Edinburgh

Lady Macbeth Played Wing Defence

09/08/25

Assembly George Square (Studio One), Edinburgh

The music’s pumping, the lights are flashing and the Dunsinane Hellhounds are warming up on the netball court. There’s no mistaking what kind of show this is going to be: high-octane, in-yer-face, Barbie-pink and lots of fun.

It’s Macbeth, but not as you know it: Macbeth without the monarchs, without the murder – without the men. Macbeth in an Aussie high school, where captaincy of the Year 12 netball team represents the seat of power, and where the Dagger Divas’ prophecies are streamed from Spotify.

“Mac” Beth (Orla Jean Poole) – wing defence – has always dreamed of leading the team. But Coach Duncan (Courtney McManus, who also wrote the book) has other ideas, and promotes Chloe Macduff (Shannon Rogers) instead. Mac is furious. Her best friend, Summer Banquo (Kate Sisley), tries to placate her, but Mac is too fired up to listen. She’ll do whatever it takes to ensure she gains the throne…

Crash Theatre Company’s Perth production pivots onto the Edinburgh scene via the House of Oz. Composer/director Bec Price’s electro-pop score is vibrant and lively, while the lyrics (co-written by McManus, Price and Ana Ferreira Manhoso) are a playful blend of Shakespearean verse and modern vernacular, with the bard’s most famous quotations all present and correct. The choreography (courtesy of Rogers) is suitably vigorous, while the bold costuming cleverly distinguishes the characters – no mean feat when they’re in matching uniforms.

This is a true ensemble piece, and I love the performers’ energy and vim. However, I do think there’s scope for the story to venture into darker territory, for Mac to engage in more nefarious deeds, as LMPWD stops a long way short of its progenitor’s “direst cruelty”. I’d also prefer a less saccharine ending, more akin to the original…

Nonetheless, there’s no denying the dynamic effect of this production: there’s a discernible buzz in the auditorium and plenty of people singing the catchy ‘Thunder, Lightning, Rain‘ on their way out (displaying the lyrics on the backdrop, karaoke-style, is an inspired idea). I find myself playing the score while I’m making dinner, and I’ve no doubt Lady Macbeth Played Wing Defence will prove especially popular with teens.

All hail, “Mac” Beth, that shalt be a blockbuster hereafter.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

The Beautiful Future is Coming

08/08/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Flora Wilson Brown’s The Beautiful Future is Coming is a triptych: a thought-provoking meditation on the subject of climate change set over centuries. 

New York, 1856. Eunice (Phoebe Thomas) believes she has discovered evidence that sunlight and carbolic acid will one day have a dramatic effect on the world’s weather. She’s understandably keen to spread the word – obsessed with the notion – and she’s supported at every step by her well-meaning husband, John (Matt Whitchurch). However, nobody in the scientific community is prepared to take the word of an amateur – and what’s more, a woman – seriously.

In 2027, Claire (Nina Singh) and Dan (Jyuddah Jaymes) are based at a design agency in London where, ironically, they are working on an advertising campaign for Greenpeace. They begin a flirtation, which develops into a serious relationship. But when Dan’s mother home is flooded by a sudden, catastrophic weather event, Dan’s whole worldview is irrevocably tainted.

In 2100, scientists Malcolm (James Bradwell) and Ana (Rosie Dywer) are trapped in a research centre in Svalbard, Norway, where a storm has been raging for months. Ana is trying to conduct experiments on weather-resistant strains of wheat – and getting precisely nowhere. She is heavily pregnant and beginning to wonder if she can make it to safety before her baby arrives…

The story switches effortlessly back and forth in time, the scenes interconnecting almost seamlessly, the events occasionally echoing each other, as if to emphasise that, no matter how hard humanity tries to effect change, we hardly ever succeed. 

This complex tale is told with deceptive simplicity. The three couples move around Aldo Vázquez’s set like chess pieces on a board, while Elena Penãs atmospheric sound and Ryan Day’s lighting contribute to the play’s immersive atmosphere. For me, the only uncertain point here is Dan’s OTT reaction to his mother’s fate – there’s been no hint in his previously cheerful demeanour that such darkness lies within him.

But The Beautiful Future is Coming does have a profound impression on me, even if I can’t help feeling that the words ‘Don’t Hold Your Breath’ would make an apt suffix.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Midnight at the Palace

08/08/25

Gilded Balloon Patterhoose (Big Yin), Edinburgh

“I went to primary school with Baylie Carson’s stepmum.”

I know, it sounds like a Fringe show title, but it’s not. It’s just a fact. Summer 1982, North Wales: while the rest of our class dealt with the big move to high school, Kerry faced a more exciting change, emigrating all the way to Australia. And now, more than forty years later, I’ve climbed the stairs to the third floor of Edinburgh’s Patterhoose to see her stepdaughter perform. It’s a tenuous connection, but feels oddly significant. It’s lovely to see our peers succeed, and somehow even more lovely when it’s their children doing well.

And Carson is doing really well, recently appearing in West End productions of SIX (Anne Boleyn) and Mean Girls (Janis). They’re in the ascendant.

But tonight they’re here, part of a sequin-clad ensemble bringing the little attic room to life with this sparkling production of Midnight at the Palace.

The musical is based on a true story. It’s the late 1960s and San Francisco’s counterculture is booming. Radical Hibiscus (Andrew Horton) and disco-diva Sylvester (Gregory Haney) lead a ragtag group of hippies, freaks and drag-queens, known as The Cockettes, whose performances at the North Beach’s Palace Theater are legendary. As the group becomes successful, however, tensions begin to rise, especially when they get the chance to appear in New York. While the others are drawn by the allure of Broadway, Hibiscus believes that ambition corrupts. He wants to stay in California, true to his ideals, performing for free, refusing to be co-opted by ‘The Man.’

Perhaps to its detriment, Rae Binstock’s book doesn’t really focus on the conflict, but Brandon James Gwinn’s music is great, with some really catchy, memorable songs. The piece works best as a celebration of queer culture: the gaudy costumes and home-made props a riot of colour and joy; the vivacious performers full of sass and vim, gleefully waving two fingers at the normies, swallowing acid and quaaludes; singing, dancing, shagging around. However, there’s not much of a storyline, and it’s a shame that the fascinating political undercurrents are only referenced rather than explored.

Carson is a standout as Pam, the sweet country girl with a yearning for excitement, who hitches her way to The Golden City to find a family of friends. Their song Take Me Home is a highlight of the play. Haney is also fabulous as Sylvester, dominating the stage, while Horton’s A Crab on Uranus is a visual delight. I also really like the puppetry (John Waters and Divine are particularly amusing), and am mightily impressed by the dynamic dance routines Paul McGill manages to choreograph on such a small stage.

Midnight at the Palace is a blast: a spectacular, gender-bending kaleidoscope of fun.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

James Phelan: The Man Who Was Magic

06/08/25

McEwan Hall at Underbelly, Bristo Square, Edinburgh

James Phelan was probably destined to be a magician. After all, his uncle was the late Paul Daniels, a man known for the infamous catch-phrase, ‘You’ll like this. Not a lot, but you’ll like it.’ Not that I would apply that description to Phelan’s show, which I do enjoy. A lot. It’s bigger, more grandiose than the kind of offering his Uncle Paul was known for and features several WTF moments that have me shaking my head in disbelief.

Phelan enjoyed a palpable success at last year’s Fringe, though we didn’t get the opportunity to add him to our watchlist. This year, you’ll find him in the cavernous surroundings of the McEwan Hall, which is great news for him – the importance of bums on seats is not to be ignored – but in some ways works against him, because some of the tricks inevitably lose their power by being distanced. Though we’re seated in the stalls, I sometimes find myself struggling to maintain a clear sight-line and one routine in particular, which takes place right on the edge of the stage, is lost to view behind a sea of heads.

Of course it would be unfair to share details of any of the illusions; suffice to say that some of them are quite bewildering and I find myself wracking my brains for hours afterwards, wondering how a particular bit of wizardry was achieved. A prominent sign when we enter announces that ‘no stooges are used in the show’ or words to that effect. So how the hell did he…?

Trust me, don’t go down that road.

Overall, The Man Who was Magic is an accomplished production and Phelan is a relaxed performer who takes the audience into his confidence and enjoys playing with their expectations. But I do have reservations. At one point, the theatre is plunged into total darkness for several minutes, which just feels downright suspicious, an opportunity for his stage crew to tinker with things. To give him his due, Phelan announces that he’s not entirely sure about keeping this bit in and I think I agree. We all know there’s no such thing as magic, only the power of suggestion and the trick of misdirection – but for something to be truly astounding, we need to believe we’ve seen every single moment in crystal clear detail.

Still, the audience troops out talking excitedly about what they’ve just witnessed – and at the end of a Fringe show, that’s exactly the effect that every performer is hoping for.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Kanpur: 1857

06/08/25

Pleasance Courtyard (Beneath), Edinburgh

Set in Kanpur, India, in the aftermath of the so-called “Sepoy Mutiny,” an unnamed Indian (portrayed by the play’s author, Niall Moojani) is sentenced to death for insurrection. The captive is a Hijra, often described as ‘the third sex,’ who are traditionally assigned as male at birth, and can decide which gender they wish to assume in the fullness of time. The officer in charge of the execution, played by co-director Jonathan Oldfield, offers his victim an opportunity to speak, or rather demands that they do so. Afterwards, they will be strapped to a cannon and blown apart in front of a crowd of onlookers – or, as we’re known in these quarters, a Fringe audience.

A serviceable-looking cannon has been sourced, and it’s pretty much the only prop in evidence. I can’t help thinking about the difficulties of bringing such a cumbersome weapon down into the Pleasance Courtyard’s ‘Beneath’ performance space, but happily that’s not my job.

Oldfield’s officer serves in a distinguished Highland regiment, though his accent is – perhaps inevitably – cut-glass English. Now, he suggests, is the time for the condemned to explain what has brought them to this awful situation. A garrulous sort, the officer can’t stop interrupting his victim’s narrative, asking awkward questions, offering his own privileged perspectives, even at one point picking up a guitar and lending some lilting accompaniment.

Kampur: 1857 has interesting points to make about the nature of colonialism, reminding us that, during the conflict there have been acts of barbarism on both sides – though these observations come from Oldfield’s character, speaking from the more comfortable point of view of somebody who isn’t about to be evenly distributed across the landscape, and whose side’s reaction to the mutiny has been massively disproportionate.

The piece, which lies somewhere in that strange no-man’s-land between storytelling and drama is at its best when the two characters are exchanging views, bickering, joking, vainly trying to bring each other around to some shared worldview. Oldfield gets the best of it, his sneering superiority played at full-throttle, while Moojani’s dialogue is more reserved and contemplative. Meanwhile, tabla player Hardeep Deerhe provides a rhythmic accompaniment to his words.

It’s impossible not to feel swept up in the play’s final moments, as the victim waits, helpless and silent, their final seconds ticking inexorably away…

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney

Single Use

06/08/25

Pleasance Courtyard (Bunker Three), Edinburgh

Ella’s life is a muddle: she’s struggling to separate her mounting troubles and figure out how to deal with them. A bit like her recycling.

Ella (Verity Mullan) is an expert procrastinator. She’s unfulfilled by her bar job, but can’t be bothered to look for anything else. She likes the idea of her allotment, but tending to it is a step too far. She never pays her rent on time and doesn’t get on with her flatmate anyway. She cares about the planet, but it’s not her fault takeaways are delivered in plastic boxes – and who has the energy to cook? From the outside, it’s clear that Ella is depressed. It’s just that she hasn’t realised it yet.

Written by Mullan and directed by Emma Beth Jones, Single Use works well as a character study. Mullan is an engaging performer, imbuing Ella with a winsome vulnerability and spark. I particularly enjoy the physical comedy – her exaggerated sense of repulsion as she deals with her icky bin bags; the slurping of beer from Tupperware – all perfectly complemented by Flick Isaac-Chilton’s sound design.

However, there are too many disparate plot strands competing for our attention and it’s not always clear who the various voice messages are from. I’m confused by ‘Stusi’ (Ella’s young stepsister), who is first described as someone to whom “puberty has not been kind” – leading me to assume that she is about thirteen years old – but then turns up in a car to give Ella a lift home. The climate crisis element feels particularly under-developed, with the tantalising messages from Malaysia left to fizzle into nothing.

Ultimately, there are some promising ideas here, but they perhaps need a little more cohesion and development for this piece to fully realise its potential.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

The Other Mozart

05/08/25

Assembly George Square Studios (Studio Two), Edinburgh

You’ve heard of Nannerl Mozart, right?

Nope?

Me neither.

Her brother’s pretty well-known though. He’s so famous he’s known by just one name (which is probably a good thing, considering his original moniker was the unwieldy Joannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart – although he did later change this to Wolfgang Amadeus).

It turns out “Nannerl” (aka Maria Anna Walburga Ignatia; yep, Mama and Papa Mozart really liked long names) was something of a musical prodigy too, who toured with “Wolfie” when they were both children. This elegant production, written and performed by Sylvia Milo (in rotation with Daniela Galli), finally brings Nannerl out of the shadows and into the light.

It’s no great shock to discover that the reason we don’t know about her is because of her gender. Europe’s aristocracy were happy to watch a little girl perform, less so a grown woman. Here, with great artistry and precision, Milo shows us the toll this must have taken on the talented musician and composer, forced to watch her younger sibling garnering credit and acclaim while her own similar ambitions were thwarted, subsumed into marriage and motherhood.

Sadly, none of Nannerl’s original pieces survive, but Milo’s poised performance is beautifully complemented by Phyllis Chen and Nathan Davis’s compositions, which evoke the era perfectly, allowing us to believe in Nannerl’s genius.

The Other Mozart, directed by Isaac Byrne, is a work of art: a sophisticated blend of monologue, music and movement – and it’s a visual marvel too. The set is the costume; the costume is the set: a giant dress, designed by Magdalena Dąbrowska, fills the entire stage, waiting, predator-like, to trap Nannerl in its fathomless drapes. The image is intensified by Miodrag Guberinic’s cage-like panier, constructed – I think – from music stands, constricting Nannerl but also amplifying her stature, so that she rises monumentally, towering over us, defying us to forget her name.

An object lesson in reclaiming women’s history, The Other Mozart is exquisitely conceived and realised, a magnum opus in its own right.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

Charming

05/08/25

Greenside (Forest Theatre), George Street, Edinburgh

“And they all lived happily ever after…”

Everyone’s familiar with the traditional fairytale ending, but playwright Annie Lux has a question: what does that actually look like? Twenty years down the line, how are Prince Charming and Cinderella getting along? After all, she reminds us, there’s no mention of “together…” in that concluding line.

We meet Charming (Nigel Myles-Thomas) after a gruelling ‘petition day’. He’s tired, as tetchy as King Charles III faced with a leaky quill, and not at all inclined to see the insistent latecomer who’s waiting at his gate. But this last-minute petitioner is Cinderella’s fairy godmother (Claire Toeman) and, with a wave of her wand, she’s gained entry. Before he knows it, Charming is being served divorce papers. Cinderella wants out.

Directed by Lee Costello, Myles-Thomas imbues Charming with weary charisma, and his bewildered responses to Cinderella’s demands are very funny. I like the conceit that the characters know about the different versions of themselves, and use these as justification for their actions (“Only in Grimm! Not in Andersen!”), although I do wonder why punches are pulled. If we’re to acknowledge the ugly sisters having their toes chopped off in Grimm, why is there no mention of them having their eyes pecked out?

Apart from a brief appearance from Cinderella’s wicked stepmum (Margot Avery) – no iron shoes; no walking on fire – Charming is a two-hander and, while Avery makes a decent fist of the role, I don’t think her character has enough to do. To justify her sudden arrival in the final third, she needs to signal an escalation or be a catalyst for change, but that is not the case, so she just feels redundant. Another issue is the over-reliance on dialogue: nothing is conveyed without being spoken, which seems a shame as theatre is a visual art form and fairytales are so replete with imagery.

There are plenty of revisionist versions of this story, but not many focus on the characters in middle-age, and it’s interesting to see this whimsical representation of the effects of the passing years, even on those with charmed – and Charming – lives.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

She’s Behind You

03/08/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Johnny McKnight lifts the lid on all things panto in this hugely entertaining and informative one-dame show, directed by John Tiffany. She’s Behind You is an interesting hybrid, retaining all the bawdy glamour of Britain’s most popular theatrical form, while simultaneously offering a thoughtful commentary on its strengths and weaknesses. A seasoned writer and performer, McKnight has the audience in the palm of his spangly-gloved hands, eliciting gales of laughter as well as contemplative silences. He knows exactly how to tell his tale to best effect, effortlessly undercutting the more sombre moments with a raucous one-liner or comic song, carrying us along with him. It’s all beautifully designed by Kenny Miller and there’s a lightning-fast costume change (courtesy of Jennie Lööf) that will leave you breathless.

McKnight’s stage persona, Dorothy Blawna-Gale, is as warm as she is sassy, brash but never brutal – more Elsie Tanner than Cruella de Vil. “Punch up,” McKnight exhorts, reflecting on earlier iterations of his dame, where he followed in the footsteps of the Widow Twankeys and Ugly Sisters he’d so admired in his youth, making ‘harmless’ jokes about race, gender, sexuality and body size. “Times change,” he reminds us – and panto has to change with it. Some rules need to be kept – after all, the conventions of the genre date back to commedia dell’arte, a working-class art form that spurned elitism and focused on entertaining the masses – but some need to be broken.

For example, the gender imbalance doesn’t sit well any more, but most commercial panto casts are still at least 75% male, and the few women don’t get much agency, let alone the chance to tell jokes. There’s also an inherent homophobia, he tells us, which genuinely surprises me (I guess that’s my straight privilege showing). I’ve always thought of pantomime as gender fluid, sometimes sexist but never anti-gay. McKnight’s insider perspective opens my eyes, and I’m impressed by his efforts to walk the walk, writing scripts he can stand by and be proud of, serving his audiences rather than belittling them. Pantomime has survived so long by being adaptable and irreverent, so why is there so much resistance to challenging certain tropes?

But if all this sounds po-faced, then I’m doing McKnight a disservice, because – more than anything – She’s Behind You is a cyclonic blast, as big and bold as its glittering protagonist, and fully deserving the standing ovation it receives tonight.

So click your age-appropriate-but-sparkly orthotic heels together three times, and repeat, “There’s no place like the Traverse.” Dorothy Blawna-Gale will be waiting to see you. Oh yes she will!

5 stars

Susan Singfield

Alright Sunshine

03/08/25

Pleasance Dome (Jack Dome), Edinburgh

Edinburgh playwright Isla Cowan is making quite a name for herself in Scottlish theatre – and it’s easy to see why. We’ve watched two of her previous pieces (2023’s And… And… And… and 2024’s To Save the Sea) and been mightily impressed; today’s production of Alright Sunshine is even better: an intense monologue about being a woman, being a police officer, and the darkness lurking behind sunny days on the Meadows. 

PC Nicky McCreadie (Molly Geddes) is dedicated to her job. It comes first: before her family, before her relationships, before her health (who has time for eggs for breakfast when there’s a Greggs on the way to work?). Her dad was polis too, and she’s determined to be the kind of officer he’d be proud of… if he were alive. She’ll be as strong, as focused, as brave as he always urged her to be. She won’t give in to her feelings. She won’t cry. She won’t be weak like her mum. She won’t be a girl.

Directed by Debbie Hannan, Cowan’s taut, almost poetic script is brought powerfully to life by Geddes’ mesmerising performance: a tour de force with real emotional heft. The playful, observational tone of the opening sections – where the park’s ‘timetable’ is humorously detailed – is skilfully undercut by the gradual disclosure that all is not okay in PC Nicky’s world. She’s seen too much, given up too much, suppressed too many emotions in her bid to be the perfect policewoman. Now that carefully-constructed carapace is breaking apart and she has no idea what she’s supposed to do.

It would be a crime to reveal any more than this; suffice to say that this is a compelling play with an important message at its heart. If you can watch it without giving in to your feelings, without crying, without being a girl, then you probably need to talk to someone. Soon.

5 stars

Susan Singfield