Edinburgh 2023

Soldiers of Tomorrow

09/08/23

Summerhall (Old Lab), Edinburgh

Former Israeli soldier, Itai Erdal, has an acutely focused view on the complex issues that surround the Arab-Israeli conflict and the occupation of Palestine, so much so that he, a former soldier himself, eventually decided to pack up his belongings and emigrate to Vancouver. It is his belief that the situation in Israel is fast approaching boiling point.

In the Old Lab at Summer Hall, battalions of tiny plastic soldiers stand guard as we enter the performance space. (A hapless audience member manages to stand on some of them and is clearly mortified, but this will prove to be ironic later.) Erdal enters and tells us a story about his regular visits to his barber, an Iraqi, who shaves him using an old fashioned straight razor – and how he can never quite stop himself from picturing this smiling, friendly man taking that razor and cutting his throat…

The following monologue takes in some of Erdal’s personal experiences in the Israeli army: interactions with his fellow troops; encounters with people who may or may not be dangerous. As he talks, Syrian musician Ermad Armoush plays live, complex pieces on traditional instruments, clearly with the intention of underpinning the monologue, though occasionally managing to obscure what Erdal is saying.

I’d be the first to admit that I’m woefully ignorant about the situation in the Middle East; as Erdal points out, many Westerners are uncomfortable discussing it, concerned about unintentionally sounding anti-Semitic. By the end of the show, I know a great deal more about the subject – a sequence utilising a whole collection of flags is particularly useful, effectively illustrating how Israel has been ruled by so many different nations over the millennia – but I feel that the delicate balance between lecture and entertainment is often too heavily weighted towards the former. At one point Erdal strides around with a very realistic automatic weapon which makes me feel really uncomfortable. That’s the point, I guess, and it works. Erdal is worried that his homeland is guilty of the very racism it was established to mitigate, and he’s distraught that his that his nephew, Ido, has recently followed in his footsteps and enlisted in the army.

It serves us all well to understand as much as we can about the Arab-Israeli situation, and there is much to learn from Soldiers of Tomorrow.

3 stars

Philip Caveney

Please Love Me

08/08/23

Pleasance Dome (Ace), Edinburgh

We last saw Clementine Bogg-Hargroves in Skank, a self-penned one-woman show, which was a bright spot in 2021’s weird semi-Fringe, even though it was largely about smear tests.  

This year’s offering is, if anything, even more up close and personal; certainly it’s more literally in-your-face. We’re in the front row, only a few feet away from the small stage, where there’s no shying away from Bogg-Hargroves’ intense, pleading gaze. Or her pole-dancing.

Please Love Me is, as the title suggests, all about need – specifically the need for love and validation. It’s also about the nature of choice, about how the decisions we make are actually part of our conditioning. “Please love me,” Clem asks again and again. By the end of the hour, we kind of do. 

In this deeply personal coming-of-age story (it’s “almost all, sort of, maybe true”), Bogg-Hargroves revisits her teenage years and her burgeoning sexuality. It’s all here: the funny stuff, the silly stuff, the friendships, trauma and heartbreak. Okay, so maybe we haven’t all done a stint as a stripper or fallen pregnant at nineteen, but I think the emotional landscape will be recognisable to most women; it isn’t hard to empathise.

Bogg-Hargroves is a disarming performer, and she’s ably supported by co-writer and director Zoey Barnes. Indeed, I’d like to see Barnes doing more; she has a likeable stage presence, and works well as a steady foil to Clem’s heightened emotions. The set is simple – a pole and some scaffolding – and, along with the costumes, cleverly contrives to create the visual impact of a strip club without the titillation.

Please Love Me is an engaging and disarmingly frank piece of theatre that raises as many questions as it answers.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Wiesenthal

05/08/23

Pleasance Courtyard (Beneath), Edinburgh

Simon Wiesenthal is remembered as the infamous ‘Nazi hunter’ – the man chiefly responsible for bringing more than a thousand former members of the Third Reich to justice in the years following the Second World War. In this compelling monologue, written by Tom Dugan, we meet up with the titular character at an auspicious time: on his final day of work before his retirement. In a small, cluttered office, he shares some of his experiences. They range from the sweetly uplifting to the downright harrowing.

Christopher C Gibbs performs the piece with absolute authority, guiding us into Wiesenthal’s life and taking us through the many experiences that brought him to where he is now, still hoping to close his latest case before finally calling it a day. He is at times avuncular, charming, sharing a little joke, or a cannily constructed observation. At other times, we are aware of the righteous anger simmering within him, his outrage at the injustice that was systematically dealt out to an entire race of people.

At several points in this narrative, I’m aware of my eyes filling with tears and I’m powerless to stop them from flowing. But it’s by no means an ordeal. Dugan’s script is skilfully constructed, knowing just when to step back from the horror and when to unleash it. Indeed, what emerges most strongly is the central character’s sense of balance, his acceptance that evil happens and that we do not go after it with vengeance in mind, but with the supreme conviction that everyone must made to answer for their crimes. He also implores us never to forget and to guard against those world leaders who increasingly threaten to take us back down the same path.

Despite the gravity of the subject this is a strangely uplifting story of courage and tenacity, which makes for a riveting theatrical experience. It’s clear from the heartfelt intensity of the applause at the play’s conclusion that the entire audience feels the same way.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney