Katie Posner

Consumed

03/08/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

In a suburban home, somewhere in Northern Ireland, a ninetieth birthday celebration is about to begin. Gilly (Andrea Irvine) is preparing a special meal for her mother, Eileen (Julia Dearden), sparing no expense. After all, as Eileen seems to delight in pointing out, this might be her last chance for a decent shindig. Gilly’s daughter, Jenny (Caoimhe Farren), has travelled all the way from that London especially for the occasion, but – wouldn’t you know it – there’s no sign of her husband. Instead, she’s brought along her teenage daughter, Muireen (Muireen Ní Fhaogáion), who is… whisper it… a vegetarian.

But as the celebration gathers pace, it soon becomes clear that something here isn’t quite right. Why can’t the four generations of women find some common ground? Why is Eileen so dismissive of her visitors’ privileged lives? And… why is there absolutely no sign of Gilly’s husband?

Karis Kelly’s pitch-dark comedy, Consumed, winner of the Women’s Prize for Playwriting in 2023, is a multi-layered tale of intergenerational conflict, sumptuously situated in Lily Arnold’s incredibly realistic set, where even items of food appear to be genuinely cooked and served as we watch. The four characters are all convincingly portrayed, with Dearden ruling the roost as a gloriously foul-mouthed Granny from Hell, levelling her curses at Feinians and the English with equal venom.

Meanwhile, Muireen can’t understand why Gilly’s house is so cluttered with plastic bags and other non-recyclables – is she turning into a hoarder? And when people ask awkward questions, why does Jenny always seem to take refuge in a glass of red wine?

As a whole series of twists are gleefully unravelled, the pressure cooker atmosphere in the house steadily builds up an explosive head of steam. In the final stages, there’s an abrupt twist from realism to a kind of dreamlike symbolism, as Eileen and Muireen enter a shared experience – and it’s in this section that for me, the play loses a little of its drive.

But quibbles aside, Consumed is a delicious confection, sensitively directed by Katie Posner – an affecting narrative, which has me laughing throughout, while also giving me plenty to think about.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Strategic Love Play

16/08/23

Summerhall (Roundabout), Edinburgh

So, they have both swiped right on their phones and here they are, meeting up for that all-important first date. Him (Archie Backhouse) is finally getting over a failed relationship and is ready to look for someone new. Her (Letty Thomas) has a different agenda entirely. She wants to cut the crap, avoid all the usual platitudes, go straight for the jugular. And he isn’t quite ready for the onslaught of home truths he’s about to be bombarded with.

Strategic Love Play, written by Miriam Battye and directed by Katie Posner, is a spare and cynical piece that keeps heading in unexpected directions. No sooner do I think I have the measure of it, then it veers off again and the result is as intriguing as it is unsettling. I enjoy it most in its opening stretches when Her is letting rip, shredding all the familiar notions of romance and gleefully tossing them into the wastebasket. It’s cynical, abrasive and very funny.

But as her demands and expectations develop, the more outrageous and off-the-wall the narrative becomes, a bleak and cynical philosophy about the nature of relationships and the scant possibilities of love and life in the age of Tinder.

Both actors submit pitch-perfect performances and I love Rhys Jarman’s simple but effective set design, the tight circle that spins around to show us a different view of the two characters: the merry-go-round of human relationships; the endless quest to find the perfect partner as the passengers spin around and around, just to end up back where they began.

And I love the surprise uses to which an overhead lamp can be put.

I don’t want to say too much about where this ends up – but the conclusion catches me by surprise as much as it catches Him. Despite all the laughs, this is ultimately a brutal and misanthropic play, with a jaundiced view of human relationships.

But, as I leave Roundabout, I make an important decision: I’m going to borrow that little trick with a packet of crisps.

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney

You Bury Me

08/03/23

Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

You Bury Me is a play about six young Egyptians coming of age in the aftermath of the Arab Spring – “a generation emerging from a national trauma, determined to live and love freely”. It’s a fascinating premise. I’m aware of the Arab Spring, of course; I read the news. But I don’t know anything about life in modern Egypt, nor of the ‘what happens next’. I’m keen to learn more.

Written by an anonymous playwright – under the alias ‘Ahlam’ – and directed by Katie Posner, the play is a co-production with the ever-dependable Paines Plough (among others), and the winner of 2020’s Women’s Prize for Playwriting. Its strength lies in the verve and vitality of the characters, all brimful of youthful energy, fighting to find their places in a changing world.

Alia (Hanna Khogali) and Tamer (Moe Bar-El) have both just graduated from university, but they’ve little experience of sex and relationships. They’re in love and want to get married, but it’s not as easy as all that. Alia is Muslim and Tamer is Christian; Alia’s family, who all work for the police, will not be pleased – and Cairo is a city where displeasing the police can have serious consequences…

Meanwhile, eighteen-year-old Maya (Yasemin Özdemir) is making the most of her last year of high school, attending every party she can, and making out with lots of guys. She’s bubbly and outgoing, and doesn’t care a jot about her ‘reputation’. New girl Lina (Eleanor Nawal) is shy and insecure, but opposites attract sometimes, and the two soon become firm friends – but is this enough for Lina?

Osman (Tarrick Benham) is Maya’s half brother, and he’s a political writer, publishing a blog that makes him a target for the authorities. We never see his girlfriend, Zeina, but we learn that she’s an activist too, so it’s no surprise to learn that Rafik (Nezar Alderazi) – who’s staying with Osman because his dad has kicked him out for being gay – thinks there are people watching the house. The two men fear for each other: Osman urges Rafik to delete Grindr, while Rafik wants Osman to stop writing his blog. But neither is prepared to sacrifice their sense of self in order to feel ‘safe’.

All six actors deliver lively and spirited performances, and I like the choral narration that provides context. Özdemir in particular really owns the stage; she is very charismatic, and Maya and Lina’s burgeoning friendship is always believable. Khogali and Bar-El make the most of the humour in Alia and Tamer’s fumbling sexual encounters, as well as inviting empathy for the lovers’ plight.

Although Benham and Alderazi both inhabit their roles well, their strand of the play is less satisfying, mainly because it is all told rather than shown. We don’t see any of Rafik’s dates, nor his family disowning him. Neither do we find out anything about what Osman is actually writing: the political discourse here is frustratingly vague. What is he saying that is so inflammatory, and how much danger is he really in? Without these details, Osman’s rage at his blog being deleted lacks context, and Rafik’s big emotional scene doesn’t elicit as much sympathy as it ought.

You Bury Me is eminently watchable – in the same way as an episode of Friends or Skins – and there are plenty of laughs, as well as moments of sadness. Ultimately, however, I don’t think it quite delivers on its political promise.

3.3 stars

Susan Singfield

Hungry

14/08/22

Roundabout at Summerhall, Edinburgh

As we take our seats at Roundabout, the heavens are threatening a deluge and the sound of thunder rumbles and reverberates overhead. It provides a suitably dramatic backing track for Hungry by Chris Bush, making its world premiere at Summerhall. This sharply written two-hander examines the relationship between Lori (Eleanor Sutton), a chef from a relatively privileged background, and Bex (Melissa Lowe), a waitress from the local estate. Their first meeting is fractious to say the least but, by the second, Lori is already trying hard to put the new worker at ease and endearingly failing to understand her sly sense of humour.

But it isn’t long before sparks begin to fly – and the two of them become lovers.

The ensuing relationship is told non-chronologically and veers between awkward early encounters to full-on adversarial squabbles, the two actors literally slamming metal food trollies at each other as the conflict builds. It’s perhaps only natural for Lori to want to offer her partner an upgrade in life, to try to encourage her to appreciate the difference between a mousse – sorry, a mousseline – and a ganache, even positing the idea of them running their own ‘soul food’ restaurant, together, but she doesn’t fully understand the implications of what she’s doing, nor the way her interventions make Bex feel.

When Bex’s mother dies Lori tries to muscle in on the catering arrangements and matters inevitably come to a head.

This is a cleverly observed exploration of both class and race, brilliantly written and superbly acted by Sutton and Lowe, who make their characters entirely believable. Director Katie Posner keeps everything stripped back and simple – there’s no need for the distractions of actors miming the acts of ‘eating’ or ‘drinking,’ they are free to circle each other, interacting, exchanging pithy remarks and occasionally kicking off. It’s only in the play’s final scenes that any actual food appears and, when it does, this sudden move into hyper-realism – and the fact that we can actually smell it cooking – amplifies its seductive nature.

Hungry is a class act, so assured that, even amidst the host of treasures on offer at this year’s Roundabout, it dazzles like a precious gem. The standing ovation from the crowd is heartfelt and utterly well-deserved. If you’ve a taste for challenging drama, this is a show you mustn’t miss.

5 stars

Philip Caveney