Hilary Maclean | Bouquets & Brickbats

01/10/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Today’s A Play, A Pie and A Pint production is a welcome revival of Shonagh Murray’s Armour: A Herstory of the Scottish Bard. Unwieldy title notwithstanding, this is a taut, well-scripted piece of theatre, the music deftly evoking the lyrical poetry at its heart.

It’s thirty years since the death of Scotland’s beloved poet, Robert Burns, and his widow, Jean (Irene Allan), still misses him. But she has plenty to occupy her time, not least her headstrong young granddaughter, Sarah (Karen Fishwick), who’s been sent to live with her in Dumfries, while her dad’s away in India. And then there’s Nancy Maclehose (Hilary Maclean), Burns’ erstwhile mistress, who seems very keen to talk to Jean. There’s something important she needs to say…

Tom Cooper’s direction and Heather Grace Currie’s set design both serve to highlight Murray’s clever structure, ensuring that Burns’ absence forms the centre of the play, a model of his mausoleum gleaming from the mantlepiece, white against the dark furniture. Armour is a feminist piece but it doesn’t shy away from the fact that we only know these women in relation to a man, that they are destined to remain almost unknown, circling the ghost of a famous heavyweight, as small as the dolls that Sarah plays with.

Murray’s script breathes life into the women, imagining their responses to the scant details we have of their real circumstances. Allan imbues Jean with a sharp dignity, a refusal to be shamed or diminished by her husband’s infidelities. What’s more, Maclean’s Nancy defies the image of a paramour: she admits to feeling guilt for not thinking about Jean, but there’s no room here for any moral outrage. She loved Rab. He loved her. He loved Jean too. People are complicated and you can’t change that. What you can do, as Jean explains to Sarah, is choose whether to be “a sitter or a do-er”. And being a do-er is infinitely more admirable.

Fishwick shines as the motherless young child, fascinated by her granny’s stories and determined to follow in her grandad’s footsteps and become a bard herself. Her wistful demeanour – as she remembers India and her dad – contrasts beautifully with the irrepressible spirit she shows as she sings and dances around her granny’s house. Jean and Nancy might have been consigned to a life in the shadows, but Sarah believes she can have much more. Especially with those great women behind her.

Armour is a deceptively melodic piece, which smoulders gently before bursting into full flame.

4.1 stars

Susan Singfield

23/05/18

A show set in Edinburgh, about Edinburgh people, with music by two of the city’s most celebrated sons… little wonder the King’s Theatre is rammed to the rafters this evening and even less wonder that the audience is lapping up every line of Stephen Greenhorn’s earthy script. Which is not to take anything away from Sunshine On Leith. This exuberant, warm-hearted musical has much to recommend it.

Davy (played tonight by John McLarnon) and Ally (Paul James Corrigan) are two young friends, recently returned from a punishing tour of duty with the British army in Afghanistan. Delighted to have emerged in one piece, they head back to their homes in Leith (not Edinburgh, mind you. The script takes great pains to point out that there’s a big difference). Ally is going out with Davy’s sister, Liz (Neshla Caplan), a nurse dreaming of a brighter future, and she arranges a blind date for Davy with a colleague, English girl Yvonne (Jocasta Almgill). The two soon strike up a relationship but how far is Davy prepared to go in order to secure their future? Meanwhile, Davy’s parents, Rab (Phil McKee) and Jean (Hilary Maclean), are approaching their 30th anniversary and preparing to celebrate – but something from Rab’s past appears like a bolt from the blue, threatening to jeopardise the couple’s long-standing relationship.

Sunshine On Leith is an absolute charmer, a celebration of working class experiences and aspirations. It’s beautifully and economically staged, the revolving sets giving a genuine feel for the various locations and there’s a band onstage throughout the show from which key members interact with the cast and, at times, even establish characters in their own right. And of course, there’s the music of The Proclaimers, which is cleverly tied to the story and, unlike many pop-culture musicals I can think of, is never allowed to feel superfluous. Even if they’re not your cup of Irn Bru, you cannot deny the power of the Reid brothers’ music and, from the opening chords of the climactic I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles), the entire audience is delightedly clapping hands and stamping feet with a force that seems to shake the beautiful old theatre to its very foundations. I’ve seen standing ovations here before, but they have rarely felt as well-earned or heartfelt as the one we witness tonight.

And if you don’t come out humming that poignant title song, well, there’s clearly something very wrong with you.

4.7 stars

Philip Caveney