Edinburgh

An Echo in the Void

08/08/26

Assembly Roxy (Upstairs), Edinburgh

Written and directed by Jason Weiss, No Boundaries’ An Echo in the Void deals with the timely topic of AI. When journalist Ivy (Grace Serrano) logs into her regular Sanctuary session, she’s surprised to find three strangers there. It’s supposed to be a private virtual space and should only be populated by those she chooses. But here are soldier Toby (Adam Sinclair), programmer Arthur (Sunkrish Bala) and CEO Miranda (Lee Rodriguez), each as dumbfounded as she is by the others’ presence. What’s happening? Has the tech model gone rogue? And if so, why?

If Arthur is the brains behind the platform, Miranda is the money – and Ivy has long been petitioning to interview them both. As for Toby, he’s the company’s poster boy. Sanctuary offers a safe place, where people can leave their real-world troubles behind for a few hours, so who better to front its ad campaign than a war veteran suffering from PTSD?

But Sanctuary is addictive. If life on-line is so much better than off, why would anyone want to return?

This minimalist production is performed on a bare stage, which works well, echoing the blank canvas of a Sanctuary space. Like the platform’s users, we are invited to create our own imaginary setting. Simple tech is used to good effect, with pinspots emphasising the characters’ isolation, and a repeated sound motif signalling glitches in the machine. The actors inhabit their roles convincingly, and a sense of dread builds steadily.

However, although I applaud Weiss’s decision to eschew set and props, the piece could benefit from some more visual elements. It’s very dialogue-heavy, with a lot of information for the audience to absorb. It would be easier to engage emotionally with some of the more complex sequences if they were played out rather than reported. I also think the actors could change their voices and mannerisms when they are taking on characters from each other’s pasts, in order to clarify exactly who and where they are.

An Echo in the Void questions what it means to be human, when everything we think we are can be so cleverly mimicked by computer code. In the twenty-seven years since the similarly-themed The Matrix was released, the issues have only grown more urgent. It’s hard to imagine a more topical play.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

Badgers

07/08/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Malaika Kegode is the storyteller and we, she tells us – gently persuasive – are Meles, a young woman, struggling to make our mark as a podcaster. Our mother looms large: not only is she a famous TV journalist, she’s also dying of corticobasal degeneration (and no, Kegode sighs, a long walk won’t help). We move home, our emotions a mixture of resentment and relief. It’s good to escape the daily hustle and London rents, but it’s hard to be back in our childhood bedroom, aimless and under-occupied, fearing our mother’s death.

So, when we hear about the mysterious disappearance of a local musician, ten years ago, little wonder that we grasp the opportunity to investigate. A true-crime podcast might just be the thing to finally impress Mum. So off we go, into the woods, to visit an old crone called Dora Brock, who freely shares her tales of secret songs and magical badgers, unaware we’re using her…

Badgers is a harmonious hybrid, Jakabol’s eclectic score perfectly complementing Kegode’s beguiling narration. Rebecca Wood’s set design is ingenious, its colour palette stark, all black, white and red; musicians Joe Williams and Beth Roberts sit in a glass box, centre-stage, a theatre within a theatre, part cage, part display case. It’s very techie, with flickering screens and distorted voices (video by Christopher Harrisson and sound by Jack Drewry), and tonally as slippery as the shape-shifting badger-humans at its heart, switching seamlessly from contemporary online vernacular to fairy tale to folk horror. It’s this last element that allows Mike Gunning and Natalia Chan’s lighting design to shine (sorry), ramping up the jump scares and other-worldliness. And then there’s Kegode again, speaking softly, bringing us back down to earth, helping us to accept Meles’ troubled reality.

If the sound levels are a little off at first, so that I struggle to hear Kegode over the music, this is soon rectified, and I leave the theatre still wearing Meles’ skin, still caught up in her life. Directed by Jenny Davies, this is a spellbinding production, weaving us into its fabric and leaving us utterly disarmed.

4.8 stars

Susan Singfield

Supposing:

07/08/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

TravFest starts off strong this year with Zinnie Harris’s magical-realist new play, Supposing:, a blend of mythology, contemporary politics and overt theatricality.

Sally (Nicole Cooper) has fallen down a hole. In literal terms, it’s just a small crater in a road outside a theatre, and she’s not seriously hurt. Metaphorically, however, it’s so much more, not least a portal for a Greek chorus, who promptly take up residence inside her head. Awkward. As if that weren’t enough, she’s also been cursed with the ability to see some very specific aspects of the future…

Sally’s husband, Rich (Richard Conlon), doesn’t believe in her newfound prophesying skills. He thinks she’s suffering from depression – again – or maybe it’s the menopause? Either way, he has absolutely no intention of popping next door to warn their racist neighbour that she has an undiagnosed medical condition, however urgently Sally insists.

It’s not just their marriage that’s under strain. The outside world is a pressure-pot too. The town’s hotels are being used to house immigrants and there are right-wing protesters gathering outside. Sally’s internal chorus never lets up its refrain: Trump, Reform, the climate crisis. Madness seems like a legitimate response.

Cooper’s performance is impressive, at first clipped and precise, then – as Sally plummets ever-deeper down the rabbit-hole – excessive, even flamboyant. Conlon provides an excellent foil, a study in baffled defensiveness and disappointment. Deftly directed by Harris, Supposing: is a timely exploration of our post-truth society, albeit one that poses more questions than it answers about how to navigate the shifting sands.

If this sounds like your kind of thing, don’t hesitate to buy your tickets. You don’t have to be Cassandra to see that this well-crafted, thought-provoking production is sure to be a hit.

4.7 stars

Susan Singfield

The Invite

06/07/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

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

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

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

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

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

4.7 stars

Susan Singfield

Virginia Woolf’s Night & Day

22/06/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3.4 stars

Susan Singfield

Heron

20/06/26

Henderson Street, Leith

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5 stars

Philip Caveney 

The Corinthian

11/06/26

Assembly Roxy, Edinburgh

The third play of Assembly Roxy’s inaugural A Play, A Pie and a Pint season is The Corinthian, a compelling monologue about real-life footballer, Andrew Watson, who experienced extremes of both prejudice and privilege throughout his lifetime. If the name is unfamiliar, here are a few key facts: Watson was the first Black international football player; the first Black man to captain a national team, as well as winning the Scottish cup three times in 1881, 1882 and 1886. Oh, and he was also distantly related to William Gladstone. And yet, the chances are you’ve never heard of him.

Born in 1856 in Demerara, British Guiana (now Guyana), he was the son of wealthy plantation-owner Peter Watson and local woman Hannah Rose. He had a fairly idyllic childhood but that all changed when the family relocated back to Peter’s native Scotland. It was here that young Andrew experienced the aforementioned prejudice – from his neighbours, his fellow pupils and even from his father’s servants. He was also suddenly impacted by the tragic suicide of his mother.

Joe McCann’s monologue, evocatively performed by Dayton Mungal, conveys Watson’s determination to succeed at all costs and to overcome the various hurdles flung in his path as he makes the long climb to the top of his game. Mungal handles the role with aplomb, occasionally talking directly to the audience and also slipping in and out of various supporting characters. 

Because the play is mostly interested in the time he spent as a football player, it consequently skips over a lot of the intervening years – his schooling in Halifax, his college tuition in Wimbledon and the year he spent at the University of Glasgow studying natural philosophy. I do find myself wondering if this piece would benefit from a longer running time, where Watson’s life could be examined in more detail, offering more nuance to the story. 

For The Corinthian though, the story really kicks off when he is signed to play for local team Parkgrove, where he soon learns that some of the toughest discrimination he will need to overcome emanates directly from his teammates…

Director Martin McCormick throws in some impressive imaginative flourishes, while keeping everything well-paced as Mungal runs, skips and leaps energetically around Heather Grace Currie’s simple set. In quieter, more reflective moments, the actor manages to tug at the audience’s collective heartstrings as he recalls what his mother taught him about perseverance.

The applause at the play’s conclusion is enthusiastic. Though I’m left with the conviction that there’s probably more to say about Watson than there is space for here, The Corinthian nonetheless manages to put the ball convincingly into the back of the net.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Mayday: Rapid Responses to Our Times

01/05/26

Central Hall, Edinburgh

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Susan Singfield

Off the Rails

30/04/26

Assembly Roxy

Off the Rails is Stephanie MacGaraidh’s professional writing debut – and what a debut it is. Playwright, songwriter, actor, musician: this is a one-woman show in every sense of the phrase. And it’s extraordinarily affecting.

It’s an auspicious start to the Assembly Roxy’s first ever season of Òran Mór’s A Play, A Pie and A Pint, whose productions usually play at the Traverse when they come to Edinburgh. The venue works well for the small-scale black box shows that PPP is known for, although the old building is not very accessible, which might exclude some of the Traverse’s regular patrons. If the rest of the plays are as good as this one, it will be a real shame for them to miss out.

MacGaraidh is Maggie, a woman on the run – or, more specifically, a woman on a train. In the quiet coach. Wearing pyjamas. With only an empty tote bag and a stale Go Ahead bar as luggage.

It’s not the way most people dream of spending their 30th birthdays…

The tone evolves with the people Maggie meets on her journey north, from raucous hen party to lonely widower. MacGaraidh plays every character with conviction, eliciting both laughter and tears. Maggie’s story emerges bit by bit, revealed through an enticing mix of song and monologue, slowly revealing a young woman who has never really recovered from high school bullying, and whose adulthood is blighted by social anxiety.

I’ve rarely seen a looper used to such excellent effect, not only as backing vocals and added guitar, but also as interior monologue, amplifying the tension as Maggie’s life veers off the rails. The intrusive train announcements intensify the pressure even further, so that we’re as relieved as Maggie when one final encounter brings her back from the brink.

Directed by Katie Slater, Off the Rails is a triumph – and MacGaraidh is surely a star in the ascendance.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

The Light House

28/03/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

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

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

No matter how long that takes.

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

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

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

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

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

3 stars

Susan Singfield