Rachel Wagstaff

The Da Vinci Code

05/04/22

King’s Theatre, Edinburgh

Ah, The Da Vinci Code. That preposterous juggernaut of a 2003 novel: badly written, controversially researched, ludicrously convoluted – and yet, somehow, as popular as can be, selling more than eighty million copies worldwide. 

Dan Brown’s tale leans on other people’s cleverness: his protagonist, Robert Langdon, is a Harvard professor, whose sidekick, Sophie Neveu, is a brainy cryptographer. Their enemies are equally learned, and the murder at the heart of this high-octane mystery takes place in the highbrow setting of the Louvre. Indeed, the whole plot is reliant on the duo’s impressive understanding of theology, symbology and Renaissance art. All of this, of course, is just smoke and mirrors, obscuring what is – essentially – a cryptic crossword given legs. Nevertheless, it’s undeniably engaging; there’s a reason the novel was a runaway hit. 

This stage adaptation (written by Rachel Wagstaff and Duncan Abel) doesn’t shy away from the schlocky nature of the source material. Instead, director Luke Sheppard uses more smoke and mirrors, this time in the form of impressive technical effects and slick production values. If touring shows can sometimes seem a little lazy, this is anything but, and Brown’s silly story is elevated by some damn fine theatrics. 

The plot is pared back, so that there’s less obfuscation and greater clarity. There are fewer chases (thank goodness). Nigel Harman imbues Langdon with a credible seriousness: it’s an unshowy, subtle piece of characterisation that serves the production well. In many ways, he’s the still centre of it all: bemused at finding himself involved, but quietly determined to sort things out. Hannah Rose Caton’s Sophie is somewhat livelier, as suits the role, but neither she nor Harman dominate the stage. That’s not what this is about, after all. 

The focus here is on the clues, on the elaborate treasure hunt that sees the pair wielding guns and crossing continents, challenging religious doctrines and theorising about everything from the Mona Lisa to the Holy Grail. David Woodhead’s bold set – all gauze panels and moments of revelation – is complemented by Andrzej Goulding’s stunning video design, with luscious projections filling every wall. It’s a dazzling spectacle (and, naturally, there’s an extra frisson for us as an Edinburgh audience, when the depiction is of nearby Rosslyn Chapel).  

I like the chorus too: the company sits, blank-faced and hooded at the side of the stage, rising occasionally in sporadic chants and rituals, all precisely choreographed by Tom Jackson Greaves. 

So – admittedly somewhat to my surprise – watching this production is a real pleasure. And not even a guilty one. 

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Birdsong

08/05/18

King’s Theatre, Edinburgh

All the familiar tropes we associate with the First World War are present and correct in this adaptation of Sebastian Faulks’s 1993 novel: plucky working class ‘Tommys’; a handsome young upper-crust officer; a selection of patriotic songs – and, of course,  the overpowering futility of the ‘war to end all wars.’ Faulks’s 800 page doorstop tome must have been a challenge to adapt but Rachel Wagstaff has done an efficient job of distilling it down to its key points.

The stage version focuses primarily on two characters. Jack Firebrace (Tim Trelor) is a ‘sewer rat,’ one of the sappers whose job it is to tunnel for miles under enemy lines, planting explosives and then detonating charges. It’s thankless, back-breaking work and the claustrophobia of the Firebrace’s situation is cleverly conveyed. Stephen Wraysford (Tom Kay) is an artistically inclined young officer, haunted by memories of an affair he had in France – before the outbreak of war – with Isabelle (Madeleine Knight), a young woman trapped in an abusive relationship with a much older husband. The constant segues – from the trenches of 1916 to his time with the Azaire family in Amiens in 1910 – are at first a little disorienting but, once I have settled into the rhythm, I begin to appreciate how skilfully the transitions have been achieved. The final scene of act one as the allies prepare to go ‘over the top’ at the Battle of the Somme is particularly powerful and, for me, the dramatic high point of the play.

The second half takes us on to the aftermath of the Somme, where Wraysford, wounded in the battle and assigned a desk job returns to Amiens to search for his former lover. If it lacks some of the urgency of the first half, there’s still much here to enjoy, not least the plaintive vocal stylings of James Findlay, whose affecting voice lends the songs of the period extra resonance.

This is a powerful and mournful play that skilfully combines elements of brutality and romance. It may be an oft-told story, but – in this case – familiarity does not breed contempt. In fact, in these chaotic times, it feels sadly prescient.

4 stars

Philip Caveney