireland’s script is darkly funny, and director Finn Den Hertog maximises its comic potential, without ever belittling the men’s experiences. Not much happens, and yet all of human life is here: our frailty, our fabulousness; our bravado, our beauty; our destructiveness and our shared desperation. Luka begins by looking for easy answers: if he does whatever his sponsor says, then surely he’ll find happiness. But James has his own demons to grapple with and he knows that life is far more complex than that. You just have to keep on being honest, keep facing up to your own failings – and keep supporting one another along the way…

Unsurprisingly, Lowden and Freeman deliver faultless performances. They’re perfectly cast, Freeman’s wry stillness the ideal foil for Lowden’s twitchy, pent-up energy. A fascinating insight into not just addiction but also notions of authority and responsibility, this is definitely one to watch if it’s showing at a cinema near you.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Cinderella: A Fairytale

29/11/25

Royal Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

Look, I love a good panto as much as the next drama queen. Still, I have to admit there is something very special about this chance to see a Christmassy rendition of one of the world’s most famous fairy-tales without the distraction of all the boo-hiss-he’s-behind-you-wink-wink-nod-nod stuff. Cinderella‘s plucky orphan narrative is a compelling one, not least because of its moral certainty, where the good are rewarded and the bad are well and truly punished: there’s vengeance at play here, as well as virtue. And, in this version by Sally Cookson, Adam Peck and the Original Company, that dichotomy is writ large.

Ella (Olivia Hemmati) lives in a gloriously-realised enchanted forest, all dappled sunlight and multi-coloured birds. The home she shares with her dad (Richard Conlon) is one of those idyllic, romantically-ramshackle cottages where poor people live in story books, and she’s happy there. But when Father marries Mother (Nicole Cooper), everything changes: not only does her step-mum impose a whole raft of irritating rules, she also brings along her own two children, Sister (Christina Gordon) and Brother (Matthew Forbes), who are so priggish and uptight that Ella can’t stand them. And then, just as she’s getting used to the new regime, Father dies, leaving a grieving Ella at Mother’s mercy…

The strength of this show lies in its aesthetic: Francis O’Connor’s set and costume design evoke an ethereal other-worldliness, where magic feels eminently possible. The bird puppets (directed by Forbes and manned by Leo Shak, Stephanie Cremona and the cast) are fabulous, their rainbow plumes as appealing as they are fantastical. Even as a middle-aged woman, I’m completely captivated; how alluring must this staging be for the children in the audience?

The love story element is underplayed: Prince (Sam Stopford) is a nerdy teenage ornithologist and he and Ella strike up such a lovely, convincing friendship that the idea of their marriage seems jarring and incongruous. Director Jemima Levick wisely eschews any overt wedding pageantry, but I do wonder if it would be better to remove the romance entirely, focusing instead on the simple affection between the pair. After all, it’s not as if there’s the same financial imperative for this Ella, who seems to be living in a whimsical approximation of the contemporary world, as there was for her Grimm progenitor, who needed a husband to escape her servitude.

Cooper is obviously having a whale of a time as the odious Mother, camping up her tantrums and cruelty to create a deliciously-devilish interpretation of the character. The protracted toe-chopping sequence – the production’s only real nod to the folk story’s dark heart – is a gruesome highlight. Meanwhile, Gordon and Forbes’ Ugly Siblings are more sympathetic and nuanced than their traditional counterparts, frightened and corrupted by their toxic mum – and clearly redeemable. Carly Anderson has less to do as Queen, who appears here as a slightly-sozzled, benignly-bemused socialite. It’s an interesting take on the role but she is under-used.

Jon Beales’ music and Emily Jane Boyle’s choreography complement each other perfectly, enhancing the story and ensuring the pace never flags.

All in all, this is a delightful production, and one that is sure to enthral audiences of all ages this festive season.

4.2 stars

Susan Singfield

Montrose

16/11/25

Montrose Terrace, Edinburgh

We’re in the mood for a spot of high-end lunch and we’ve heard good things about Montrose, which is a sister establishment to Timberyard, one of the undoubted stars in the Edinburgh culinary firmament. Montrose claims to offer a more relaxed kind of cuisine at reasonable prices so, in order to put that claim to the test, we take a leisurely stroll over to Montrose Terrace to sample their three-course set lunch.

The offer is all three courses for £30, with a small selection of side-dishes, which can be added for a little more outlay. The menu is changed on a monthly basis, though the advertised dishes can be tweaked if somebody has an allergy issue or a pronounced dislike of one of the key ingredients. But, as we so often claim, there’s not much out there that we won’t eat.

The restaurant has a calm, pleasant atmosphere and is arranged on two levels. (Halfway up the stairs there’s what must qualify as the smallest customer toilet in Edinburgh.) The staff are friendly and easy to chat to as we order drinks and wait for our two additional dishes to arrive.

These are a Pickle Plate and a Cantabrian Anchovy Gilda. The former is a plate of crunchy pickles served with a tangy dressing, amid which some beautifully-sweet gooseberries are undoubtedly the stars. The latter turns out to be a single (though quite delicious) fresh anchovy nestled on some truly scrumptious olives. For £5, I find myself wishing we had an anchovy apiece.

Next up is our starter, which is Crown Prince Pumpkin with trevino, hazelnut and rosemary. There’s a decent-sized chunk of slow roasted pumpkin, drizzled with a creamy, nutty sauce and there’s a lot of (too much?) green salad, which is as fresh as you like, but leaves me feeling that this dish perhaps needs an extra element to make it zing.

The main course is essentially the restaurant’s take on sausage and beans, though it’s a lot more interesting than that sounds. It comprises two spicy slices of Venison and Pork Kofta, a chunk of crispy seared shallot and some earthy black-eyed beans. They’ve even managed to make an accompanying portion of kale taste good. It’s a great idea and perfectly suited to an autumn lunch.

Pudding must inevitably follow. Out comes a Pear, Vanilla and Walnut Trifle, which – while it’s not the most photogenic of dishes, the colours all being variations of brown – is nonetheless a lip-smacking delight. It’s like somebody’s crossed a tiramisu with a crumble and this is the weird but oddly satisfying result. I’m definitely in favour taste-wise, but surely a scattering of bright red raspberries would make this look a lot more appetising.

With drinks, this meal comes in at around £90, which in these troubled times represents good value for this standard of cuisine. We depart, sated and happy, and ready for – you’ve guessed it – a visit to the cinema.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Die, My Love

16/11/25

Filmhouse, Edinburgh

Die, My Love, based on Ariana Harwicz’s acclaimed novel, is another irresistible movie from Scottish director, Lynne Ramsay. With a script by Ramsay, Enda Walsh and Alice Birch, this unflinching study of a woman’s postpartum psychological breakdown is as compelling as it is harrowing – and Jennifer Lawrence is frankly wonderful in the lead role.

Grace (Lawrence) and Jackson (Robert Pattinson) are expecting their first baby and, in preparation for this new chapter of their lives, they move into Jackson’s deceased uncle’s house. They’re not fazed by the piles of leaves in every room, the old-fashioned decor or even a minor rat infestation: they’re young, excited and in love. They’ll make it work.

But once Grace gives birth to Harry, the spark between her and Jackson dies. She’s stuck at home: bored, resentful and unable to cope. Jackson’s job means that he can escape from the oppressive confines of their isolated house, but Grace’s work is writing; it doesn’t get her out and she can’t focus on it anyway. “I don’t do that any more,” she says.

She loves her baby but she feels trapped and abandoned. Jackson never wants to have sex with her any more, although the box of condoms in his car seems to be getting lighter by the week. She refuses to be just Harry’s mother: why can’t she also still be Grace-the-writer, Grace-and-Jackson, Grace-the-wild, the-impulsive, the-let’s-have-fun? With only Jackson’s bereaved mother, Pam (the fabulous Sissy Spacek), for company, Grace’s mental health begins to deteriorate, her behaviour becoming ever more erratic and dangerous.

Ramsay’s film is undoubtedly dark, but it’s bleakly funny too. Grace’s blunt responses to the platitudes she’s offered often fall into the “things-we-all-wish-we-could-say-but-can’t” category, and – if it weren’t for all the damage they cause – her devil-may-care actions are almost inspirational. I feel sorry for both Grace and Jackson, a couple trapped in a relationship that no longer works, dragging each other down in their attempts to meet society’s expectations of them. “Let’s get married,” says Jackson in desperation. Maybe a wedding is the glue they need to stick them back together?

Or maybe not…

More than anything, this movie reminds me of Charlotte Perkins-Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper; indeed, there are several overt references here to the 19th century short story, not least in Grace’s frantic stripping of the heavily-patterned wallpaper with her fingernails, or her crawling through the long grass just like Perkin-Gilman’s “creeping woman”. It’s not just the remote house and the remote husband, nor even the medicalisation of female emotions or the retreat into a fantasy world. More than any of that, it’s the mind-numbing boredom of the protagonist’s existence, and her refusal to accept this as her lot.

A real contender for my film of the year, Die, My Love is a bravura piece of movie-making: stark, beautiful and as uncompromising as its heroine.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

The Glass Menagerie

07/11/25

Royal Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

Directed by Andrew Panton, this production of The Glass Menagerie (from Dundee Rep, Citizens and the Royal Lyceum) is an altogether gentler and less histrionic affair than other interpretations I have seen – and all the more compelling for it. Emily James’ barely-there set echoes the characters’ fragility, underscoring the narrator’s opening assertion that the play “is not realistic.” The overt theatricality – the fourth-wall breaking; the exaggerated miming as the family eat a meal – paradoxically emphasises the underlying authenticity, the idea that this is “truth in the pleasant disguise of illusion”.

The time: 1937. The place: St Louis, Missouri. Our narrator is Tom Wingfield (Christopher Jordan-Marshall), and it’s no coincidence that he shares his initials with the playwright. The Glass Menagerie was described by Tennessee Williams as “a memory play,” a loosely autobiographical attempt to pin down his relationship with his emotional past – so it makes perfect sense that Tom should be an aspiring writer, desperate to escape the clutches of a dead-end job in a broken economy. He is consumed by the need for freedom in all its guises – creative, personal, sexual – bitterly resentful of his mother’s insistence that it is his duty to stay at home and provide for her and his sister.

His mother, Amanda (Sara Stewart), is the kind of fading Southern belle Williams is famous for, but – at least in this iteration – she’s less monstrous than Blanche DuBois or Maggie the Cat. This Amanda reminds me more of Austen’s Mrs Bennett: a woman made ridiculous by her desire to find a husband for her daughter, even though her zealotry makes perfect sense in a society where women are financially dependent on men. Stewart imbues Amanda with warmth and likability, while also making clear exactly why Tom finds her so intolerable.

Amy Conachan’s Laura is irresistible. She is Tom’s older sister, but a combination of shyness and disability means that she is far less worldly-wise than him. In fact, they are opposites in almost every respect. While Tom finds the city too small and claustrophobic, Laura is agoraphobic, too terrified even to open the front door, let alone build a life for herself outside the home. Tom rails against his situation but Laura has ruefully accepted her lot in life, successfully side-stepping Amanda’s attempts to set her up on dates and dedicating herself to the care of her collection of delicate glass ornaments. So it’s all the more heartbreaking to see her open up to Tom’s kindly friend, Jim (Declan Spaine), only to have her hopes dashed by his smiling comment that he’d love to have a sister just like her. Exquisitely acted, the extended duologue between this pair is a real highlight for me.

The dreamy nature of the play is further emphasised by the music, liltingly performed by Spaine as the story unfolds, and Simon Wilkinson’s light design perfectly complements the ethereal atmosphere, at times illuminating the characters’ faces in such a way as to almost create cinematic close-ups, so that we’re forced to focus on their pain and misery.

This beautifully-realised production of The Glass Menagerie has only one more showing at the Lyceum, so you’ll have to be quick if you want to get yourself a ticket for tonight’s performance.

4.6 stars

Susan Singfield