Edinburgh

Little Women

24/10/25

Bedlam Theatre, Edinburgh

First, a plea to the good people of Bedlam: for the love of all little women, good wives and little men, PLEASE stop leaving the fire exit door open during your productions. Christopher Columbus! It’s cold enough in this unheated theatre without letting in a blast of late October air! I wasn’t expecting to identify quite so closely with Amy after her fall through the ice, “shivering, dripping and crying” until she’s wrapped in blankets in front of a fire.

But, to quote Louisa May Alcott, “there is always light behind the clouds” and EUTC’s Little Women, directed by Lauryn McGuire and Meri Suonenlahti, is a case in point: a bright, sparky production, perfectly encapsulating the wholesome vivacity of the nineteenth-century New England classic.

Not a lot happens in Little Women – the coming-of-age novel is character rather than plot-driven – so the play’s success relies on the actors’ embodiment of the four sisters. Liv De Pury excels as Alcott’s alter-ego, Jo, the irrepressible second child, who rails against the constraints of her gender and burns with ambition to become a writer. De Pury imbues the popular heroine with sass and drive, creating an engaging protagonist for us to root for. Sophie Davis’s Meg is a softer, sweeter young woman than Jo, but no less likeable, her warmth and kind nature almost palpable. Elsie Frith, as Beth, captures the girl’s gentleness and fragility, while Rachel McLaren shines as Amy, the melodramatic baby of the March family, eliciting much laughter from tonight’s audience.

The set (managed by Azalea Drace) works well, making the most of the small stage. A raised area represents Jo’s garret, with the rest of the performance space given over to the March family’s living room. The trusty green Chesterfield is back (it’s made an appearance in almost every show we’ve see in this venue), its period style especially appropriate for this piece. I also like the fact that the sisters actually play the old upright piano, rather than relying on recorded sound.

The costumes (managed by Millie Franchi) are similarly effective, making clever use of corsets to convert simple modern skirts into clear approximations of 1800s fashion.

The production as a whole works well. Dylan Kaeuper (Laurie) and Theodore Casimir-Lambert (John Brooke) provide excellent support as the love interests, while Roni Kane (Marmee), Hunter King (Father) and Rufus Goodman (Old Mr Laurence) are all impressively convincing as characters much older than themselves. Watching events play out, I feel transported back into the cocoon of my childhood, curled up in bed reading about these faraway adolescents and their travails.

I can’t urge you to buy a ticket because there’s only one performance left and I know that it’s sold out. But I can congratulate EUTC on another delightful production, allowing this good wife to indulge in a little nostalgia and leave the theatre with a great big smile on her face.

4.4 stars

Susan Singfield

Batshit

23/10/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Leah Shelton’s Batshit explores the prevailing notion of madness as a female malady, where women’s physical and emotional states are pathologised and othered, deemed peculiar because they differ from the ‘norm’, i.e. the male.

Equal parts cabaret, polemic and eulogy to Shelton’s grandma, Gwen, this clever one-woman show brings its disparate strands together with absolute precision. It’s a demanding piece, blending the personal and the political with compelling sincerity. 

Gwen’s story is the microcosm, neatly illuminating the bigger picture. In the 1960s, following a miscarriage, she announced she didn’t want to be a housewife any more. Crazy, eh? Her husband certainly thought so and, backed up by a male-dominated medical profession, managed to have her sectioned. Despite many months of incarceration, drugged to the eyeballs and under constant surveillance, Gwen didn’t change her mind. She must be really, really cuckoo, right? Maybe repeated sessions of ECT might encourage her to listen to reason? Spoiler: they did. Turns out that people say what you want them to if you torture them enough…

Shelton is a talented physical performer, contorting her body to mirror her characters’ contorted thoughts. The movements are exaggerated and often grotesque, but delivered with such charm and gravitas that they never seem absurd. The metaphors are writ large – there’s nothing subtle about a straight jacket or a gag – but they’re incredibly effective, reminding us that we need to be vigilant even in these so-called enlightened times. Women’s freedoms have been hard-won and we take them for granted at our peril. Have you ever heard an angry or frustrated man being dismissed as ‘hysterical’?

Directed by Ursula Martinez, Batshit is a dazzling firework of a production, its message lingering in a trail of sparks that keep me thinking long after the applause has died away. These three nights at the Traverse (23-25 October) mark the end of the UK tour, so be sure to catch it while you can!

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

Maybe Tomorrow

14/10/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

“Glamour and strife! Bigger than life!”

Siân Silver (Liz Ewing)’s showbiz career is careering towards the end of Sunthorpe-on-Sea’s dilapidated pier, where the seventy-five-year-old singer is gamely touting her outmoded razzle-dazzle to ever-smaller audiences for a measly £250 a week. It’s a long way from the stardom she dreamed of, but at least she’s still on stage, performing – until the theatre manager tells her she’s no longer required. Siân doesn’t know who she is if she’s not sparkling in the spotlight. What’s left when even the dregs she’s settled for are so cruelly stripped away?

Forced to confront her failure, Siân is visited by the ghost of Siânny past (Julia Murray). Young Siânny is brimming with hope and vitality, urging her future self to embody the spirit of her long-time heroine, Little Orphan Annie. Instead of bemoaning her hard-knock life, Siânny thinks Siân should focus on making the most of the years she has left. “Maybe now it’s time…”

At first, Siân’s having none of it but she soon realises she has nothing to lose. Why not step into the plucky red-head’s ankle socks and Mary Janes? After all, why should little girls have all the fun? The role of Annie is wasted on a ten-year-old! If she has to bow out, then she’ll do it on her own terms…

Written by Hannah Jarrett-Scott with music and lyrics by Brian James O’Sullivan, Maybe Tomorrow is a decidedly quirky piece of musical theatre, rife with heart and humour. The songs work well, paying homage to Charles Strouse’s original score without allowing it to overwhelm this play. Under Lesley Hart’s direction, Ewing shines as the protagonist (and not just because of her sequinned costumes), imbuing the fading performer with pathos. Siân is talented but unappreciated: of course she’s resentful; of course she’s angry at her producer-ex, who promised her centre-stage but left her in the wings. Murray provides excellent support, not only as the vivacious Siânny, but also as a series of minor male characters, with an impressive range of hats, accents and, um, farts.

An ageing Annie-fan myself, I enjoy this show immensely. It’s undeniably absurd, but somehow rather beautiful. It feels like the start of something that could easily evolve into a full-length musical production, where both themes and characters would have more space to breathe. Why not pop along to the Traverse this week and see for yourself? “You’re gonna have a swell time.”

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Cheapo

07/10/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Last time we saw this play – back in December – I was a little confused by the title. This version comes with a strapline that makes things a whole lot clearer – “Cheapo: chess slang for a primitive trap, often set in the hope of swindling a win from a lost position.”

Cheapo‘s previous appearance at the Traverse was part of the annual 4PLAY programme, where four new plays are showcased over four nights. It was our favourite of last year’s quartet, and I’m delighted to have the chance to watch this new iteration.

Katy Nixon’s script still resonates: her writing is spare and succinct, capturing the teenage characters’ raw emotions with devastating precision.

And their emotions are very raw. At a recent party, something dreadful happened to Kyla (Yolanda Mitchell) and she needs Jamie (Testimony Adegbite) to help her deal with the fallout. But Jamie isn’t prepared to renege on what he’s told the police – and he doesn’t understand why Kyla wants him to. In a not-especially-subtle-but-nonetheless-effective metaphor, they play a game of chess, arguing about their possible moves while fighting to avoid checkmate. The mounting tension is expertly undercut by some quirky flights of fancy, as the duo imagine how their lives might have played out in alternate universes – before coming back down to earth with a bump, still mired in the nightmare of their current reality.

The set, by Gillian Argo, is boldly emblematic: a crooked panel of black and white checkered flooring spreads up on to the wall, mirroring the chess board Jamie places on the table. A red carpet appears to signal the dangerous path the pair are on; again, the colour is repeated, this time in the takeaway food cartons that litter the table. It’s cunningly designed, with monochrome stools resembling giant pawns and strip lights that double as, um, light sabres.

Brian Logan is in the director’s chair this time, and the piece is perfectly paced, with long moments of stillness and contemplation punctuating the frenetic teenage energy. The movement is dynamic and I especially enjoy the dance sequences, as well as the way Kyla moves like a chess piece in the imaginary court scene.

Adegbite and Mitchell are perfectly cast: his earnest geek nicely contrasting with her streetwise façade. The exploration of misogyny and racism feels credibly rooted in their characters’ teenage experience, and their respective vulnerabilities and coping mechanisms are skilfully embodied.

Despite dealing with distressing themes, Cheapo is a witty and enjoyable piece of theatre, provocative but ultimately hopeful, that red carpet perhaps signifying something more positive than it first appears: an escape route for our young protagonists.

4.7 stars

Susan Singfield

Night Waking

01/10/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Adapted from Sarah Moss’s novel, Shireen Mula’s Night Waking is complex and demanding, exploring motherhood, colonisation and the ramifications of history. Nicola Jo Cully performs this challenging two-hour monologue with aplomb, segueing between a range of disparate characters, convincingly portraying the protagonist’s mounting despair.

To be fair, despair seems like a reasonable response to the situation Anna finds herself in. Temporarily uprooted from Oxford to a remote Scottish island, she feels marooned, alone all day with her two young children, while her husband, Giles, conducts his ornithological research into the declining puffin population. Her own academic career has stalled since she became a mum, and her attempts to write are stymied by the overwhelming demands of childcare and housework. She’s already feeling angry and depressed – murderous, even; suicidal – so the discovery of a baby’s bones in the garden is the final straw.

And it’s not the only skeleton in the manor house’s cupboard. Giles has recently inherited the island, and historian Anna is horrified when she uncovers evidence of the atrocities his ancestors perpetrated. No wonder the locals are so unfriendly; old resentments run deep.

I love the overlapping nature of the storytelling here, the way the script skips back and forth in time, slowly peeling back the layers to reveal more about both Anna’s situation and the island’s dark history. Rebecca Atkinson-Lord’s agile direction is complemented by Hugo Dodsworth’s impressive set and video design: the projected background images jolting us from one scene to another, as scattered and disconnected as Anna’s sleep-deprived thought processes; the open grave an unmistakable metaphor for digging up the past.

However, I’m not always convinced by the content. The historical aspects are a matter of record so – shocking though it is – I can easily believe that landowners forcibly shipped the impoverished islanders to Canada, and that infant mortality rates were devastatingly high. It’s the contemporary sections that stretch credulity. Am I really supposed to accept that an Oxford professor would allow her husband’s complete abdication of parental responsibility? That an educated, well-to-do 21st century man would interrupt his wife’s work meeting because their baby won’t stop crying? Any family wealthy enough to own an entire island would surely hire a nanny if they were struggling to cope.

A play to admire, perhaps, rather than to enjoy, Night Waking is wide-ranging and ambitious, as thought-provoking as it is informative, and I find myself utterly absorbed in Anna’s tale. The play’s closing statement, revealing how little has changed for the Highland’s inhabitants over the years, provides a hammer-blow of a conclusion.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

FEIS

23/09/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

All is not well at Maguire’s School of Irish Dance. Back in the day, this Glasgow-based outfit was seen as a leader in its ghillie-footed field, when Deirdre (Louise Haggerty) won enough rosettes to paper the walls of her teenage bedroom. Decades later, the school’s fortunes are flagging disastrously and she’s been reduced to offering a ‘VIP’ service, performing online for an exclusively male clientele, who are not above offering extra money for her used socks.

Deidre’s mother, Maura (Julie Coombe), is blissfully unaware of these new measures but, when her teenage granddaughter, Aoife (Leah Balmforth), falls flat on her face at the 2023 Irish World Championships, things look pretty grim. Then Maura manages to scare off the school’s only other decent dancer and it’s clear that something has to give…

Billed as a dark comedy – though perhaps the term ‘farce’ might be more appropriate – FEIS (pronounced fesh) is a cautionary tale about ambition and the lengths to which some people are prepared to go to in oder to secure a win.

Writer Anna McGrath pursues the laughs with a vengeance, though it has to be said that the various twists and turns of the story often defy credibility and, in one particular instance, a real-life star of the Irish dance world has a pretty heinous accusation levelled against him.

Haggerty gives the lead role her all, even throwing in what looks to this novice like an impressive bit of Irish-dancing, but I remain unconvinced that anybody would go to the lengths Deidre does in order to attain her objective. Balmforth feels severely underused throughout, while Coombe’s is obliged to deliver a series of fat-shaming comments at an unseen dancer that feel somewhat at odds with contemporary thinking. (This may be the point but it feels ill-judged to me.)

Musician Brian James O’ Sullivan adds some spirited jigs and reels to the proceedings. Michael Flatley, meanwhile, was unavailable for comment.

3 stars

Philip Caveney

Coast & Creel

20/09/25

Fountainbridge, Edinburgh

It’s a rainy evening in Edinburgh, and we’re both in the mood for seafood. Fortuitously, a new establishment has recently opened, just a stone’s throw from where we live. As the name suggests, Coast & Creel specialises in the stuff (a creel being a traditional wicker basket in which all things aquatic can be stored). And, lest I’m in danger of putting off all those diners who cannot bear the fruits of the sea, I should perhaps add that the restaurant does offer a selection of steaks, which (at least from a short distance) look pretty enticing.

I start with Chargrilled King Prawns, which arrive looking (and smelling) suitably enticing. They are perfectly cooked, left just long enough on the grill to retain that soft, buttery quality that makes them so appealing, and are accompanied by a couple of slices of sourdough, black garlic aioli and a drizzle of shellfish-infused oil. Susan’s Pan-Seared Scallops are also rather splendid: melt-in-the-mouth tender and accompanied by shrimps, clarified caper butter, parsley oil and samphire. There’s a chunk of artisan bread with which to mop up what’s left in the shell.

On to the main courses. I have chosen Fillets of Halibut. The dish arrives looking underwhelming (none of the photographs we take of it are suitable for this review) but, happily, it tastes heavenly. There are three generously-sized fillets, beautifully tender, arranged on a bed of soft, cheesy potato dauphinoise. There are a couple of chunks of al dente baby courgette, some heads of asparagus and, once again, samphire in beurre blanc. I finish the lot and have to be restrained from licking the plate.

Susan has opted for Paccheri Pasta with Creel-Caught Langoustine, which is quite a sight to behold. It comprises three large langoustine (which must, of course, be broken up with a lobster cracker in order to get to the flesh inside the shells). There are more accessible razor clams, cockles and mussels (thankfully no longer alive-alive-oh), all wallowing in an aromatic seafood bisque. The dish is finished with chilli, garlic and parmesan. Again, this is accomplished food, but am I the only one who wishes that the langoustine flesh could be extracted in the kitchen, without all that cracking, scrabbling and splintering, which leaves a diner in urgent need of an endless supply of hand wipes? I appreciate it’s part of the ritual, but it seems a great deal of effort for little return.

I can guess what you’re thinking. They surely won’t have left room for puddings.

Well, we took the precaution of keeping lunch light in order to partake, because we’re thoughtful like that – and we know our readers always want the full picture. Besides, I have spotted Sticky Toffee Pudding on the menu, which I can never resist. This one is unlike any I’ve had before with a distinctly ‘bonfire toffee’ flavour – if you can remember what that tasted like. It’s accompanied by vanilla ice cream, fruits and a delicious toffee sauce. Susan has chosen Warm Churros, which (despite having an unfortunate visual resemblance to barbecued sausages) taste quite delightful. They’re filled with dulce de leche and also feature a delicious sauce (chocolate in this case) and vanilla ice cream.

We emerge feeling pleasantly full, to see that the rain has (at least for a while) moved on. Those looking for a superior seafood experience should set sail for Fountainbridge without delay, where Coast & Creel may be exactly what you’re seeking.

4.8 stars

Philip Caveney

A Big Bold Beautiful Journey

20/09/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

I’ve never been a rom-com fan: too cynical for ‘rom’ and unamused by mawkish ‘com’. But – schmaltzy subtext notwithstanding – when it’s served up as beguilingly as this, you can count me in.

A Big Bold Beautiful Journey is a fantastical drama about a mundane situation. David (Colin Farrell) rents a car to travel to a friend’s wedding, where he meets Sarah (Margot Robbie). Their instant attraction is scuppered by the fact that they’re both commitment-phobes. So far, so ordinary. Luckily – for both audience and characters – David’s sat-nav has a mind of its own and, before long, their separate drives home have become a joint road-trip down Memory Lane towards Promising Future. Via magical doors.

Written by Seth Reiss and directed by Kogonada, ABBBJ adds up to more than the sum of its parts. It doesn’t hurt that the two leads are so likeable, nor that the cinematography (by Benjamin Loeb) is so vivid and picturesque. As the duo step through the various portals to the past, we are treated to some real visual delights: the art gallery Sarah used to visit after-hours with her mum, enraptured by her favourite painting of a grey couple with rainbow heads; the re-enactment of the high-school musical where David had the lead.

There’s some pleasingly quirky book-ending too, with Kevin Kline and Phoebe Waller-Bridge as the mysterious car rental company’s mechanic and cashier (respectively). These benign puppet masters have seemingly orchestrated both the meet-cute and its subsequent developments, their mystical business more about love than motor vehicles.

Is this enough to counteract the sentimental ‘open your heart’ messaging? Just about. More variety would help: the final third feels samey and repetitive and, without the thrill of inventiveness, the saccharine is just a little too cloying.

On the whole, however, I’m sold. This is an arch and idiosyncratic piece of cinema, quite unlike anything else at the multiplex this year.

3.7 stars

Susan Singfield

The Talented Mr Ripley

16/09/25

Festival Theatre, Edinburgh

The enduring appeal of Patricia Highsmith’s anti-hero reasserts itself here in Mark Leipacher’s stylish adaptation. First unleashed on the novel-reading public in 1955, the murderous con-man has somehow kept us all rooting for him through four sequels, as well as numerous film and TV dramatisations. Can this stage version offer us anything new?

Tom Ripley (Ed McVey) is a chancer, living on his wits in NYC, largely untroubled by conscience. When the wealthy Herbert Greenleaf (Christopher Bianchi) approaches him with a lucrative offer, of course Tom accepts. No matter that Greenleaf’s proposal is predicated on an error: Tom is not friends with the old man’s errant son, Dickie (Bruce Herbelin-Earle); indeed, he’s only met him once. But Greenleaf Sr is desperate. Not only is Dickie frittering away his trust fund in Europe, playing at being an artist instead of taking over the family business, but his mother (Leda) is sick, and she wants to see her boy. If Herbert pays his expenses, will Tom travel to Italy and persuade Greenleaf Jr to come home?

You can bet Dickie’s life he will.

Before long, Tom has insinuated himself into Dickie’s world, revelling in the carefree habits of the idle rich, with spontaneous weekends in Rome or Nice, lounging on the beach and eating in restaurants. But when Herbert calls off the unsuccessful enterprise, Tom is faced with a dilemma. How can he go back to his old life now?

The abstract set design (by Holly Pigott) locates us firmly within Tom’s psyche, as he struts his stuff on the raised white square, nimbly avoiding the perilous hole in the middle, where all obstacles to his success are thrown. The threats to Ripley’s carefully-constructed façade appear as a chorus of noir detectives, complete with belted trench-coats and wide-brimmed Fedoras. “Do you ever feel like you’re being watched?” he asks repeatedly, as they peer at him from the shadows, always one step behind. The image is bold and memorable.

There are lots of directorial flourishes, some more successful than others. I love the Venetian plague doctor masks that also represent pigeons, and the way Dickie’s girlfriend, Marge (Maisie Smith), doubles as a Renaissance statue. I also like the convergence of Dickie and Tom. I’m less convinced by the fourth wall-breaking shouts of “Cut!” precipitating a reset. I understand the point – we’re following Ripley’s thought-processes as he figures out a course of action – but it’s distracting, further complicating an already-labyrinthine plot. The second act, in particular, feels cluttered, and would definitely benefit from paring down.

McVey delivers a star turn in this demanding role, exploring the complexity of Ripley’s multi-faceted character. Perhaps a smaller theatre would allow us a more nuanced view of his performance; as it is, we’re only able to see the broad strokes, but these are impressive enough.

An ambitious, stylish piece of theatre, proving that there’s plenty of life in Tom Ripley yet – if not in those who dare to get too close to him.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Inter Alia: NT Live

07/09/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

What Suzie (Miller) Did Next was bound to garner a lot of attention. The mega-success of Prima Facie, starring the inimitable Jodie Comer, has catapulted the Aussie playwright into the limelight, and left the theatre world waiting with baited breath to see what else she has up her silk sleeve.

Inter Alia, a three-hander starring Rosamund Pike, serves as a kind of companion piece to the 2019 monologue, this time examining the legal system’s response to sexual assault from the vantage point of the Bench. Pike plays Judge Jessica Parks, a high-flying professional, juggling work and family life. She’s got the drive and energy to give both her all, but there’s no escaping ‘mom guilt’, however feminist you are. Still, she and her barrister husband, Michael (Jamie Glover), seem to be managing well: their teenage son, Harry (Jasper Talbot), isn’t exactly happy – he doesn’t really fit in at school and is the victim of some mild bullying – but he’s generally okay, mooching through his days and studying for A levels. He’s a gentle, sensitive boy, nothing like the entitled defendants Jess encounters in court, with their swaggering justifications for rape…

Until, one fateful night, when the ideals Jessica has long-espoused are suddenly called into question, along with her integrity. Who is to blame when a floundering young man commits a crime? And is it possible to be guilty and innocent at the same time?

Prima Facie‘s director, Justin Martin, is back on board for this follow-up polemic, and it’s just as gorgeously kinetic as the earlier piece, perfectly encapsulating the frantic nature of Jess’s life as she hurtles from conviction to kitchen, from case files to karaoke. The set, designed by Miriam Buether, is ingenious, a combination of the domestic and the professional, with props, costumes and doorways cunningly concealed in the kitchen units. At key moments, a wooded park is revealed beyond the dominant interiors, a glimpse into the outside world – both real and online – where Jessica isn’t in control, and which Harry has to learn to navigate for himself.

This is a gentler play than its predecessor, but no less audacious or thought-provoking. Pike is extraordinary in the lead role, and ably supported by her fellow actors. Miller doesn’t offer any easy answers or let anyone off the hook, but she expertly straddles the fine line between trying to understand assailants without diminishing their victims. Like those around us, we leave the cinema deep in discussion, trawling through our own experiences, trying to work out what we would do in Judge Jessica’s place.

I’m still not sure. But I do solemnly, sincerely and truly declare and affirm that Inter Alia is another searing commentary on our times, and – as such – another must-see from the National Theatre.

5 stars

Susan Singfield