Play Pie Pint

Maybe Tomorrow

14/10/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

“Glamour and strife! Bigger than life!”

Siân Silver (Liz Ewing)’s showbiz career is careering towards the end of Sunthorpe-on-Sea’s dilapidated pier, where the seventy-five-year-old singer is gamely touting her outmoded razzle-dazzle to ever-smaller audiences for a measly £250 a week. It’s a long way from the stardom she dreamed of, but at least she’s still on stage, performing – until the theatre manager tells her she’s no longer required. Siân doesn’t know who she is if she’s not sparkling in the spotlight. What’s left when even the dregs she’s settled for are so cruelly stripped away?

Forced to confront her failure, Siân is visited by the ghost of Siânny past (Julia Murray). Young Siânny is brimming with hope and vitality, urging her future self to embody the spirit of her long-time heroine, Little Orphan Annie. Instead of bemoaning her hard-knock life, Siânny thinks Siân should focus on making the most of the years she has left. “Maybe now it’s time…”

At first, Siân’s having none of it but she soon realises she has nothing to lose. Why not step into the plucky red-head’s ankle socks and Mary Janes? After all, why should little girls have all the fun? The role of Annie is wasted on a ten-year-old! If she has to bow out, then she’ll do it on her own terms…

Written by Hannah Jarrett-Scott with music and lyrics by Brian James O’Sullivan, Maybe Tomorrow is a decidedly quirky piece of musical theatre, rife with heart and humour. The songs work well, paying homage to Charles Strouse’s original score without allowing it to overwhelm this play. Under Lesley Hart’s direction, Ewing shines as the protagonist (and not just because of her sequinned costumes), imbuing the fading performer with pathos. Siân is talented but unappreciated: of course she’s resentful; of course she’s angry at her producer-ex, who promised her centre-stage but left her in the wings. Murray provides excellent support, not only as the vivacious Siânny, but also as a series of minor male characters, with an impressive range of hats, accents and, um, farts.

An ageing Annie-fan myself, I enjoy this show immensely. It’s undeniably absurd, but somehow rather beautiful. It feels like the start of something that could easily evolve into a full-length musical production, where both themes and characters would have more space to breathe. Why not pop along to the Traverse this week and see for yourself? “You’re gonna have a swell time.”

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Cheapo

07/10/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Last time we saw this play – back in December – I was a little confused by the title. This version comes with a strapline that makes things a whole lot clearer – “Cheapo: chess slang for a primitive trap, often set in the hope of swindling a win from a lost position.”

Cheapo‘s previous appearance at the Traverse was part of the annual 4PLAY programme, where four new plays are showcased over four nights. It was our favourite of last year’s quartet, and I’m delighted to have the chance to watch this new iteration.

Katy Nixon’s script still resonates: her writing is spare and succinct, capturing the teenage characters’ raw emotions with devastating precision.

And their emotions are very raw. At a recent party, something dreadful happened to Kyla (Yolanda Mitchell) and she needs Jamie (Testimony Adegbite) to help her deal with the fallout. But Jamie isn’t prepared to renege on what he’s told the police – and he doesn’t understand why Kyla wants him to. In a not-especially-subtle-but-nonetheless-effective metaphor, they play a game of chess, arguing about their possible moves while fighting to avoid checkmate. The mounting tension is expertly undercut by some quirky flights of fancy, as the duo imagine how their lives might have played out in alternate universes – before coming back down to earth with a bump, still mired in the nightmare of their current reality.

The set, by Gillian Argo, is boldly emblematic: a crooked panel of black and white checkered flooring spreads up on to the wall, mirroring the chess board Jamie places on the table. A red carpet appears to signal the dangerous path the pair are on; again, the colour is repeated, this time in the takeaway food cartons that litter the table. It’s cunningly designed, with monochrome stools resembling giant pawns and strip lights that double as, um, light sabres.

Brian Logan is in the director’s chair this time, and the piece is perfectly paced, with long moments of stillness and contemplation punctuating the frenetic teenage energy. The movement is dynamic and I especially enjoy the dance sequences, as well as the way Kyla moves like a chess piece in the imaginary court scene.

Adegbite and Mitchell are perfectly cast: his earnest geek nicely contrasting with her streetwise façade. The exploration of misogyny and racism feels credibly rooted in their characters’ teenage experience, and their respective vulnerabilities and coping mechanisms are skilfully embodied.

Despite dealing with distressing themes, Cheapo is a witty and enjoyable piece of theatre, provocative but ultimately hopeful, that red carpet perhaps signifying something more positive than it first appears: an escape route for our young protagonists.

4.7 stars

Susan Singfield

Ivor

15/04/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s Scarlet’s twenty-first birthday, and she’s promised to spend it with her mum. Single-parent Sarah (Laura Harvey) is beyond excited: she’s not enjoying her empty nest, and is determined to go the extra mile for her student daughter (Alice Glass). A landmark occasion requires a significant gift – and what could be more significant than an actual iceberg?

The titular piece of polar glacier – “Ivor” – dominates both the family kitchen and the Traverse 2’s stage: a great big hulking metaphor, displaced and dangerous.

Scarlet’s not exactly delighted by the surprise. Not only is it weird, it’s also way too much. She feels suffocated by her mother’s ridiculous largesse. How now can she break the news that, in fact, she won’t be staying here after all? That she’s planning to go to London with her girlfriend, Jude (Betty Valencia), and has only popped in to collect something…

Jennifer Adam’s sprawling script encompasses ecological disaster, terrorism and helicopter parenting. The creaking, leaking iceberg symbolises more than the melting ice caps: it’s a reminder of the enormity of the task ahead for Jude and Scarlet, young women determined to save the world. Meanwhile, the petty squabbles and hypocrisies between the three loom just as large. It’s a lot to pack in to fifty minutes’ playing time and, although director Catriona MacLeod succeeds in pacing it well, I can’t help wishing there were a little less here. Valencia’s performance is strong, but I think the play would be more compelling without Jude, with a tighter focus on the mother-daughter dynamic, set against the ever-looming climate crisis.

Heather Grace Currie’s clever design almost fills the small stage with an Ivor comprising huge white sheets teased into peaks, which is quite an achievement on a small budget. Unfortunately, this affects the sight-lines, and I wonder if a more abstract construction – an up-lit empty frame, for example – might serve the piece better.

The idea behind Ivor is pleasingly quirky but, in its current form, it doesn’t really suit the PPP running-time. Given longer to develop its themes – Jude’s family’s experiences in Colombia in particular need a lot more attention – this could be a really fascinating play, with much to say about the troubled times we live in.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

Night, Idiot

12/04/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Night, Idiot promises to be a breezy comedy of manners, with a strong focus on inter-generational differences. Dani (Zoë Bullock) and her boyfriend, Paul (Andrew Barrett), have just moved into a new flat, and they’ve barely started unpacking when Paul’s mum, Ruth (Pauline Lynch), announces a visit. Zoë’s nervous: she’s only met Ruth once before and that didn’t go well. After all, it’s hardly Zoë’s fault that Paul is still working in a coffee shop, or that his great novel remains a concept rather than anything as concrete as a finished manuscript. So it’s Zoë’s job as a paralegal that pays the rent and bills; so what? That’s up to her and Paul. But Ruth has other ideas: she wants her son to fulfil his potential. And, more importantly, she wants grandchildren. Soon.

The first third is very funny, if sometimes a little far-fetched (surely no one is ever as blunt as Ruth in their criticism of their child’s partner?). But something is clearly troubling Dani…

And then things take a darker turn…

Directed by Shilpa T-Hyland, Night, Idiot is a dynamic piece of theatre: poignant, engaging and full of twists and turns. The script – by Bullock – is clever, offering clear insight into Dani’s mental anguish as she obsessively replays events, dwelling on every Sliding-Doors moment and pondering what might have been. These glimpses into the hypothetical are slick, and I like the fact that Bullock doesn’t offer any easy answers for us or Dani, and nor does she shy away from difficult themes.

Bullock and Lynch make an appealingly-fiery central duo, while Barrett ensures Paul is a sympathetic character, despite his uncommunicative nature and ultimate cowardice. Bullock in particular gets to show off her acting chops: watch out for her so-heavily-signposted-this-isn’t-a-spoiler rendition of Shrek and you’ll see exactly what I mean.

Night, Idiot is an ideal piece for A Play, A Pie and A Pint, with lots packed into the short running time. There’s emotional heft here and I find myself really rooting for the characters. Zoë Bullock is clearly one to watch.

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

Wasps

25/03/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Cameron Forbes’ Wasps, the latest offering from A Play, A Pie and A Pint, buzzes along busily, like its  hymenoptera lookalike. Anchored by a gutsy performance from Yolanda Mitchell, this tragic coming-of-age monologue has quite a sting in its tail (sorry, not sorry).

Teenager Rianne (Mitchell) just wants to fit in. At school, she’s perfected the art of invisibility: if she dresses right, wears her make-up exactly so, earns just enough detentions, she can move through the corridors without attracting any attention at all. But there are downsides to never being seen. For one thing, her crush, Oran, doesn’t seem to realise she exists. And for another, not even her best friend notices when her life implodes…

I’m not usually a fan of so-called inspirational quotations but “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” serves as a pretty decent précis of Wasps‘ central message. And I mean that in a good way. Rianne faces some really serious problems – including a confrontation with her spheksophobia -which she has to dig deep to face up to. And yes, she emerges battle-scarred, but at least she’s no longer desperate to disappear. She’s bolder, braver and ready to take up space. A bit more… wasp-like.

Director Lesley Hart ensures that the pace never flags, so that the play has a convincingly propulsive teenage energy, and Mitchell does a wonderful job of conveying both Rianne’s turbulent emotions and her evident disdain for many of the people in her life, evinced by her scathing impressions of them.

Gillian Argo’s set is visually arresting. I like the hexagonal construction, suggestive of a wasp’s nest, and the flickering projections of the worker wasps . However, I’m not always fully convinced by the wasp analogy; the comparison is perhaps stretched a little too thin. I’m also left with a couple of nagging questions about the plausibility of some of what occurs. (I can’t elucidate without spoilers but let’s just say that, though social care in the UK is undoubtedly in dire straits, Rianne is a vulnerable child and her situation would surely be flagged up; she wouldn’t be left to deal with it entirely alone.)

Nonetheless, this is a sprightly, engaging piece of drama, with some lively writing and a spirited delivery – a worthy addition to the PPP canon.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Eilidh, Eilidh, Eilidh

18/03/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

This three-hander, written and directed by Lana Pheutan, explores the rural housing crisis through the lens of drunken cousins, Eilidh (MJ Deans) and Eilidh Bheag (Chelsea Grace). The two women are in their late twenties, ready to embrace their adult lives but thwarted by the prevalence of AirBNBs on their native island, Skye. “I’m a teacher!” wails Eilidh. “I deserve my dream home…” While her sense of entitlement is quite comical – she’s been working for just a few years and her unemployed boyfriend isn’t even looking for a job – she’s not wrong in her assessment of a broken housing market, where flats are snapped up by remote investors before locals can even get a look in. But living back at her mum’s is starting to wear her down…

Her solution? To persuade Eilidh Bheag to break into a holiday let with her and then… um… Well. She hasn’t really worked out what should happen next. It just seemed like a good idea half an hour ago, when the pub landlord refused them a lock-in.

MJ Deans imbues Eilidh with lots of sass and self-righteousness, while Chelsea Grace’s Eilidh Bheag provides a calmer foil, tempering the former’s outrage with a few gentle home truths. After all, Eilidh Bheag is the one who’s stayed on Skye, while her cousin’s been living the high life in Glasgow for the past eight years. How dare she come back to the island and accuse her of pandering to tourists, being “part of the problem”? “You only care when it directly affects you,” snaps Eilidh Bheag at last, tired of being hectored. 

The altercation is disrupted by the unexpected arrival of Miss Nicille Mhicheil (Annie Grace), an elderly local resident. The dynamic changes, and an inter-generational element is added to the polemic, injecting more nuance. 

Pheutan’s direction is sprightly and the pace never drops, although the dialogue occasionally sounds a little too much like rhetoric, the issues taking precedence over the characters and their immediate situation. On the plus side, the occasional use of Gaelic serves as a reminder of the culture the community stands to lose, and also sounds very authentic (I’m from North Wales, so the pattern is a familiar one: it feels very natural to me to speak English with a smattering of Welsh phrases). 

Eilidh, Eilidh, Eilidh succeeds in raising awareness of an important problem – and even moots an answer, albeit a little simplistic.  All in all, this is a heartfelt and ultimately heartwarming piece of drama. 

4 stars

Susan Singfield