Edinburgh

Adults

06/08/23

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Zara (Dani Heron) has got things sorted, or as sorted as they can be, given the current state of the world. Admittedly, being a sex worker isn’t exactly living the dream, but her brothel is an ethical one – run as a workers’ collective – and she’s proud of the judgement-free service she and her colleague, Jay (Anders Hayward) provide. But still, it’s more than a little awkward when a new customer turns out to be her old teacher…

Mr Urquhart, or Iain (Conleth Hill), isn’t best pleased either. He was nervous anyway, and now he’s scared and embarrassed; he feels exposed. He’s only here to see if acting on his vague attraction to young men might help alleviate his misery, because he can’t go on as he is, hopeless and desperate, sick of his job, his marriage, even his kids…

As if the classroom reminiscences weren’t cringey enough, when Jay turns up – late – he’s got his baby daughter in tow. How can any of them collude in building a fantasy, when reality keeps intruding?

I’ve been a fan of playwright Kieran Hurley’s work since I saw Chalk Farm way back in 2013. He can always be relied upon to offer witty, thought-provoking material, with relatable, convincing characters, and Adults proves this once again. Both Zara’s skittish bravado and Jay’s reckless desperation are perfectly captured by Heron and Hayward, but it’s Hill’s depiction of Iain’s self-loathing and defensiveness that drives the piece. He’s done everything right, hasn’t he? So why does it all feel so wrong?

Directed by Roxanna Silbert, Adults has a stillness at its core, leading the audience to really listen, to hear what all three characters say, to see them for the complex, fascinating people they are. We’re all doomed, the message seems to be, so we might as well try to offer each other a bit of comfort while we can. Every generation will blame the one that’s gone before; it’s the way of the world. And every generation will fuck things up in their turn; we never manage to create that ‘better world’ we always say we want for our kids. It’s tragic – but here it’s belly-laugh funny too.

Sharp, incisive and hugely entertaining, Adults is another must-see offering from 2023’s TravFest.

4.4 stars

Susan Singfield

The Ballad of Truman Capote

05/08/23

theSpace at Niddry Street (Upper Theatre), Edinburgh

It’s 1966 and in New York’s swish Plaza Hotel, notorious author Truman Capote prepares to host a masked Black and White Ball, an occasion that will be attended by the most illustrious stars of the era. As he prepares himself for the evening, Capote muses about his life, his career and the critical reaction to his latest publication – a book that has launched him into literary superstardom and, at the same time, effectively ruined him.

Patrick Moy offers an uncanny impersonation of Capote, capturing the man’s strange lisping voice and effete mannerisms with aplomb. He parades restlessly around his hotel room, punctuating his observations with regular screwdriver cocktails and petulantly reading extracts from cruel reviews of In Cold Blood.

Andrew O’Hagan’s lyrical monologue offers us a glimpse into the titular character’s bizarre childhood and his curious relationship with fellow author, Harper Lee, but occasionally feels a little too dependent on name-dropping. Frank Sinatra, Marlon Brando, Marilyn Monroe and er…Princess Margaret? It’s like a Who’s Who of the 1960s and all these people are dancing to Capote’s tune.

But while we hear all about these luminaries, we never see them. Capote remains imperiously alone in his room, fielding telephone calls and gradually succumbing to the effects of alcohol as he relishes what will be his last moment of true power. It’s a curiously tantalising piece and I can’t be the only one wishing I could stay on to watch the delicious carnage that will ensue. 

Fans of Mr Capote – and there are many – are sure to enjoy Moy’s pitch-perfect performance, while O’Hagan’s script, though it lacks conflict, manages to effectively capture a significant moment in American history.

3 stars

Philip Caveney

Lady Dealer

05/08/23

Roundabout at Summerhall, Edinburgh

Charly (Alexa Davies) is fine… Okay, so she hasn’t got any friends, she never gets out of bed before noon, her girlfriend has left her and, although her chosen career pays well, her mum can’t help thinking that drug-dealing is a waste of her Oxbridge degree. Still, honestly, she’s fine.

But a power cut means she’s forced to sit in silence without the Beastie Boys to distract her, and she can’t charge her phones so her customers are unable to contact her. Now we see just how fragile Charly’s mental health really is. She embodies the word ‘brittle’ – sure, she presents a tough front with all that swagger, but oh, she shatters so easily. The minor change to her routine brings everything crashing down…

Written by Martha Watson Allpress, this rhyming monologue is a frenetic exploration of a character in crisis. It’s a novel idea: we’re used to seeing dealers depicted as baddies; we’re rarely invited to empathise with them. Here, Watson Allpress shows us how Charly found her path, how damaged and desperate she is. A little kindness is all it would take to change her life…

Roundabout’s small circular stage is dominated by three large speakers, creating a wall of sound and emphasising the narrow parameters of Charly’s world. Emily Aboud’s direction is as kinetic as the chaos in Charly’s mind: Davies circles the stage, pacing, her frantic thoughts made manifest.

The hour’s performance flashes by.

4.2 stars

Susan Singfield

Tink

05/08/23

Underbelly Bristo Square (Clover), Edinburgh

In this coming of age tale, a thoroughly modern Tink navigates the awkwardness of adolescence. This sassy young fairy is very different from that other Tinkerbell’s pal, Peter – she definitely wants to grow up. What she doesn’t want is to follow the trajectory of most fairies, getting smaller and smaller as she ages, until all her lovely light goes out. “I’m going to stay big forever,” she declares, aged five, picking up her guitar and delighting us with a song. She’s an accomplished player.

But of course, not even fairies are immune to the toxic messages imparted by the patriarchy, and teenage fairies struggle just as much as human girls when the whole world seems intent on diminishing their verve.

Wittily performed by Kat Kleve (who also wrote the songs), Tink is a charming piece. Kleve has a lovely singing voice and I’m glad she’s not prepared to shrink, to hide her light under a bushel and pretend she’s not as brilliant as she is.

Co-writer and director Lizzy Connolly has forged a dynamic piece, making impressive use of the tiny space. The staging is very detailed and precise: I’m in the front row so I can see the intricacy of the beautifully sewn costume and the convincing magazine mock-up. The hanging bulbs are simple but effective, evocative of a fairy glen, as well as providing literal reminders of the metaphorical dimming that occurs every time Tink’s exuberance is quashed. 

There’s a little of Greta Gerwig’s Barbie about Tink, the same heady mixture of celebration and critique. Gen Z women are showing us that fairies and feminism can co-exist. It’s an exciting revelation, and this is a gently empowering show.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Chelsea Hart – Damet Garm: How I Joined a Revolution

04/08/23

Gilded Balloon Teviot – Sportsmans, Edinburgh

Chelsea Hart makes TikTok videos. It’s what they do. So they were taken by surprise when one of their posts went viral in Iran, sparking the kind of fame they never expected to have. After all, it’s not every day you accidentally join a revolution.

Hart is undoubtedly a born performer. Despite their slender frame, they have a huge presence, prowling the small stage. They’re compelling – I can’t look away, and it feels as if they are making eye contact with me almost the whole time. (I wonder if the rest of the audience experiences a similar sensation; is it the same trick as a portrait whose eyes follow you around a room?)

The material is wide-ranging, incorporating – among other things – tales of life in a small Alaskan town, revelations about Iranian culture, trans rights, opera, suicide, dick jokes, abortion and British sarcasm. There is a lot to unpack. In fact, there’s so much here that it’s almost to the show’s detriment: the whole thing feels scattershot and it’s hard to find the through-line that links it all together. There are analogies to be drawn, but they’re lost in the flurry. I think the structure could do with a little work: a stronger arc would lend the shocking ending more impact. I’d also like them to have shown us the original TikTok videos that brought them to the attention of the Iranians, to provide us with something concrete to establish the premise.

That’s not to say this doesn’t work. It does. It’s original and provocative: Hart has great energy and real, well, heart. They are expressive and engaging, exuding both confidence and vulnerability, and their outlook on life is genuinely inspiring. The show’s message is a fine one too: let’s learn from the united liberation movement the Iranian women are leading, and stop being so individualistic. Imagine what we could achieve if we all actually worked together, striving for something good.

3.3 stars

Susan Singfield

My Imaginary Country

11/07/23

The Cameo, Edinburgh

The young people at the heart of this documentary are genuinely awe-inspiring. Prior to watching this, I’ll admit that I was almost entirely ignorant of the situation in Chile, and certainly unaware of what this impressive grass-roots protest had achieved.

Sparked by – of all things – an increase in the price of subway tickets, the ensuing estallido soon expanded into a general call for equality and justice, a demand for a new way of living. Hundreds of thousands of people – primarily young women – stood up for the cause, persisting in the face of tear gas and military oppression. And they won, eventually forcing a change of government.

Patricio Guzmán is a seasoned documentary maker, and it shows. My Imaginary Country offers us a tentative celebration, combining a justifiable sense of pride and triumph with a note of caution about what could still go wrong. After all, Chileans are all too aware that their hard-won democracy can be plucked from them in an instant.

Nonetheless, the footage captured here is mesmerising. Drones reveal an apparently endless sea of people, the scope of their demands seemingly as inexhaustible as their number. They don’t confine themselves to a single issue. Instead, they want it all: increased pensions for the old, equal rights for LGBTQ+, better job prospects, free education, decent health care for all. In short, they want society to function properly, the way it’s meant to. They want politicians to live up to their promises.

Governments around the world should take note. Today’s youth knows how to mobilise; they know how to take matters into their own capable hands. And they’re tired of being ignored.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Söderberg Pavilion Café

29/06/23

Lister Square, Quartermile, Edinburgh

Söderberg is a bit of an Edinburgh institution: there are seven of the popular Swedish cafés dotted around the city, so it’s unusual to go for a walk without passing at least one. Nonetheless, we’ve never eaten there until today. The closest we’ve come was during the pandemic, in that weird post-lockdown period, when restrictions were slowly being loosened but we still weren’t allowed to sit indoors. During that time, my parents came up for a visit, and – being classed as vulnerable and thus wanting to avoid unnecessary risk – booked themselves into an Airbnb rather than staying at ours as they usually would. Their holiday flat was on the Quartermile so, every evening, we’d sit outside this Lister Square branch for a cup of tea or a glass of wine, shivering but glad to be together, glad to be out in the world again.

The gym we used to go to almost every day is directly opposite that same branch of Söderberg, but our pandemic pause turned into a three-year gap. Six weeks ago, we decided to rejoin, and so we find ourselves once again working up a daily sweat on the cross-trainers or exercise bikes, gazing out of the window at the people sitting in the sunshine, enjoying their coffee. We resolve to treat ourselves to a well-earned brunch one day.

And today seems like the right occasion. The sky is blue, the air is warm and, most importantly, I’m off work this afternoon, so we have time to dally. What’s more, we’ve worked up quite an appetite over the past hour! We request an outdoor table and, once seated, scan the short menu and choose quickly.

We both want a freshly squeezed fruit juice. Philip opts for a simple apple, while I have the fancier-sounding carrot, apple and ginger, which is pleasingly tangy. They’re both just as lovely and refreshing as you’d expect a decent glass of juice to be.

My brunch is Ägg – two eggs baked in a stone oven, served with sourdough and rocket. I add avocado, spinach and pesto, and I’m glad I do, as the boldly-flavoured walnut and basil pesto really elevates the dish. Philip has the Varm getost, an open sourdough sandwich featuring goat’s cheese, walnut, pine nuts and rocket. The goat’s cheese, he says, is delicious.

Sitting outside, lingering over a meal, feels every bit as indulgent as we imagined. In all honesty, however, we’re both a little disappointed by the meagreness of the portions. It’s not that we want anything too over-facing mid-morning, but a single, thin-cut slice of bread just feels a bit stingy. We’re not super-impressed by the mounds of undressed leaves on our plates either. An extra slice of bread and a decent salad dressing would have made this experience a lot more satisfying.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

Timberyard

18/06/23

Lady Lawson Street, Edinburgh

We’ve lived in Edinburgh for seven years now and we’ve always been aware of this restaurant, just around the corner from where we live, but – for one reason or another – we’ve never eaten here. But our tradition of indulging in fine dining to celebrate Susan’s birthday, plus the fact that Timberyard has recently been awarded a Michelin star, suggest that now is a good time to give it a whirl.

So here we finally are, settling down at a table in the spacious, warehouse-like interior, while outside the long run of hot weather is about to to be interrupted by heavy rain. But in this glorious candle-lit interior, the rain comes and goes without us even noticing.

Firstly, a word about water. Most restaurants try to sell you bottles of the stuff (a practice I’ve long disapproved of for environmental reasons) but at Timberyard, our choice of still or fizzy water comes as standard and our glasses are regularly topped up by the attentive staff – an idea I’m in favour of seeing elsewhere.

Since we’re currently on the wagon, we both decide to try one of their homemade soft drinks. I sample the bramble & lemon seltzer, which is zingy and refreshing, while Susan opts for jam on toast, a drink that somehow – don’t ask me how – really does invoke those flavours. I mean, I understand how they might accomplish the ‘jam’ bit, but how do you make a soft drink taste of toast?

We’ve chosen the eight-course tasting menu, which sounds prodigious, but is carefully presented in perfectly-sized offerings to ensure that the diner is never overwhelmed. That said, we decide to skip the option of adding a cheese course. Even we have limits!

We begin with ‘snacks’ – bread and cultured butter with pickles and ferments, raw beef on toast with yellow beans and cod’s roe and a little bowl of beach rose and tomato broth. These offerings set the tone for the evening, a series of intense flavours, each one different to the last and, frankly, quite unlike anything I’ve eaten elsewhere. The much-lamented Edinburgh Food Studio is probably the venue that comes closest in recent memory.

Timberyard’s efficient staff come and go bearing various dishes, each one a tiny revelation. There’s purple sword celtuce with nasturtium, conifer and smoked scallop roe; al denté green asparagus featuring coddled egg, pancetta, comte and hazelnut; veal sweetbreads, rich and succulent with pheasant back mushroom, broad beans and Scot’s lovage; a meltingly tender slice of turbot with pea flowers, sea aster, pil-pil and lobster butter; and chunks of deliciously rare Kerry beef with farm greens and anchovy. To say it’s all delicious would be something of an understatement.

And then of course, there are a couple of puddings. There’s elderflower – a frozen granita served with creme fraiche ice-cream, wonderfully refreshing after the richness of the beef – and there’s woodruff, an edible wildflower with hints of vanilla, cardamom and cinnamon, with a fluffy honey-rich exterior and a salty, bitter chocolate filling that lingers on the palette, ending the experience on a high note.

I can’t really explain why it’s taken us so long to try the Timberyard experience, but I’m glad we finally have. This is challenging food (in the very best sense of the word): an exquisite, constantly surprising selection of dishes that focus on local and seasonal ingredients. I can see exactly how the place caught the eye of the Michelin judges.

One thing’s for sure. We won’t be leaving it so long before we return.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

ChildMinder

10/06/23

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Edinburgh-born Joseph lives in New York, where he is a celebrated child psychiatrist. He seems to be living his best life, with a beautiful, clever girlfriend, as well as a stellar career. But Joseph’s success is built on shameful foundations and a reckoning looms. Reparations need to be made on both the micro and the macro level – for his own transgressions as well as his country’s.

There are two distinct strands here, each echoing the other, their links compelling if not always quite clear.

On the one hand, we have a pretty straightforward ghost story, its origins laid bare in the opening scene, where Joseph (Cal MacAninch) is confronted with a repressed memory from when he was five years old: his baby brother’s murder. This shocking revelation opens the door to other carefully-buried feelings of guilt, and Joseph soon finds himself tormented by the ghost of a thirteen-year-old patient, Sam (Ben Ewing), who holds the doctor accountable for his death.

On the other hand, we have a meditation on the nature of colonisation, symbolised by Joseph’s relationship with Cindy (Mara Huf), a Native American anthropologist. Cindy’s culture, all-but erased by white settlers, has now been commodified for their entertainment, and the couple indulge in an ‘authentic’ 1700s dinner in a fancy Manhattan restaurant. At first, the pair are in celebratory mode. After all, Cindy has just completed her PhD. But, as Joseph insists on sharing a long and rambling fantasy, a feeling of unease begins to grow, and it’s a relief when Cindy calls him out, and the allegorical nature of his proprietorial daydream is made evident.

This is an ambitious piece of theatre, and the actors are clearly revelling in its complexity. Ewing is particularly striking, both as the mysterious “wait”-er and the troubled Sam. The set, by Kenneth MacLeod, is stark and simple, the squares of light redolent of the glass-box apartments on Edinburgh’s Quartermile, ex-home of the Royal Infirmary, where Joseph used to work. These borders also serve to hem the characters in, trapping them in a claustrophobic nightmare.

For the most part, Kolbrún Björt Sigfúsdóttir’s direction is flawless, imbuing the piece with all the gravitas it requires. Even the scene transitions are eerie, each prop moved with intent – all carefully choreographed for maximum impact. However, all this precision makes the use of dry ice especially irritating. It adds nothing; it’s just invasive, obscuring the stage and making the audience cough.

I like what McClure is trying to achieve here. It’s an exacting script with a vast scope. I’m not sure it always comes off – a little more transparency wouldn’t go amiss – and it’s certainly not a crowd-pleaser (there are five walk-outs in tonight’s show). But we need theatre that pushes boundaries and challenges our expectations, and ChildMinder certainly gives us that.

3.7 stars

Susan Singfield

The Boogeyman

04/06/23

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Horror movie The Boogeyman is one huge unsubtle metaphor – but it’s none the worse for it. The eponymous villain represents negative emotions – sorrow, misery, rage, etc. – and he needs dealing with before he kills you.

Sisters Sadie (Sophie Thatcher) and Sawyer (Vivien Lyra Blair) certainly know all about negative emotions. It’s only a month since their mother was killed in a car crash, and they’re struggling to adapt. Sawyer can’t sleep until her dad, Will Harper (Chris Messina), has checked her closet for monsters, and even then she needs her ball lamp next to her. Sadie is trying to put on a brave face, but her school friends aren’t really there for her. Meanwhile Will – a therapist, no less – completely refuses to talk about their mom at all.

When Lester Billings (David Dastmalchian) shows up at Will’s home office one day, he brings more than his sadness with him. His children have been killed by a mysterious boogeyman, he says, but the police suspect Lester has murdered them himself. He’s frantic with grief and wants Will’s help to cope. Instead, the insidious monster that’s following him turns its attention to the Harper family and begins to wreak havoc…

Based on a short story by Stephen King and directed by Rob Savage, The Boogeyman builds suspense well. The family dynamics are convincingly drawn, and the just-out-of-sight boogeyman feels genuinely scary (as ever, he’s a little less frightening once made corporeal).

There are a few plot holes that let the film down overall. Lester’s widow, Rita (Marin Ireland), for example, seems to be surviving on candlelight and bullets. No one’s eaten in that kitchen for some time, that’s for sure, and why haven’t the neighbours reported all the gun shots? If the police think Lester’s a killer, why isn’t he in custody? And, if the monster can only get you in the dark, why does no one ever turn on a room’s main light?

All in all, this is a fun little film. It doesn’t bear much scrutiny, but it assuredly entertains.

3.5 stars

Susan Singfield