Edinburgh

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

Fairytales ’26

28/02/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

This evening’s scratch night features three works-in-progress, co-written and directed by Jordan S Daniel and Tash McPhillips. If the title makes you think of happy-ever-afters, you’ll need to manage your expectations. There are no wicked step-families either, no magic beans, no once-upon-a-times.

Instead, we are introduced to Cleo (Samuela Noumtchuet), Mark (Kieran Lee-Hamilton) and Jaye (Amandine Jalon), each with an individual tale to tell. Cleo is an AI sex-bot, who wants to become a real woman. Think Pinocchio, but grown up. Next is Mark, a modern version of the big bad wolf: an incel, huffing and puffing at women for not desiring him, certain it’s because they’re shallow and nothing to do with him being creepy AF. And finally, there’s Jaye, as innocent and hopeful as Hans Christian Andersen’s little mermaid, escaping the confines of their provincial life to seek forbidden love in London. But their excitement at living openly as a lesbian soon sours, when they learn that their new girlfriend is transphobic, and the brave new city they’ve embraced is not as accepting as it first seems.

The actors all perform with gusto. Noumtchuet in particular plays up the comedic elements of her role, much to the delight of tonight’s supportive audience, who respond with gales of laughter. Lee-Hamilton successfully conveys the loathsome Mark’s sense of peevish entitlement, while Jalon engages our sympathy for Jaye, as their dreams of a happy life begin to crumble around them.

The three monologues deal with some of the most thought-provoking, urgent issues of our times, and for this I commend them. However, the polemic is sometimes overwhelming, making me feel as if I am listening to a lecture. As these works-in-progress are developed into longer pieces, I’m sure there will be more space for nuance, allowing the themes to be illuminated rather than stated – shown, not told.

There’s no denying the importance of the topics raised by Daniel and McPhillips, and I’m glad to see that Scottish theatre is doing the right thing and giving a platform to queer voices.

Susan Singfield

The Flames

14/02/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

The Flames is a Tricky Hat Theatre Company for over 50s – and it’s a glorious example of the merits of community theatre. Here, twenty-two amateur performers gather to share their stories, which are then shaped into a cohesive series of vignettes by professional directors, Fiona Miller and Scott Johnston. As an audience member, I find it powerful and life-affirming. For the participants, I’m sure it’s potently therapeutic.

Thanks to choreographer Laura Bradshaw, the piece eddies and flows in a way that feels almost elemental. Set to Malcolm Ross’s gentle score, performed live on an electric guitar, the movement is precise and careful. It’s also wild at times, as varied as the tide. I especially like the super-slow-mo section – where one actor is speaking centre-stage and the others are placing their chairs and sitting on them so gradually that the motion is barely discernible – followed immediately by a change of pace, as the actors rush to surround the speaker.

The stories are short, focusing on those small moments that make a life. Love, loss, outrage, joy – they’re all here. One woman remembers a hat that saves her from falling cicadas, another a psychopath who declared his love. A widow asks if we believe in love at first sight, and recalls the day she met her husband. A shell-shocked man tells us about his wife’s cancer diagnosis. We hear about sibling rivalry, domestic violence, fun days out and so much more. Even within this not-very-diverse looking ensemble, there are myriad experiences.

The production levels are high – this is a polished and impressive piece of theatre – thanks in no small part to Kim Beveridge’s digital design. Projected onto the backdrop is monochrome video footage of the performers: sometimes in extreme close-up, highlighting their emotions; sometimes mid-shots, focusing on the bonds that have formed between them.

This is am-dram with a difference, deeply personal and beautifully crafted.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

[Un]lovable: a Work-in-Progress Performance

13/02/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Not So Nice Theatre Company presents a Valentine’s scratch-night with an acerbic edge, showing excerpts from five works-in-progress, all inspired by the prompt, ‘Unlovable’. In the run up to February 14th, the world is awash with heart-shaped tat and exhortations to be romantic. But sometimes life just doesn’t pan out that way…

First up is Clown Divorce, written by Russ Russell and directed by Sarah Docherty. We first meet Clown (Chris Veteri) as he struggles to push a suitcase across the stage. The visual gag is funny precisely because of its predictability: as the drawn out routine builds to its inevitable conclusion, the laughs it receives are very well-earned. Along the way, we begin to notice small details. Clown isn’t wearing any shoes, his socks have blood on them – and where is his red nose? The clue is in the title. Clown has recently divorced, and has lost half of his identity in the process…

Next, we have Wish Me Luck by Melissa Ainsworth. Cassie (Hannah-Mae Engstorm) has just been dumped and is contemplating jumping in front of a bus. Not that she wants to kill herself, mind. She just wants to grab her ex’s attention. But passer-byJamie (Jamie Cowan) isn’t about to stand by and watch it happen. Not after everything he’s been through… Directed by Adele Tunnicliff, WML has an intriguing premise, but needs more time to do justice to the complex issues it raises.

The final piece of the first act is Ryan Lithgow’s three-hander Tit for Tat, starring Veteri (again) as Nathan, Stan Ross as Darcey and Samuela Noumtchuet as Ellie. Under Cormac Myles’ direction, this is a tense dissection of a relationship, the two men veering from hurt and hostility to an uneasy admission that their anger stems from a place of love. However, Noumtchuet is under-used as Ellie: the character’s sudden, unexpected appearance ought to herald a change in pace or tone, but the men’s dialogue continues in much the same vein as before, as they rehash their past.

The standout piece comes after the interval: Emma McCaffrey’s funny and heartbreaking monologue, La Solitude, directed by Becca Donley. We’re well aware of McCaffrey’s prowess as a performer (we have seen them in Lung Ha’s Castle Lennox and Stella Quines’ Disciples) but this is our first experience of them as a playwright and I suspect it won’t be the last. The piece is beautifully written with just the right amount of levity to carry its serious points. At once laugh-out-loud funny, poignant and provocative, this is an intensely thought-provoking play. McCaffrey is Lee, a lively, engaging young woman, who – like McCaffrey – has autism and learning difficulties. We first meet her as a child, eight years old, receiving a diagnosis she doesn’t understand and which nobody explains to her. All she knows is that it makes her parents cry. As a teenager, she is isolated at school, infantilised by teachers and support workers, unable to make friends. And things don’t improve when she reaches adulthood: Lee can’t live independently, but that doesn’t mean she’s a child; it doesn’t mean she doesn’t want a job, a social life, or – heaven forfend – a love life. Why shouldn’t she?

Last up, we have Defective, written and directed by Not So Nice’s own AD, Grace Ava Baker. We’re in the near future and Abigail (Indigo Buchanan) has just given birth. The Assessor (Eleanor Tate) has some bad news… With a premise akin to Minority Report, Defective explores the idea of original sin from a mother’s perspective. Is nature really so much more important than nurture? What price are we prepared to pay for a safer society? And whose word should we accept about our children’s destiny? Although the ending is a little muddled – without giving too much away, I don’t understand what Abigail does with that syringe – this is a compelling piece, raising some important questions about autonomy.

All in all, this is an thoroughly entertaining evening, a welcome antidote to all the red roses and slushy poetry.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Hamlet

08/02/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

I’m a sucker for a modern interpretation of Shakespeare, illuminating the continued relevance of his themes. I’m also a menopausal woman who needs to pee quite frequently, so when I read that Aneil Karia’s Hamlet has a tight sub-two-hour running time, I’m sold. I might actually be able to sit through the whole film!

London, 2025. Hamlet (Riz Ahmed) is devastated by the death of his father (Avijit Dutt), the mega-rich owner of a controversial construction company, Elsinore. Numb with grief, the young heir is horrified when his mother (Sheeba Chaddha) announces she plans to remarry without delay – taking Old Hamlet’s brother, Claudius (Art Malik), as her new husband.

As if things weren’t difficult enough, Hamlet soon has a lot more to deal with, when his father’s ghost appears before him, accusing Claudius of killing him and urging his son to seek revenge. True to Shakespearean form, Hamlet devises a convoluted scheme to prove his uncle’s guilt. He’ll pretend to be mad, verbally abuse his girlfriend, and interrupt his mum’s wedding with a play that shows the groom committing murder. What could possibly go wrong?

In this version, Hamlet and his family are British Indians, and we’re in England, not Denmark. In my favourite change to the original, Fortinbras is no longer the defeated King of Norway, but instead the name of a collective of homeless people, who’ve been displaced by Old Hamlet’s cruel business practices. Here, Hamlet’s madness is not just a reaction to his own situation, but a response to the belated realisation that his family’s wealth comes from theft and exploitation. His struggle, in the end, is to restore social justice, as well as to avenge his dad.

There’s a lot to like about this film. It’s exciting and propulsive, stripping Hamlet down to its most interesting parts, while retaining enough soul-searching to make us understand the young protagonist’s despair. I love the depiction of the players’ performing Old Hamlet’s murder, and the famous soliloquy (“To be or not to be…”) is utterly thrilling, as Hamlet – driving through London’s busy night-time streets – floors the accelerator and takes his hands off the steering wheel…

I’m not sure that the omission of Horatio works particularly well: the contrasting counsel of Horatio and Laertes (Joe Alwyn) adds an interesting dimension to the play that is lacking here. I also think that, in a contemporary adaptation such as this, Ophelia (Morfydd Clark) could be given more to do. On the other hand, I like the subtle changes to Gertrude’s character, cleverly rendering her innocent of any crime while also giving her more agency. Chaddha’s performance is nuanced and convincing – and Timothy Spall was surely born to play Polonius.

But this is Riz Ahmed’s film, and he’s as fine a Hamlet as I’ve ever seen: a flawed young man tormented by grief and guilt, behaving badly and impulsively, hurtling towards his own demise. It’s a tale as old as, well, four hundred years. And still it endures.

4 stars

Susan Singfield