Edinburgh

Hotdog

26/03/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Hotdog (Chloe-Ann Tylor) is all dressed up and ready to party! 

Wearing a garish hired costume and carrying a handbag, a phone and a bottle of lemonade, she’s leaving the sanctuary of her flat and heading off to an undisclosed location to strut her stuff. Outspoken and full of pent-up bile, she is determined that tonight she will be the life and soul of the party. She will dance and drink and curse and laugh out loud! She will sweep aside anybody who has a single bad word to say about her and show them who’s the boss.

But, as is so often the case, her forced exuberance only exists to mask a deeper, darker truth. Because something bad happened to Hotdog in the recent past – something that it’s going to take her a very long time to come to terms with.

Written by Ellen Ritchie and directed by Beckie Hope-Palmer, with an enchanting central performance  by Chloe-Ann Tylor, the latest piece from A Play, A Pie and a Pint is an astutely observed drama that deals with the subject of trauma. Tylor (most recently seen by B&B in  Same Team: A Street Soccer Story and in the fabulous Battery Park) talks directly to the audience, discussing her character’s uncompromising, no-holds-barred approach to life. She tells us about her apparent hatred of her over-protective mother and her revulsion for the kind of fridge-magnet things that people are prone to say to her. 

As she chips steadily away at the brittle carapace she’s constructed around herself, the real story gradually emerges – and it’s utterly heartbreaking.

Tylor is joined onstage by Ross Allan, who at first undertakes the role of a silent stage hand, ensuring that props, music cues and sound effects are there whenever Hotdog needs them. It’s only in the poignant final stretches that he becomes Andy, the proprietor of the chippy where Hotdog tends to finish up her evenings. As in his previous role, he is exactly the helping hand she needs, the one who keeps a caring eye on her. He’s also the bearer of a truth universally acknowledged – that Joni Mitchell is the greatest lyricist of all time.

Kenny Miller’s set might at first glance seem overly complicated, but all those meticulous white lines on the floor – like Hotdog’s motivation – eventually fall into place.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Mowgli Street Food

24/03/24

Hanover Street, Edinburgh

We’re not big on chains, but some of them are worth it. Dishoom, Wahaca, Wagamama: we’re looking at you. And now we can add Mowgli to the list.

I’ve been past this place on the bus a few times, and it looks lovely: a grand old building with more twinkling lights than Fairyland at Christmas. My interest is further piqued by listening to owner, Nisha Katona, on the Off Menu podcast. The concept – “the kind of food Indians eat at home and on their streets” – seems strong and some of those dishes sound amazing. Treacle tamarind fries? Yoghurt chat bombs? I need to try them

We’re long overdue a catch-up with some friends, so what better excuse to head into what, it turns out, was once the Clydesdale? “I used to bank here,” our pal tells us. The conversion has been more sympathetically managed than the Edinburgh Hawksmoor, also housed in an old bank, and which we found very imposing and austere. Here, the lofty space has been cunningly sectioned off so that it feels cosy and inviting, as well as very glamorous.

The food is good. It’s all small plates, and between us we sample four items from the House Kitchen (Agra ginger chicken, house lamb curry, mother butter chicken and Aunty Geeta’s prawn curry), two from the Hindu Kitchen (temple dahl and green ginger and rhubarb dahl), three Curry Companions (Mowgli slaw, roti breads and basmati rice) and, of course, those treacle tamarind fries. To the disappointment of one of our friends, there’s no Mowgli house keema available tonight, but he’s happy enough with what he orders instead.

The standout dishes are the lamb curry, which is melt-in-the-mouth tender – and, surprisingly, the slaw. None of us has ever considered coleslaw as an accompaniment to curry, but it works a treat, offering a cool, crispy contrast to all those rich sauces. We’ll be aiming to repeat the trick at home. But almost everything tastes great: the flavours are robust and interesting; the spicing delicate. I only have minor criticisms: I find the tomatoes in the prawn curry a little too astringent, and I can’t really taste the rhubarb in the ginger and rhubarb dahl. The tamarind fries are a revelation though. They’re very sweet and rich, so one portion between four of us is certainly enough, but they’re truly delicious.

None of us drinks alcohol, but there are several mocktails on offer, as well as a couple of 0% beers. The Estrella Dam goes down well with the others, and I enjoy a bottle of sparkling water.

We’re too full for either of the ‘big’ puddings available (gulab jamun or a chocolate brownie) but we can always find room for a little sweet something, so we’re pleased to see homemade ice cream cones on the menu. Sadly, the same friend who wanted the keema now learns that there’s no coconut ice cream, so he decides to do without. The rest of us go for either the salted caramel or the mango sorbet, and both are excellent.

All in all, we have a lovely evening. Of course, a lot of that is to do with the company, but Mowgli feels like a strong addition to the Edinburgh food scene, and I’m sure that we’ll be back. After all, I still need to try those yoghurt chat bombs.

4.1 stars

Susan Singfield

Blue Beard

15/03/24

Royal Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

I’m a massive fan of writer/director Emma Rice – and also of fairytales. I even wrote my own version of Blue Beard some years ago, a short story currently languishing in the proverbial drawer where unpublished fiction goes to die. So, co-produced by Wise Children, Birmingham Rep, HOME Manchester, York Theatre Royal, and – of course – Edinburgh’s Royal Lyceum, this adaptation promises to be a delight. It doesn’t disappoint.

We all know the story. Blue Beard is a charming villain: rich, handsome and very popular. Sure, he’s had more wives than Henry VIII, but he doesn’t pretend to be a saint, and it’s no surprise when a naïve young woman agrees to marry him. The surprise comes later, when he gives his new bride a key but prohibits her from using it, placing a temptation in her way that he knows she can’t resist. When, inevitably, she opens the forbidden door, she finds the dismembered corpses of his previous wives and understands immediately that she is next. Luckily, she has brothers, and they come riding to the rescue. And then – spoiler alert! – she lives happily ever after.

Naturally, things pan out a little differently here. Rice embraces the anarchic heart of the fairy tale, while simultaneously tearing it apart. The result is as chaotic and brash as anyone who knows her work will expect: maximalist and frantic and as unsubtle as the protagonist’s cerulean facial hair. I love it.

The music (by Stu Barker) is integral to the piece. It’s enthralling, and beautifully performed by the impressive cast, all of whom turn out to be quadruple-threats, not only dancing, singing and acting with aplomb, but also playing a range of instruments and, in the case of Mirabelle Gremaud, adding gymnastics and contortion to the mix.

Vicki Mortimer’s ingenious set comprises boxes within boxes: indeed, the whole play is a magic show, all dazzling mirror-balls and sleights of hand. The cabaret glitz enhances the plot: no wonder Lucky (Robyn Sinclair) finds Blue Beard (Tristan Sturrock) spellbinding; he’s a magician, after all; illusions are his stock-in-trade. The thrilling, illicit pleasure draws us in: we too are seduced by Blue Beard’s ostentation and flair; excited as he conjures a horse race from nowhere; throws knives at his assistant (Gremaud); saws Lucky in half. This first act is all about the seductive allure of darkness, the impulse that makes us devour murder-mysteries and glamourise the bad guys.

But Rice’s Blue Beard comes with a warning, in the form of Mother Superior (the fabulous Katy Owen), whose Convent of the Three Fs reminds us that real women – as opposed to their fairytale counterparts – are at once fearful, fucked and furious. She’s both narrator and chorus, veering between humour and rage, first undercutting the tension with a perfectly-placed “fuck off”, then skewering Blue Beard’s dangerous pomposity.

The second act draws all the disparate strands together. Lucky doesn’t have brothers who can rescue her, but she does have Treasure and Trouble, her mum and sister (Patrycja Kujawska and Stephanie Hockley), and Blue Beard is no match for this formidable trio.

Out in the real world, the Lost Sister (Gremaud) is not so lucky. A screen showing black and white CCTV footage of a man following a woman is a theatrical gut-punch, less visceral than the slo-mo, gore-spattered, cartoon battle we’ve just enjoyed, but much more chilling. The auditorium, which just a moment ago was a riot of whoops and claps, is silent, aghast. The Lost Brother (Adam Mirsky) weeps; the Mother Superior sheds her habit. The smoke clears; the illusion breaks.

This is theatre with a capital T.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

Escaped Alone

14/03/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

First performed at the Royal Court in 2016, Caryl Churchill’s Escaped Alone is a fascinating piece, revealing some essential human truths despite the brevity of its running time.

Three retired women – neighbours – sit in a garden, chatting inconsequentially. Mrs Jarrett (Blythe Duff) calls out a greeting as she passes by and is invited to take a seat. On the surface, she fits in, joining in the conversation. But she’s plagued by her knowledge of what’s happening in the news. At regular intervals, while the other women freeze, Mrs Jarrett rises and stands before Lewis den Hertog’s bleak black and white video projection, monologuing about apocalyptic events in the world beyond the garden. It’s like she’s zoning out, and we’re inside her head – and then she’s back again, making small talk, as if nothing has happened.

Although the catastrophes Mrs Jarrett describes are absurd in their extremity – all food has been diverted to TV channels; the hungry only know breakfast as an image on their screens; obese people sell their flesh, cutting rashers from their own bodies – the situation is depressingly normal. Just this morning, listening to the radio, I hear that 300 kidnapped Nigerian schoolchildren are still missing. In Gaza, shots have been fired at starving Palestinians waiting for a food truck. War still rages in Ukraine. It’s horrible. “Should we have curry or pasta for dinner tonight?” I ask my husband. We’re all fiddling while Rome burns.

The set, designed by Anna Orton, heightens the feeling of pretence. The grass is too green, the sky too blue; it’s what the women want to see, not what’s really there.

But, however fervently they cling to the façade they’ve created, real life keeps creeping in. “I’d love to go to Japan,” muses the agoraphobic (Anne Kidd). “Get yourself to Tesco first,” advises the caustic former GP (Joanna Tope), puncturing the daydream. Most resolutely cheerful of all is the ex-hairdresser (Irene McDougall), fresh out of prison for killing her husband. She went down for manslaughter, “but it might have been murder, in actual fact.” Nothing is what it seems.

Under Johanna Bowman’s direction, the performances are pulsing with vitality. There’s an urgency to proceedings that underscores the latent horror. Churchill’s script offers no real plot or character progression and this Tron Theatre production makes sense of that. It’s a snapshot of the way we’re stuck: a never-ending cycle of looking away; distracting ourselves from what’s really happening; ignoring the overpowering emotion consuming us.

“Terrible rage. Terrible rage. TERRIBLE RAGE.”

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

Origin

10/03/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Origin isn’t like any film I’ve seen before. Structurally, it’s akin to a dramatised lecture – but if that sounds dry, then I’m doing it a huge disservice. Writer/director Ava DuVernay has taken an academic text and created an artist’s impression of both the work and its author. The result is multi-layered: at once instructive and provocative – and absolutely riveting.

Based on Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents by Isabel Wilkerson (played here by Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor), Origin isn’t an easy watch. Wilkerson’s central conceit is that all oppression is linked – that the Holocaust, US slavery and India’s caste system all stem from the same fundamental practice of labelling one group of people ‘inferior’. This perception is entrenched via eight ‘pillars’, including endogamy, dehumanisation and heritability. DuVernay has done a sterling job of distilling these complex ideas and making them accessible, but the volume of cruelty on display is devastating. Who are we? Why do we keep on letting this happen? Some scenes are particularly heartbreaking, for example the young Al Bright (Lennox Simms)’s humiliating experience at a swimming pool in 1951, and I can hardly bear to mention the visceral horror of seeing people crammed into slave ships.

Ellis-Taylor’s Wilkerson is very engaging. She’s not only fiercely intelligent, but also thoughtful and gentle. Despite the weighty topics that dominate her working life, she finds time to have fun with her husband, Brett (Jon Bernthal), and to look after her mum, Ruby (Emily Yancy). She feels real.

Wilkerson’s personal life anchors the movie, which begins with her looking at retirement homes with Ruby. We see how Trayvon Martin (Myles Frost)’s shooting sows the first seed of her thesis, and then we jump back and forth in time and place, bearing witness to Nazi book burnings and Bhimrao Ambedkar’s ‘untouchable’ status; to Elizabeth and Allison Davis’s undercover work with Burleigh and Mary Gardner, documenting the everyday realities of racism in 1940s Mississippi. It is to DuVernay’s credit that we are never in any doubt about where we are or what point is being made.

There are moments when the concepts need bullet-pointing for clarity, and this is neatly achieved by the addition of a literal whiteboard. We see Wilkerson laboriously erecting it, before covering it in notes about the pillars that hold oppression in its place. This helps to anchor the key arguments, making them easy to grasp and remember.

Origin is a demanding piece of cinema, but it’s worth the effort. I come away feeling both horrified and educated, looking at the world in a different way.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Perfect Days

25/02/24

Cameo Cinema, Edinburgh

‘It’s about this guy who cleans toilets for a living.’

Yes, I know. On paper, Perfect Days doesn’t sound like the most promising scenario I’ve ever heard but, in the hands of veteran director, Wim Wenders, it’s so much more than I might have expected. Wenders is somebody who I used to love back in the day. Paris Texas (1984), is the movie I remember him best for, but, since Wings of Desire in 1987, I have lost track of his output. This latest offering is a charming, affectionate study of a man’s everyday working life and the various people he encounters along the way. 

Perfect Days picked up a couple of prestigious prizes at Cannes in 2023 and more recently was nominated for Best International Feature Film at the 96th Academy Awards. It’s easy to see the qualities that enchanted the judges.

The aforementioned toilet cleaner is Hirayama (Koji Yakusho), a quiet and reserved character who has very little to say for himself but who appears to have an almost zen-like appreciation of the world about him. He’s a man who is absolutely committed to his routine and, from the opening scene onward, we share it with him. He wakes in the early hours of the morning in his small but immaculately neat apartment and we travel with him in his van as he listens to a series of vintage songs on his cassette player – The Animals, Van Morrison and (perhaps not surprisingly given the title of the film) Lou Reed.

We work alongside him as he journeys from public toilet to public toilet, ranging from simple-but-functional cubicles to state-of-the-art superloos, sharing his brief interactions with the people he encounters along the way. Not all of them are strangers to him. There’s his feckless young colleague Takashi (Tokio Emoto), endlessly chasing after a woman called Aya (Aoi Yamada) and trying to find ways to earn enough money to go out with her. There’s Hirayama’s teenage niece, Niko (Arisa Nakano), who turns up unannounced at his door one evening after running away from home. And there’s Hirayama’s estranged sister, Keiko (Yumi Aso), who comes to collect her daughter and who cannot understand why her brother is ‘wasting his life’ in such a thankless occupation.

But as the story progresses, we begin to understand that Hirayama isn’t wasting his life. Far from it, he is carrying out important work to the best of his ability, with quiet dignity and determination. Of course, a life so based on routine only needs the slightest glitch to throw everything into turmoil, which happens when Takashi fails to show up one day, leaving Hirayama to do the work of two people…

As Perfect Days unfolds in its calm, understated way, it exerts an increasingly powerful grip on the viewer, gradually revealing more about its central character but always leaving us wanting to know a little more. It’s also true to say that the city of Tokyo is one of the most important characters in the film. Wenders unveils its various charms in so many different lights, from dawn to dusk, from sundown to sunrise. Franz Lustig’s cinematography depicts its back alleys and sidestreets, stares up at its neon lit skylines in a sort of swooning wonder. 

Yakusho’s performance is also a delight, his character saying little but revealing every emotion through his range of expressions, dour and perplexed one moment, on the verge of helpless laughter the next. It all culminates in an extended shot of him driving his van home as Nina Simone’s Feeling Good blasts from the tape deck, Hirayama’s face registering the sheer unadulterated joy of every line.

Some will claim that there’s not enough content here to sustain a two-hour running time, but I would respectfully disagree. This is a little gem of a film and a reminder if ever it were needed that, at the age of 78, Wenders is still a creative force to be reckoned with.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

The House

03/02/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Imagine if you will a Punch and Judy show, elevated to the very peak of its puppetry potential – where, in an incredibly complex set, a whole cast of brilliantly-sculpted characters caper and bicker with all the subtleties of human comedians – and you’ve pretty much got what Sofie Krog Teater’s The House is all about. Appearing at the Traverse Theatre as part of the Manipulate Festival, this has a sold-out crowd screeching with laughter as it rockets to an uproarious conclusion.

We are told first of how a house can speak of what has happened within its walls, and then we’re shown the titular abode, an old crematorium. It’s been owned for years by an old woman who now lies in a four-poster bed up in the top bedroom, rapidly approaching her demise. Her nephew, Henry (who bears an uncanny resemblance to Stan Laurel), and his wife, Cora ( a cigarette constantly jutting from her mouth), run the business on her behalf. Cora knows that there’s a will that names them as their great aunt’s successors and she’s gleefully counting the days to the big payoff. But at the last minute, a lawyer is summoned and an important change is made…

Cora is intent on keeping the house for herself – and only the old woman’s faithful dog stands between her and justice.

I know that puppeteers Sofie Krog and David Faraco are concealed within that miniature house somewhere, because I definitely saw them climb inside it at the beginning. And I know they must be operating everything that happens, but the illusion is so brilliantly engineered, I forget about them completely as they unleash one ingeniously conceived bout of slapstick after another.

The puppets themselves are wonderful little creations, so full of character and nuance that they almost come alive as they scamper from room to room, trying to outwit each other. Everything about this performance – the lighting, the music, the props – is exquisite and I love the piece’s grisly sense of humour, its celebration of the darkness of the human soul. Oh, and did I mention that the house can revolve, to show us an entirely different view of what’s happening within?

If you haven’t managed to catch Sofie Krog Teater on this visit, do keep an eye out for them in future. This unique show offers a touch of genius that will brighten the day of anyone lucky enough to see it.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Protest

27/01/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Hannah Lavery’s 2023 play, Protest, makes a brief but welcome return to Edinburgh as part of its new tour, with two performances at the Traverse this weekend. Having missed it at last year’s International Children’s Festival, we’re delighted to have the chance to catch up with this lively, engaging production from Fuel, Imaginate, Northern Stage and the National Theatre of Scotland.

Amy Jane Cook’s set is a brightly-coloured children’s playground, the natural habitat of the P7 girls whose story this is. The climbing frames and running track serve both to entertain and to constrain, opening up possibilities at the same time as imposing limitations.

Through three cleverly-interwoven monologues, we learn about the challenges faced by these very different characters. Alice (Kirsty MacLaren) is a live wire – and the best runner in her class, so she’s outraged when a boy gets chosen for the final leg of the inter-form relay. Jade (Harmony Rose-Bremner) has always been proud of her family history but her happiness is “dented” when she faces racist abuse for the first time; suddenly, she doesn’t feel so secure in her home town. Meanwhile Chloe (Amy Murphy), a quiet, introverted child, has the weight of the world on her shoulders. She’s desperate to save the planet, but how can she do it on her own? She hasn’t got any friends and she can’t even ask her brother to help her any more, because he’s gone all moody since their dad left home.

But is any of these girls prepared to accept what’s happening? No way. They’ve got their Grans on their side, and they’re ready to stand up. To raise their voices. To protest.

Under Natalie Ibu’s assured direction, this is a vibrant, kinetic piece of theatre, the girls’ unselfconscious physicality propelling the action. Rarely still, they’re bursting with energy and enthusiasm, besides themselves with the injustice of it all and delighted with their efforts to put things right. It’s tonally spot-on, embracing the naïve optimism of eleven-year-olds – and reminding us how this might just be what we need to change the world.

Splendidly acted, this is a delightful and inspiring play, and I am pleased to see that it has attracted a young audience today. Children aged 8+ should get a lot from it – and the adults accompanying them are in for a thought-provoking treat as well.

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

Jekyll & Hyde

18/01/24

Royal Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

I’ve always thought of Jekyll and Hyde as the quintessential Edinburgh story, so it never fails to come as a surprise when I’m reminded that the original novella was based in London. (And written in Bournemouth to boot!) Gary McNair’s astute adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s iconic story uses the same setting as its illustrious predecessor and strips the story back to its bare essentials. It’s a monologue, performed with gusto by Forbes Masson. Everything about the production feels taut and fleet, a straight seventy-five minute run with no interval.

Masson wanders onstage as the story’s narrator, lawyer Gabriel Utterson, who warns us that he’s not ‘the good guy’ in this tale. With this idea firmly planted, he begins to relate his story: how he learns from his cousin, Richard Enfield, of a brutal attack on an innocent eight-year-old girl by a man called Edward Hyde, whom he describes as “downright detestable.” 

Utterson’s suspicions are instantly aroused because one of his oldest friends and clients, the mild-mannered Dr Henry Jekyll, has recently changed his will in favour of a man with that same name. Utterson soon becomes obsessed with Hyde and spends much of his time hanging around the man’s doorway without ever managing to spot him… 

The problem with adapting such a familiar story is, of course, that there can be few real surprises. I admire Michael Fentiman’s direction, Max Jones’ spare set design and particularly Richard Howell’s startling lighting effects, which – combined with the Richard Hammarton’s eerie soundscapes – accentuate the disturbing psychological aspects of the story. I applaud the fact that McNair has dispensed with the mysterious ‘serum’ swigged by Jekyll in order to transform himself into Hyde, an element that has always seemed corny to me. I note too that the plot’s most unbelievable strand – that despite so many visits to Hyde’s doorway, Utterson fails to notice that it connects directly to Jekyll’s house – has been left intact.

Of course, none of this could fly without Masson’s confident performance and he rises to the occasion admirably, inhabiting every character with consummate skill, switching from one to the other, seemingly without effort. A sequence where he passes a bowler hat from hand-to-hand as he conducts a lengthy conversation with himself feels suspiciously like observing a masterclass in acting. It’s an absolute pleasure to behold.

It’s only in the production’s final moments – when Utterson’s introductory words are re-echoed – that this adaptation’s true strengths are actually revealed. There is, I think, a suggestion here that hasn’t been fully explored before. And that’s reason enough for its existence.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Pho

06/01/24

St James Quarter, Edinburgh

We’re not usually big on chain restaurants but, after dashing around the city on an ‘escape hunt’, we end up in the vicinity of the St James Quarter. The friend who gifted us the challenge has generously covered our lunch too – and we’re more than ready for it. Post-Christmas, I’m looking to shed a few pounds, so we need to find somewhere offering a healthy range. Pho seems to fit the bill.

I know it’s a contentious issue, but the 2022 law requiring businesses with more than 250 employees to display calorie information on their menus is useful to me today. I’m tracking my consumption, and it’s great to know that I can enjoy two courses without derailing myself.

For my starter, I have cuốn diếp chay (spicy salad rolls), which come in at an almost unbelievable 44 calories. They’re fresh and vibrant: strips of raw vegetables, enoki mushrooms and herbs wrapped in a lettuce leaf and served with a very more-ish peanut sauce. Philip has a Nem hải sản (a seafood spring roll), which is large, crispy and filled with king prawn, crab and pork. He says it’s crunchy, not at all greasy and packs a real punch.

For my main, I want a cauliflower rice bowl with char-grilled chicken, but I’m told there’s no cauliflower rice today. ‘Real’ rice takes me over my allowance, so I opt for the Phở gà instead. This Vietnamese rice-noodle soup (347 calories) is no mean substitute: the broth is fragrant, the chicken nicely cooked and the noodles as slippery and delicious as you’d expect. I especially like the side plate of fresh herbs, allowing me to tailor the dish to my own taste. Philip opts for the phở xào (wok-fried noodles) with chicken and prawn. This is a delightful dish, full of earthy goodness, replete with lemongrass, chilli and Asian greens.

We’re not drinking at the moment, so we’re pleased to see a good range of soft and alcohol-free beverages. Philip samples the Freestar 0.5% lager, while I try a Negroni spritz. Both hit the requisite spots. We enjoy the eclectic juke box too, and the lively, buzzing atmosphere.

All in all, we’re impressed. If you’re looking for a quick healthy lunch in the city, you could do a lot worse than Pho.

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield