Edinburgh

The Invite

06/07/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Married couple Joe (Seth Rogen) and Angela (Olivia Wilde) are locked in a beautifully-gilded cage of an apartment, inherited from his parents. They’re both desperately miserable, but they don’t know how to break free, trapped by social convention and their own inertia. The couple who’ve moved in upstairs, Pina (Penélope Cruz) and Hawk (Edward Norton), are their polar opposites: lively, curious, fresh and uninhibited. So when Angela invites their new neighbours down for drinks, the scene is set for a perfect storm.

Directed by Wilde, with a snappy screenplay by Will McCormack and Rashida Jones, The Invite is a tragicomedy of manners, at times laugh-out-loud funny but also moving and profound. Joe and Angela’s unhappiness is so horribly ordinary; exhausted by disappointment, they blame each other for their broken dreams, unable to break free from the prison they’ve created. Pina is a sex therapist and that’s the function her character performs: Pina and Hawk’s vibrant, overtly sexual relationship shining an unforgiving light on Joe and Angela’s marriage, prompting the joyless couple to examine their feelings and acknowledge that they cannot carry on. The laughs come in the form of toe-curling awkwardness and physical ineptitude, the clash between fantasy and reality. But we’re never allowed to forget that these are real people, their humiliations causing real pain.

A remake of the Cesc Gay’s 2020 Spanish film, The People Upstairs, this is something of a triumph, Wilde perfectly encapsulating the claustrophobic atmosphere of a failing marriage. Although Joe and Angela’s apartment is twice the size of Hawk and Pina’s, their world is so much smaller, the four walls constraining them. We can feel this in the direction, the actors seemingly too big for the space, unable to move without knocking things over and breaking them.

The four actors work well together. None of the characters is especially likeable, but they’re all sympathetically drawn and we want a happy ending for them. Rogen is effortlessly funny, eliciting most of the laughs with his gloomy defeatism and misplaced anger, while Norton somehow manages to imbue the world’s smuggest, most annoying man with enough humanity to save him. Cruz is so charming that Pina’s sharpness becomes an attribute, while Wilde’s quiet desperation is genuinely painful.

This is Wilde’s third feature as a director. I loved her 2019 debut, Booksmart, and also found a lot to admire in 2022’s Don’t Worry, Darling, although the latter was perhaps a little muddled. The Invite is her most sophisticated to date, and I’m already keen to see where she goes next.

4.7 stars

Susan Singfield

Virginia Woolf’s Night & Day

22/06/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Despite the prominence of the famous name in the title, Justine Waddell’s movie adaptation of Night & Day bears only a passing resemblance to Virginia Woolf’s 1919 novel, stripping away a lot of the author’s thorny political nuance in favour of a lighter, more straightforward feminism.

Kit Hilbery (Haley Bennett) rails against the confines of her class and gender. Her parents (Jennifer Saunders and Timothy Spall) want her to marry her childhood friend, the affable William Rodney (Jack Whitehall), but Kit – an aspiring astronomer – has other plans. She wants to go to Cambridge. Okay, so women aren’t actually allowed to study at the men’s college she’s applied to, nor permitted to join the Royal Astronomical Society, but Kit’s nothing if not determined. Someone has to be the first, right?

Kit isn’t alone in her fight against the old order. Her gay cousin, Cy (Misia Butler), has his own battles to face, and her new pal, Mary Datchet (Lily Allen), is an active member of the Suffragette Society, working full-time to change the world.

And, of course, there’s always a bit of romance to complicate things. Kit doesn’t fancy her fiancé, William, but there’s more than a spark between her and Ralph Denham (Elyas M’Barek), the lower-class radical hired to edit her mother’s sprawling book. But why shouldn’t Kit strive for emotional fulfilment as well as intellectual? After all, she’s used to reaching for the stars…

Directed by Tina Ghavari, the setting is vividly realised, and Bennett gives a spirited performance in the central role, imbuing Kit with an earnest vulnerability that ensures we’re on her side. Whitehall also acquits himself well (I guess ‘congenial toff’ isn’t much of a stretch for him), but it’s Butler’s brittle façade that gives the film its emotional depth.

I’m less keen on the (presumably deliberate) anachronism in Datchet’s presentation: Allen’s costume and hair are in line with current fashion, in contrast to the Edwardian garb worn by the other characters. What’s more, we never get to know anything about her or her politics, beyond the fact that she thinks women should have the vote and prints pamphlets saying so. Still, Datchet is positively well-developed compared to Kit’s Aunt Celia (Elizabeth Edmonds) and Cousin Joan (Sally Phillips), two fine actors whose talent is entirely wasted in these pointless roles.

Despite it’s style and elegance, Night & Day is something of a mixed bag: not funny enough for a comedy, not political enough for a polemic and not romantic enough for a love story. It’s an entertaining watch that doesn’t quite cohere.

3.4 stars

Susan Singfield

Heron

20/06/26

Henderson Street, Leith

Regular readers of B&B will know that it has, for some years now, been our regular custom to celebrate Susan’s birthday with a trip to a high-end restaurant. This practice has recently become more complicated after she was diagnosed with a gluten intolerance. We were surprised to discover that some of the venues we approached this year were adamant that they could not – would not – make any alterations to their hallowed menus.

Happily, Heron assured us that they could easily accommodate such a dietary requirement: they only use limited amounts of gluten anyway, and can always substitute a tasty alternative in those recipes that do feature it. So on a beautiful summer’s evening we make the trip out to Leith Shore to the relaxed, convivial venue that is already one of our favourite places to eat.

We start off with a selection of amuse bouches – complex little creations that virtually explode with a variety of intense flavours. For me, there’s an Isle of White tomato burrata, sea trout with rhubarb, chilli and beetroot and lobster with gooseberry and dill. Instead of burrata, Susan has something made of chickpeas, which is far more elaborate than it sounds. All of the flavour combinations are vibrant and exciting and get our taste buds ready for the dishes to come. 

Bread is not usually something to shout about, but Heron’s seeded loaf served with salted butter and house charcuterie is one of their celebrated standards – and they’ve even made a gluten-free version so Susan doesn’t have to miss out. The trick here is not to devour the whole thing in one go but to eke it out through the following courses so you have something on hand to mop up the variety of sauces that ensue.

Next up there’s a hand-dived Orkney scallop, served with chive, hazelnut and oscietra caviar, salty and crunchy and every bit as tasty as you would expect – and this is followed by what might be the high point of the meal, North Sea squid served with asparagus spears, blackcurrant leaf and walnuts. It’s not just that the mingling flavours in the dish are truly out of this world, there’s also the ingenious way the squid has somehow been made to impersonate tagliatelle. And lest you think that’s it for the fish courses, how about a tender hunk of crisp-skinned sea bream, wallowing in a broth of mussel, whey, lovage, pea and spruce tip? Here it is – and it’s spectacular!

On to the meat courses, starting with a veal sweetbread on a bed of corn, girolle and black truffle. Some diners are put off by the thought of what a sweetbread actually is but set that thought aside and this is very good indeed. Even better is the tender slice of Harthstane’s sika deer, liberally ladled with a sauce comprising beetroot, rose harissa and dukkah (a traditional Egyptian condiment made from toasted nuts, seeds and spices).

At this point, we are offered the possibility of a cheese course, but we’re flagging a bit and want to ensure that we have room for the pudding, so we politely decline and move straight on to ‘buttermilk’ – a description that hardly does justice to a beautifully crafted palate cleanser, comprising lemon, bay and macadamias. It is utterly delicious and, just as I’m thinking that they’ll never top that, ‘strawberry’ arrives: another understated title that cannot begin to describe an exquisite concoction of – well, guess what? – on a bed of pistachio and black cardamom, served with a scoop of sorbet.

We ask for the bill and this arrives in a little wooden box accompanied by three handmade petit fours nestled on a bed of coffee beans, each mouthful more delicious than the last. A sweet, sugary jelly flavoured with sea buckthorn is perhaps the most memorable, but they are all wonderful examples of the confectioner’s art.

Heron is a unique dining establishment that produces some of the finest cuisine I’ve ever tasted. Those who don’t want to go the full tasting menu route, can opt for a simpler three-course affair (let’s face it, no one could eat like this every day) but, for a special occasion, the team here can provide a dining experience that will linger in memory long after the last mouthful has been swallowed. And for those who can no longer enjoy gluten, this is the place to come.

5 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

Mayday: Rapid Responses to Our Times

01/05/26

Central Hall, Edinburgh

This National Theatre of Scotland production, co-curated and directed by Cora Bissett and Hannah Lavery, comprises live music, theatre, poetry, comedy and dance. Commissioned as a rapid-response project – a reaction to our turbulent political climate – this is part call-to-arms and part howl into the void. Because sometimes we need the catharsis of the latter before we can can put on our big-girl pants and contemplate the former.

Organisationally, this is a triumph, each act flowing smoothly into the next, even when an ensemble as large as the Loud and Proud choir has to file onto the stage. There’s a lot that could go wrong: as well as the numerous performances, there are short films, set changes and BSL interpreters, not to mention the house band. That it all unfolds without a glitch is mightily impressive.

The auditorium is packed; this is a sell-out. It’s not surprising: we’re all looking for answers and maybe artists are the right people to pose the questions. They have strong voices, diverse audiences and myriad means of expression. Some of us will respond to ideas that emerge from dance; others to music or drama. It doesn’t matter. Anything that makes us pause and think. And act accordingly.

For me, the strongest elements of the evening are the punchiest. The songs – especially Dawn Sievewright’s rendition of Bissett’s It’s No a Wean’s Choice and Kitti’s feminist polemic – are especially stirring, and I also appreciate the insights I gain from both Tia Rey and Sanjeev Kohli’s spoken word sections. The choirs are very affecting, as is the garland of socks that campaign group Mothers Against Genocide Scotland have hung around the venue, each tiny bootee representing a child who has died in Gaza.

Although theatre is usually my favourite art-form, I find the dramatic scenes included here the least effective elements of the evening. Although they’re well-performed (and have been penned by writers I admire, including Apphia Campbell and Uma Nada-Rajah), there isn’t enough time for the arguments to develop or for us to fully engage with the characters.

No matter. Overall, the evening is a resounding success, reminding us that – together – we can make a difference. There are lots of people out there, right now, trying – and, if we join them, we can become part of the solution. Because we really do have to do something, don’t we?

Even if it’s as small as turning out to vote next week, to stop the fascists in their tracks.

Susan Singfield

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

The Light House

28/03/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Alys Williams’ one-woman show raises some important issues about caring for someone who is struggling with their mental health. The play opens with a boat on a stormy sea – and the terrifying realisation that someone has fallen in. “Man overboard!” yells Williams. “Man overboard!” echo the audience members she has previously primed. “Call the bridge!” Williams says. “Blow the whistle! Throw the lifebuoy! Point!”

The final instruction is the hardest to follow, because she has to keep pointing without looking away until someone else comes to take over.

No matter how long that takes.

The metaphor soon becomes clear. The protagonist’s boyfriend experiences suicidal ideation. When he’s found on a Dublin bridge, contemplating throwing himself into the Liffey, she tries her best to rise to the occasion. She sounds the alarm: “Man overboard!” She doesn’t let him out of her sight. But no one comes to her assistance, and her own wellness begins to suffer.

It’s interesting to see this story from the caregiver’s point of view. However, although this is very much Alys’s tale, I think the piece would benefit from a deeper exploration of Nathan’s experience, offering us more insight into his illness than the superficial assertion that he’s ‘depressed’. Without this, it’s hard to appreciate the extent to which Alys’s care is needed.

From a dramatic point of view, there’s not a lot of jeopardy. Williams assures us at the beginning that everything turns out okay, and it does – with nary a bump on the road. Aside from the initial incident – where Nathan thinks about killing himself and then decides not to – everything progresses relatively smoothly. Sure, there are the long waiting lists for psychiatric care, his parents’ worries about their medical insurance and Alys’s spiralling anxiety. But none of these potentially serious complications ever amounts to anything, which makes the play feel strangely anticlimactic.

Nonetheless, Williams is a very engaging performer. Directed by Andrea Heaton, her gentle, inclusive demeanour makes the audience participation work well. I also like her use of puppetry and clowning; in fact, I think Williams could make more of these to amplify the emotional impact. The set (by Emma Williams) is effective, conjuring both boat and bedsit, its many ladders and hiding places allowing for dynamic movement.

A nicely-told drama about a vital subject, The Light House is on tour until the 24th May.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

The Swansong

18/03/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Based on a 2008 radio play by David Greig, this lunchtime musical by Eve Nicol and Finn Anderson tells the tale of a suicidal young woman saved by a talking swan. And yes, it’s as quirky as it sounds.

Lydia (Julia Murray) can’t see a way forward. After “a shit day, a shit week, a shit life,” she’s had enough. Armed with a bottle of gin and a headful of suicidal thoughts, she walks to her local duckpond, intent on drowning herself in its muddy shallows. But when she stumbles into Swan (Paul McArthur)’s nest, he offers her a deal: if she’ll come with him for one last party, he’ll make it so she can die instantly and painlessly just by clicking her fingers, any time she wants. Curious, Lydia agrees.

And so follows a wild night out, as the unlikely duo fly across the Edinburgh skies before drinking their way from bar to sex club to London sleeper train. As the hours pass, Lydia becomes less intent on ending her life. It’s not that Swan does or says anything especially profound, it’s just that he’s there, listening without judging, giving her the space and time to reconsider.

With an onstage band comprising musical director Dale Parker (piano) and Rachel Dunns (sax and flute), the music is seamlessly integrated into this latest piece for A Play, A Pie and A Pint, as Swan encourages Lydia to take to the pub stages and sing her self-penned songs. Both Murray and McArthur have soulful, expressive voices, ensuring we make a real emotional connection with their characters.

However, although the performances are faultless and the direction cohesive, I can’t help feeling that this play adds up to less than the sum of its parts. There’s clearly an allusion to Leda and the Swan, but the storylines are very different and I don’t know what I’m supposed to infer. Is it simply the collision of the human and the divine? If so, to what end? I’m also unconvinced by the Swan’s proposal: if Lydia really wants to die, she already knows how to make that happen. Surely he needs to offer something more than a slightly quicker way out?

Nonetheless, there’s no denying that, despite its dark themes, this is an engaging piece of musical theatre, and a more than worthwhile way to spend your lunch hour.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

The Bacchae

09/03/26

The Studio at Festival Theatre, Edinburgh

“Bloody Greek tragedies are like bloody buses,
You wait for several years,
And as soon as one approaches your local theatre,
Another one appears.”
(With apologies to Wendy Cope)

Hot on the heels of Medea at the Traverse comes The Bacchae at the Festival Theatre’s Studio, a striking solo version of Euripides’ compelling – and many-peopled – play. Written and performed by Company of Wolves’ artistic director Ewan Downie, this has been intelligently condensed from the sprawling original.

Downie is Dionysus, the god of change – a conceit that lends itself well to the multi-rolling necessary here. The son of Zeus and a mortal woman, Semele, Dionysus both narrates his own story and transforms into a raft of other characters, all perfectly distinct thanks to Downie’s precise physicalisation.

Employing Ancient Greek specialist, Dr Michael Carroll, as a creative consultant is a masterstroke, lending this radical interpretation a sense of authenticity. The narrative is typically convoluted. When the pregnant Semele dies at the sight of her lover, Zeus, in his divine form, the god seizes the embryonic Dionysus and gestates him in his thigh. Raising a baby isn’t on Zeus’s agenda though, so he tasks Semele’s sister, Agave, with parenting the boy. She obliges, but her own son, Pentheus, is understandably jealous of his half-god cousin. This resentment follows the men into adulthood, leading Pentheus, now King of Thebes, to forbid his people from worshipping the increasingly popular Dionysus, who preaches liberation from social restraints, encouraging his followers to indulge in frenzied, wine-fuelled rituals. Where else can their enmity lead but to murder?

This is as much a piece of performance art as it is theatre: a visual spectacle set to poetry and song. Downie’s commitment is absolute, and it’s his sincerity and conviction that holds our attention. The contemporary set design (by Alisa Kalyanova) clashes with the millennia-old narrative, but I like this discordancy: it reflects the dissolution of boundaries highlighted by the queer subtext. The only off-note for me is the use of a plastic bottle of water. I’m sure there’s some reason behind the decision, but it looks pragmatic rather than intentional, unlike anything else on the stage.

Originally directed by the late Ian Spink and with Heather Knudsten now holding the reins, CoW’s The Bacchae is a fascinating, labyrinthine drama, anchored by an extraordinary central performance.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Medea

06/03/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

“I am not a part of the story you tried to write
I am the story
And it ends when I say so”

Filicide – the murder of one’s children – is mercifully rare but, in the context of parental separation, it’s predominantly fathers who perpetrate it as revenge. Euripides’ 2500-year-old story of Medea stands out because she is a woman, and there’s nothing we perceive as more monstrous than a non-maternal mom.

Bard in the Botanics’ contemporary retelling, written by Kathy McKean and directed by Gordon Barr, is essentially an exploration of Medea (Nicole Cooper)’s motives, helping us to understand what leads her to this dreadful act. Although her children are never seen, their centrality is immediately established, as the play opens with their Nurse (Isabelle Joss) and their Tutor (Alan Steele) discussing Medea’s emotional reaction to her husband’s abandonment. We can infer the boys’ youth and innocence from the clothes the Nurse hangs on the washing line – a small dinosaur hoody, some bright blue shorts – and the toys that lie where they’ve landed, under the table or by the wall.

McKean’s Jason (Johnny Panchaud) is a swaggering cad, still revelling in the glory of his golden fleece adventure. Over the years, he’s managed to erase Medea’s contribution from his story, claiming all the credit for himself. Their love – for which she sacrificed everything she’d ever known or cared about – is no longer enough for him; he thinks he’s worthy of more. Why shouldn’t he pursue Glauce, an actual princess? After all, it’s not as if he and Medea were ever actually wed, is it? Besides, Medea’s being pretty selfish denying him this new relationship, because he’s only really marrying Glauce to ennoble their sons, and does she really want to deny them the chance to better themselves?

It’s no surprise that Medea grows to hate him, and Cooper’s depiction of her furious heartbreak is utterly compelling. We see her simultaneously as a broken woman, hurt beyond reason, and a towering force, refusing to give in. Cooper is magnetic in the role, desperately pleading with individual members of the audience to help her (we’re stand-ins for the chorus), and convincing us that Medea’s vengeance is justified. In all honesty, we’re kind of on board with the murders of Glauce and King Creon (Steele), so it comes as a shock when she finally performs the act she’s most famous for, and it’s every bit as nightmarish as it should be. Under Barr’s direction, the filicide itself is quiet, symbolised by Medea’s intertwining of two small sweaters on the floor, as she lays her children down for their final sleep, the silence eventually shattered by Jason’s loud, appalled reaction.

Medea’s is a difficult tale, and McKean’s writing never shies away from the complexity of her character. Instead, we are shown the personal and societal forces that foster her dark urges, allowed to understand – but not excuse – her horrible revenge.

Little wonder this story has endured, with its irresistible mix of mayhem and melodrama, its excavation of human depravity and the lengths we’ll go to when we’re hurt. Although there’s only one more night at the Traverse here in Edinburgh, the tour of Scotland continues until 11th April, so there are plenty of opportunities to catch it if you can.

4.6 stars

Susan Singfield