Edinburgh

Hold the Line

02/08/25

Pleasance Courtyard (Bunker Two)

Hold the Line is the type of theatre that speaks to its time. Right here, right now, when the nation’s beloved NHS has been starved of funds for the past two decades, is exactly the moment for writer/performer Sam Macgregor to shine a spotlight on one of its least glamorous aspects, the 111 non-emergency helpline.

Gary (Macgregor) is a call-handler. The job has more in common with other call-centre work than it does with what we usually think of as healthcare, but with emotional trauma thrown into the mix. In amongst the standard queries there are, of course, the timewasters, ranging from the humorously trivial (“I’ve got a lash in my eye”) to the pointlessly abusive (“Fuck off!”). But there are also desperate people who, unable to get a GP appointment or unwilling to face an eight-hour wait in A&E, stretch the definition of ‘non-emergency’ beyond recognition, forcing Gary to exceed his remit. He’s not a medic: how can he be responsible for matters of life and death? And yet here he is, the only point of contact in a situation he’s not trained for, as his boss tells him there’s no clinician available just yet, so keep the patient on the line… 

Macgregor imbues the protagonist with a raw humanity, while Gabriela Chanova takes on the supporting roles, most notably Tim, calling about his diabetic dad, and Tony, Gary’s supervisor. Regular disembodied tannoy announcements remind Gary (and us) that he has targets to meet, that ‘comfort breaks’ are essentially selfish, causing waiting times to escalate, and that everything he does is being monitored. There is no downtime, no space to process difficult calls and no information available about the outcomes. As so often seems to be the case, the caring professions are not cared for. 

Director Laura Killeen utilises the small space well: Tony’s agitated pacing back and forth along the same path, over and over, serves to underscore the repetitive nature of the work, as well as the  sense of being on a treadmill, going nowhere fast. I also like the simplicity of the design (by Nalani Julien) with its central focus on Gary’s desk, and the cunningly hidden phones, which are used to good effect in the frenetic ‘workout’ routine, highlighting Gary’s inner turmoil. 

I have just one criticism: the section where Macgregor plays ‘Top Brass’, showing how Tony faces the same pressures as Gary, makes some important points, but it’s somehow weaker than the rest of the play, the polemic less artfully disguised. 

That aside, Hold the Line is a tight two-hander, holding up a dark mirror to the state of our health service. Voices like Macgregor’s highlight what’s happening – and hopefully help to bring the change we need. 

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Lucky Tonight

31/07/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Lucky Tonight is an interactive play/pub quiz, performed by its creator, Afreena Islam-Wright. It’s a fascinating theatrical hybrid, the form mirroring the tale. After all, Afreena is used to having a foot in more than one camp: this show explores the complexities of growing up Asian in Manchester: part Gorton-rebel, part Bangladeshi-brainbox. Islam-Wright is an engaging storyteller, skilfully creating a relaxed, informal vibe as the genial host, before slowly revealing a much darker undertone.

Perhaps the vibe is a little too relaxed: Islam-Wright interrupts her own flow with frequent questions to both her director (Julia Samuels) and the tech desk, asking for clarification of where she’s up to or if she’s missed a chunk of text. This isn’t billed as a work-in-progress, so I’m a little disconcerted by these moments. The vast number of largely unnecessary props cluttering the stage doesn’t help. I like the ramshackle spirit of the piece, but I think it needs a more solid base, with clearer audio and visual clues to keep the protagonist’s complex narrative on track.

The quiz is fun, nicely judged so that it feels challenging without being impossible. We’re given tablets and some simple instructions, and we all enter gamely into the competition. Without giving anything away, there are some audaciously-themed rounds, which add edge and a sense of jeopardy. I think there’s scope to take these further, to make the piece more impactful. (Aside: thanks to our third team member’s impressive music knowledge, we actually win the quiz!)

Islam-Wright captures our sympathy: it’s impossible not to empathise with a young woman caught in a trap between her own desires and her family’s demands, finding a way to make peace with the people she loves without compromising who she is. The tone is gentle throughout, creating an unsettling contrast with what is revealed – and, for me, this is the show’s strength. I’m like the proverbial frog who doesn’t notice he’s immersed in boiling water until it’s too late, and I leave the Traverse after what’s felt like a fun-filled ninety minutes, surprised to find myself in awe of Islam-Wright’s resilience and my mind focused on deeper themes.

All in all, Lucky Tonight offers a fresh approach to a coming-of-age story. With more precision and a willingness to push the boundaries, it could be something really great.

3.3 stars

Susan Singfield

Chloe Petts: Big Naturals

31/07/25

Pleasance Courtyard (Forth), Edinburgh

(Happy to use she or they)

It’s that time again, when Edinburgh explodes with literally thousands of new shows – and for no particular reason that we can determine, first out of the stalls for us this year is Chloe Petts, who has named her show after er… her favourite things in the world (I’ll leave it to you to work out what they might be). She must be delighted with the turnout for her first performance, which sees the capacious Pleasance Forth very nearly packed to capacity. She strolls out and, seemingly without effort, gets the crowd on side.

Okay, it’s not revolutionary stuff, but her confident patter ranges from her formative years – when she found herself avidly embracing the lad culture of the early noughties (and often actually being mistaken for a lad in the process) – to her doomed attempts to hide her sexuality from her straight-laced but well-meaning parents.

As her story unfolds, Petts unleashes a whole barrage of howlingly funny one-liners and, at key moments, conducts a beautifully-timed series of high fives with a young lad in the front row, who doesn’t quite know whether to go with them or cross his arms in mortification.

All in all, it’s a promising start to Fringe 2025 and I leave having enjoyed a really good laugh throughout her sixty-minute set. In a world where such a commodity seems to be in increasingly short supply, what more can you reasonably ask from a stand-up?

4 Stars

Philip Caveney

Bring Her Back

26/07/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Okay, so Bring Her Back is predicated on my least-favourite horror trope: the monstrous mother – in this case, a formerly-fêted counsellor, rendered grotesque by the tragic loss of her child. However, although I can’t deny being put off by the reductive motif, nor can I forget how highly I rated Danny and Michael Philippou’s 2022 debut feature film, Talk to Me, so I’m keen to see their sophomore effort.

And, while there’s no clever subversion of the aforementioned trope, I’m pleased to report that the Philippou brothers have made another gloriously unsettling movie. Sally Hawkins is terrifying as Laura, the scary foster-mum who takes in orphaned step-siblings, Andy (Billy Barratt) and Piper (Sora Wong). The pair just need somewhere to stay for a few months until Andy turns eighteen and can apply for guardianship of his sister, but Laura has other ideas. She’s desperate to replace her daughter, Cathy, who drowned in her now-empty swimming pool – and Piper is the perfect match. Not only is she the same age, height and build, she’s also partially sighted, just like Cathy was. She has no idea that Laura is dressing her in borrowed clothes…

Andy’s not happy, but he isn’t sure what’s making him so jumpy. Is it grief? After all, he has just lost his dad. He doesn’t want to be negative about Laura, who’s going out of her way for him and Piper, but why is the other foster kid, Olly (Jonah Wren Phillips), so uncommunicative, and why is he locked in his room?

Bring Her Back is a tight thriller, never overstaying its welcome. The body horror is minimal but shockingly potent (dentists in particular are likely to wince), and I find myself holding my breath and peeking at the screen from behind my hands. Hawkins embodies creepiness, her hyper-focused characterisation dominating the film exactly as it should, but there are also strong performances from the supporting trio of youngsters, who find themselves at Laura’s mercy. I like the way that cinematographer Aaron McLisky blurs the focus to allow us to see some scenes from Piper’s point of view, and the dialogue (by Danny Philippou and Bill Hinzman) is nicely scripted.

There are a couple of areas that could do with sharpening, such as what exactly has Laura done to Olly? And where has she found the how-to videos she obsessively watches? But these are minor quibbles, far outnumbered by the clever moments that make the whole thing eminently watchable.

Go see it, if you dare. Grapefruit.

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

Elio

23/06/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Here’s the thing: despite all the ‘gorgeous’ artwork and ‘fantastic’ world-building, on the whole, Elio is better described by adjectives like ‘generic’ and ‘forgettable’. It’s a shame because there’s a lot to like. It’s just that it all gets drowned in a sea of schmaltz.

Elio (Yonas Kibreab) is a lonely eleven-year-old orphan, obsessed with extra-terrestrial life forms. Since his parents’ death, he’s been living with his Aunt Olga (Zoe Saldaña), an ‘orbital analyst’ on a military base, where there is plenty of tech for studying the night sky. He’s convinced that Olga doesn’t really want him, and dreams of being abducted by friendly aliens and finally fitting in. It’s a sweet enough idea, although – dressed in his superhero cape and colander hat – Elio seems a lot younger than eleven. Have the film-makers ever talked to anyone that age?

It’s not much of a spoiler to say that Elio’s dearest wish comes true, transporting him to the Communiverse, an interplanetary organisation, where representatives from every galaxy meet to ensure the smooth running of the universe. He announces himself as Earth’s ambassador, befriends a slug-like creature called Glordon (Remy Edgerly) and embarks on the adventure of a lifetime. So far, so good – until the preachy life-lessons start to overwhelm the plot.

Directed by Adrian Molina, Elio is a frustrating film, nowhere near as sophisticated as Pixar’s usual output – not as funny, not as smart. It looks lovely: the bright colours are sure to appeal to kids (indeed, it almost seems designed with merch in mind) but there’s not much here to engage an adult audience. Julia Cho’s script dances around some interesting ideas – such as gender stereotypes and toxic masculinity – but wimps out of fully exploring them. The ultimate message seems to be ‘there’s no place like home’, which is disappointingly regressive, falling back on that same-old, same-old. Has nothing changed since Judy Garland’s day? Are we still supposed to give up on our dreams and choose the bleak monochrome of Kansas over the vibrant colours of Oz?

Elio is a watchable movie with enough excitement to hold the interest of younger viewers, although I doubt it’s sufficiently refined to appeal to those of Elio’s own age. It needs more edge, more bite, more jeopardy.

2.8 stars

Susan Singfield

Lollipop

17/06/25

The Cameo, Edinburgh

Lollipop is writer-director Daisy-May Hudson’s debut feature film – and what a promising start this is. Sure, she’s treading in the footsteps of working-class champions such as Ken Loach and Mike Leigh, but – if this fiercely female and decidedly 2020s tale is anything to go by – Hudson is also forging her own path.

‘Lollipop’ is Molly (Posy Sterling)’s childhood nickname, but she’s come a long way since those innocent days. She’s just spent four months in prison – for an unspecified crime – and is looking forward to getting out and being reunited with her kids, Ava (Tegan-Mia Stanley Rhoads) and Leo (Luke Howitt). But things have gone awry while she’s been away: not only has she had to give up her flat, but her flaky mum, Sylvie (TerriAnn Cousins), who was supposed to be looking after the children, has handed them over to social services instead. “Don’t start,” she says, when Molly confronts her, aghast. “I can’t cope with you starting.”

Of course, once they’re in the system, the children can’t just be handed back. There are teams of people tasked with ensuring their welfare. How can they return Ava and Leo to Molly’s care when she’s homeless, pitching her tent illicitly in the park, washing in a public loo? But it’s Catch 22: Molly isn’t a priority for housing because she hasn’t got her kids with her. She’s going round in circles, and that’s not helping her already fragile mental health. However caring the individual professionals are – and they are decent, compassionate women, on the whole – the process seems designed to deny her any possibility of making good.

A chance encounter with an old school friend, Amina (Idil Ahmed), offers a glimmer of hope. Amina has her own problems: she’s separated from her husband, and living in a hostel with her daughter, Mya (Aliyah Abdi). But Amina is a natural optimist with an abundance of energy, spreading joy in the simplest of ways. She hosts a daily ‘party’, where she and Mya dance to their favourite tunes, while a disco ball transforms their dismal walls with colour and light. When Molly reaches breaking point, afraid she’s going to lose her kids forever, it’s Amina who breaks her fall…

It’s impossible not to draw comparisons with the second series of Jimmy McGovern’s acclaimed TV series, Time, which saw Jodie Whittaker’s Orla facing a similar situation, fighting against a failing and underfunded system that not only hurts people but also encourages recidivism. This doesn’t detract from Lollipop‘s power; sadly, it only serves to highlight the ordinariness of this extraordinary horror.

Sterling imbues the central role with so much heart that I defy anyone not to cry when they see Molly lose the plot at a resource centre, not to hold their breath while they wait for the court’s verdict. Newcomer Ahmed is also perfectly cast, lighting up the screen with her ebullience, although Amina also experiences great pain. Cousins infuriates as the selfish Sylvie, letting Molly down at every turn, but somehow still evoking our pity, and young Rhoads is heartbreakingly convincing as a little girl negotiating adult trauma before she’s even hit puberty.

Lollipop is a devastating but beautifully-realised film, as vital and engaging as Sean Baker’s The Florida Project (with which it shares some DNA). It’s the sort of potent story that ought to be the catalyst for change. Let’s hope.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

Lyla

14/06/25

Royal Terrace, Edinburgh

It has become our regular habit to visit a Michelin-starred restaurant to celebrate Susan’s birthday. As she claims it always rains on the 16th June, we tend to vary the dates a little. We book for Lyla a couple of days before the actual date – but it rains anyway. We’ve been meaning to visit Lyla ever since acclaimed chef Stuart Ralston set it up in the location that previously housed the late Paul Kitching’s much-acclaimed 21212. (Four five-star rooms are bookable on the upper floor for those who want to stay – but we live within walking distance.)

We made this booking some time ago, before Lyla was voted ‘Scotland’s Best’ in the 2025 National Restaurant Awards. So it seems a propitious time to review the place.

Lyla offers tasting menus with an emphasis on seafood and we begin the evening up in the cosy bar, sipping on drinks and sampling three extraordinary amuse bouches: alp-blossom cheese with onion and quince; bluefin tuna, nori and kashu; and Lobster kohlrabi. They are all exquisite morsels bursting with flavour and provide a promising introduction to the ten-course tasting menu we’re about to experience.

Down in the dining room, we can’t help but note that tonight’s playlist could have been chosen with Susan in mind, a mix of The Cure, The Smiths and various other indie-rock bands, all played at just the right volume. I try to persuade her that I actually arranged this detail but she isn’t falling for it. In comes the first dish proper, a delicious creation featuring cured halibut, kelp and umai caviar and it is absolutely sumptuous – a vibrant mingling of intense flavours. As it turns out, so is everything else that comes to the table. I’m not going to list every dish, but I will pick out a few highlights – please note that the bar is set very high and, to be honest, there isn’t a false note anywhere in this varied menu.

I will shout about a fabulous hand-dived scallop, crispy on top, meltingly soft below, crowned with N25 caviar and nestling in a viscous puddle of sauce choron. Also a plump, tender langoustine wrapped in crispy rice noodles with an accompanying burnt apple ketchup deserves special praise. There’s a melt-in-the-mouth wagyu steak which is tender enough to slice with a butter knife – although, in a moment of theatre, we are invited to choose from an array of fancy-handled sharp blades.

There’s a laminated brioche which, when bitten into is like the most spectacular croissant you’ve ever tasted, and is served with two very different kinds of butter. As for puddings, how about a frozen Amalfi lemon yoghurt with kombucha? Or, prettiest of all, a strawberry-topped biscuit served with créme crue and rose?

It doesn’t stop there. We enjoy coffee at the end of the meal, which is accompanied by four exquisite petit fours, one of which – a malt dulcey bon bon – looks like a piece of lapis lazuli and tastes like heaven.

Of course, a great meal isn’t just about the food. The staff at Lyla are friendly, chatty, and happy to answer any queries. The kitchen is situated in an open area at the top of the room and it’s fascinating to witness the way the chefs and waiters work as a team, keeping the busy restaurant running with clockwork precision. Sometimes the big awards must be taken with a pinch of Himalayan rock salt, but in the case of Lyla, I have to admit that it’s earned its place at the top. What’s more, it has just claimed another (much less coveted) accolade: “The best meal I’ve ever eaten.”

5 stars

Philip Caveney

The Mountaintop

04/06/25

The Royal Lyceum, Edinburgh

Katori Hall’s 2009 play bristles with prescience in this stirring revival, directed by Rikki Henry. We’re in Room 306 of the Lorraine Motel, Memphis, where a tired, sick Dr Martin Luther King Jr (Caleb Roberts) is planning on writing through the night. But, as the night in question is April 3 1968, we know this work will never make it to completion. Instead, assassination awaits.

The great man’s famous “I’ve been to the mountaintop” metaphor is gloriously realised in Hyemi Shin’s set design, the room balanced precariously on a slab of jutting rock protruding from the dark earth, offering little protection from the Biblical storm raging outside. There are climbing ropes too, tethering King to earthly reality even as they call for his ascension.

As ever, MLK is up against it. He’s in Memphis to promote his Poor People’s Campaign, and to support the striking Black sanitation workers. He’s a divisive figure: a hero to those he’s championing; a thorn in the side of the establishment. White supremacists hate him. How can he allow himself to rest when there is so much injustice to address? He calls the motel’s reception to ask for coffee, and salvation arrives in the form of housekeeping. It’s Camae (Shannon Hayes)’s first day on the job, and she’s beyond excited to meet her idol. Of course he can have one of her cigarettes.

In this fictional encounter between the real-life martyr and the made-up maid, Hall illuminates the flawed reality of King, who was, after all, a mere mortal, as prone to weakness as the rest of us. What set him apart wasn’t saintliness, it was conviction, purpose, determination – and the belief that he could be the change. As he laments the failures of his beloved America, the message comes across loud and clear, and is particularly important today: you don’t have to be special to make a difference. You just have to show up and fight.

Roberts and Hayes make an electric duo in this fierce two-hander, which lurches from realism to expressionism with thrilling momentum. Roberts imbues his warts-and-all depiction of MLK with so much warmth and charisma that we forgive him his trespasses. After all, if God (with whom he argues via the motel’s landline) can summon him to Heaven, who are we to argue with Her? Hayes makes for a perfect antagonist, her spirited Camae proving more than a match for the mighty King, challenging him both politically and personally. Issues of race and equity are illuminated rather than undermined by the humour that punctuates the couple’s verbal sparring, and Camae’s final monologue, accompanied by Lewis den Hertog’s black and white video design, is a stark reminder both of MLK’s legacy and of the battles yet to come.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

The Salt Path

08/07/25

Update

In the aftermath of the bombshell dropped by Chloe Hadjimatheou in this weekend’s Observer, where she exposes the lies this story is based on, it feels right to reassess our original response to the movie. Our opening sentence included the words “raised eyebrows”. Perhaps we shouldn’t have been so gullible.

But we’re in good company, including Penguin Random House, Number 9 Films and more than two million readers worldwide. Chivalrous Jason Isaacs, sitting next to Raynor Winn on The One Show sofa, gently corrects her when she says it all began when she and her husband “got into a financial dispute”. “You were conned out of everything you had,” he says sympathetically. “You might not be able to say it but I can.”

The Winns’ audacity is breathtaking. According to Hadjimatheou, the real con-artist is Raynor, aka Sally Walker. Aka embezzler of £64k from her employer; aka borrower of £100k to pay back her ill-gotten gains and thus avoid a criminal trial. When their house was repossessed, it wasn’t because a good friend betrayed them; it wasn’t a naïve business investment gone wrong. It was the simple calling-in of an unpaid debt, ratified by the courts. Did Walker and her husband Ti-Moth-y really believe the truth would stay buried as they appeared on national television to publicise their untruths?

So how gullible were we, really? Like many, we believed the basic premise. Why wouldn’t we? Sure, it was clear that the exact circumstances of the couple’s slide into destitution were being glossed over, and of course their story was shaped into a neater narrative than real life provides. But we had no reason to doubt the fundamentals. (How could anyone have guessed they had a ‘spare’ property in France?) In fact, my interest piqued by the movie, I went on to read Winn’s books. I liked The Salt Path, although I was disappointed not to learn more about the calamitous investment. I found books two and three (The Wild Silence and Landlines) less interesting: just more of the same, but – now that the couple were housed and embracing successful careers – without the jeopardy. In these sequels, the focus shifts to Moth’s terminal illness, corticobasal degeneration, and the miraculous curative effect that hiking has for him. While the first book tentatively suggests that strenuous exercise might be beneficial for those with this rare condition, by the third we’re deep into dubious ‘wellness’ territory, with Winn’s ‘own research’ supposedly trumping anything a neurologist might purport to know.

Still, we won’t be taking down our review (you can read it in full below). We stand by it as a reaction to a well-acted and nicely-crafted film that we enjoyed. Of course, its message of grit in the face of adversity doesn’t have quite the same potency it did, now that we know the protagonists are a pair of grifters, but, if we can steel ourselves to view it as a work of fiction, it’s an affecting and moving piece.

Susan Singfield and Philip Caveney

01/06/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

I’ve often remarked that real-life stories, depicted as fiction, would more often than not be the case for raised eyebrows. Take the case of Raynor and Moth Winn, for example: a married couple who, after a badly-judged business investment went tits up, found themselves evicted from their family farm, unable to obtain any financial help, bar a paltry £40 a week benefit. Around the same time, Moth was diagnosed with a rare (and inoperable) degenerative brain condition. Their response? To set off to walk the South West Coastal Path, a trip of hundreds of miles, telling themselves that if they just kept walking, something was sure to turn up…

Okay, so in a move they could surely never have anticipated, the book that Raynor wrote about the experience eventually went on to sell two million copies… but it would be a hard-hearted reviewer who begrudged them this success.

In this adaptation by Rebecca Lenkiewicz, we first encounter Raynor (Gillian Anderson) and Moth (Jason Isaacs) as they fight to save their last real possession – a small tent – from the ravages of the incoming tide. The couples’ back story is told in a series of fragmentary flashbacks, though director Marianne Elliott is less interested in the events that brought the couple to this sorry situation, than exploring the possibilities of what their newfound freedom brings them.

As the two of them progress on their journey, struggling at first but gradually adapting to a different kind of life, it becomes clear that there is something to be said for casting off the familiar shackles of a home and a mortgage. The couple find an inner strength they didn’t know existed and, along the way, they rediscover what drew them together in the first place. This could easily have been overly -sentimental but manages to pursue a less obvious route.

The story takes the duo across some jaw-dropping locations around Cornwall and Devon and the majesty of the scenery is nicely set against Chris Roe’s ethereal soundtrack. Anderson and Isaacs make a winning duo, conveying the real life couple’s indomitable spirit and genuine devotion to each other, while the various situations they stumble into range from the comical to the deeply affecting.

The film’s final drone sequence cleverly encapsulates its central message in one soaring extended shot. There have been some mean-spirited early reviews for The Salt Path but I find it genuinely moving and a cinematic journey worth sharing.

4.2 stars

Philip Caveney and Susan Singfield

Blinded By The Light

21/05/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Drawing on the true story of a historical protest, Sylvia Dow’s Blinded by the Light illuminates two distinct timelines: first, the real-life miners who held a ‘stay-doon’ in the pit at Kinneil Colliery in 1982; second, the fictional inhabitants of a near-future dystopia, forced underground by the climate crisis and now occupying those same Bo’ness tunnels.

Nimbly directed by Philip Howard, the disparate worlds intersect seamlessly, the stories harmonising into something bigger and brighter than the sum of their parts. For Lily 7 (Holly Howden Gilchrist) and Freddie 9 (Reece Montague), the coal-black warren is a prison: they’ve never been ‘up’; never seen the grass or felt the rain; to them, the sun is nothing more than an enticing concept, gleaned from forbidden books. Meanwhile, two hundred years earlier, Andy (Rhys Anderson), Matt (Barrie Hunter) and Matt’s son, Jerry (Andrew Rothney), view the mine very differently. For them, it represents a well-loved way of life – not just their workplace but also their community. Of course, they also have friends and family in the outside world, but it’s their mining jobs that define them. The looming pit closure threatens everything they know and love.

Becky Minto’s simple set design works well. A steeply-raked wooden floor emphasises the precariousness of the situations, and the small footprint forces all five characters into close proximity, highlighting their interdependence across the centuries. The script employs repetition and echoes to stress these links, and Howard mines this (sorry!) for full effect, as the tunnels’ inhabitants occasionally finish each other’s lines or speak in perfect unison. A scene where Lily and Freddie place their palms in the handprints left by their ancestors is particularly affecting.

The performances are uniformly strong, but Howden Gilchrist and Rothney are the standouts for me, perhaps because their characters share a wide-eyed optimism, which makes their inevitable defeat all the more heart-rending.

In a play where light – or lack of it – is literally the point, the lighting designer’s role is even more important than usual. Colin Grenfell rises to the occasion, conveying the mine’s darkness while simultaneously directing our attention to the action as it unfolds. The clear distinction between the timelines is also achieved primarily through stage lighting (along with some wonderfully atmospheric sound design by Philip Pinsky).

Dow writes with a lightness of touch, exploring big political ideas without ever straying into the didactic or expositional. The plight of Britain’s striking miners, sacrificed to Thatcherism, is effortlessly laid bare, as is a warning about the bleak future we’re stumbling towards, with its shades of both Fahrenheit 451 and 1984.

Blinded by the Light has left Edinburgh now, but there are still two more chances to see this thought-provoking production: at St Andrews’ Byre Theatre on the 23rd May and Stirling’s Macrobert Arts Centre on the 24th. Catch it if you can!

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield