Samuela Noumtchuet

Fairytales ’26

28/02/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

This evening’s scratch night features three works-in-progress, co-written and directed by Jordan S Daniel and Tash McPhillips. If the title makes you think of happy-ever-afters, you’ll need to manage your expectations. There are no wicked step-families either, no magic beans, no once-upon-a-times.

Instead, we are introduced to Cleo (Samuela Noumtchuet), Mark (Kieran Lee-Hamilton) and Jaye (Amandine Jalon), each with an individual tale to tell. Cleo is an AI sex-bot, who wants to become a real woman. Think Pinocchio, but grown up. Next is Mark, a modern version of the big bad wolf: an incel, huffing and puffing at women for not desiring him, certain it’s because they’re shallow and nothing to do with him being creepy AF. And finally, there’s Jaye, as innocent and hopeful as Hans Christian Andersen’s little mermaid, escaping the confines of their provincial life to seek forbidden love in London. But their excitement at living openly as a lesbian soon sours, when they learn that their new girlfriend is transphobic, and the brave new city they’ve embraced is not as accepting as it first seems.

The actors all perform with gusto. Noumtchuet in particular plays up the comedic elements of her role, much to the delight of tonight’s supportive audience, who respond with gales of laughter. Lee-Hamilton successfully conveys the loathsome Mark’s sense of peevish entitlement, while Jalon engages our sympathy for Jaye, as their dreams of a happy life begin to crumble around them.

The three monologues deal with some of the most thought-provoking, urgent issues of our times, and for this I commend them. However, the polemic is sometimes overwhelming, making me feel as if I am listening to a lecture. As these works-in-progress are developed into longer pieces, I’m sure there will be more space for nuance, allowing the themes to be illuminated rather than stated – shown, not told.

There’s no denying the importance of the topics raised by Daniel and McPhillips, and I’m glad to see that Scottish theatre is doing the right thing and giving a platform to queer voices.

Susan Singfield

[Un]lovable: a Work-in-Progress Performance

13/02/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Not So Nice Theatre Company presents a Valentine’s scratch-night with an acerbic edge, showing excerpts from five works-in-progress, all inspired by the prompt, ‘Unlovable’. In the run up to February 14th, the world is awash with heart-shaped tat and exhortations to be romantic. But sometimes life just doesn’t pan out that way…

First up is Clown Divorce, written by Russ Russell and directed by Sarah Docherty. We first meet Clown (Chris Veteri) as he struggles to push a suitcase across the stage. The visual gag is funny precisely because of its predictability: as the drawn out routine builds to its inevitable conclusion, the laughs it receives are very well-earned. Along the way, we begin to notice small details. Clown isn’t wearing any shoes, his socks have blood on them – and where is his red nose? The clue is in the title. Clown has recently divorced, and has lost half of his identity in the process…

Next, we have Wish Me Luck by Melissa Ainsworth. Cassie (Hannah-Mae Engstorm) has just been dumped and is contemplating jumping in front of a bus. Not that she wants to kill herself, mind. She just wants to grab her ex’s attention. But passer-byJamie (Jamie Cowan) isn’t about to stand by and watch it happen. Not after everything he’s been through… Directed by Adele Tunnicliff, WML has an intriguing premise, but needs more time to do justice to the complex issues it raises.

The final piece of the first act is Ryan Lithgow’s three-hander Tit for Tat, starring Veteri (again) as Nathan, Stan Ross as Darcey and Samuela Noumtchuet as Ellie. Under Cormac Myles’ direction, this is a tense dissection of a relationship, the two men veering from hurt and hostility to an uneasy admission that their anger stems from a place of love. However, Noumtchuet is under-used as Ellie: the character’s sudden, unexpected appearance ought to herald a change in pace or tone, but the men’s dialogue continues in much the same vein as before, as they rehash their past.

The standout piece comes after the interval: Emma McCaffrey’s funny and heartbreaking monologue, La Solitude, directed by Becca Donley. We’re well aware of McCaffrey’s prowess as a performer (we have seen them in Lung Ha’s Castle Lennox and Stella Quines’ Disciples) but this is our first experience of them as a playwright and I suspect it won’t be the last. The piece is beautifully written with just the right amount of levity to carry its serious points. At once laugh-out-loud funny, poignant and provocative, this is an intensely thought-provoking play. McCaffrey is Lee, a lively, engaging young woman, who – like McCaffrey – has autism and learning difficulties. We first meet her as a child, eight years old, receiving a diagnosis she doesn’t understand and which nobody explains to her. All she knows is that it makes her parents cry. As a teenager, she is isolated at school, infantilised by teachers and support workers, unable to make friends. And things don’t improve when she reaches adulthood: Lee can’t live independently, but that doesn’t mean she’s a child; it doesn’t mean she doesn’t want a job, a social life, or – heaven forfend – a love life. Why shouldn’t she?

Last up, we have Defective, written and directed by Not So Nice’s own AD, Grace Ava Baker. We’re in the near future and Abigail (Indigo Buchanan) has just given birth. The Assessor (Eleanor Tate) has some bad news… With a premise akin to Minority Report, Defective explores the idea of original sin from a mother’s perspective. Is nature really so much more important than nurture? What price are we prepared to pay for a safer society? And whose word should we accept about our children’s destiny? Although the ending is a little muddled – without giving too much away, I don’t understand what Abigail does with that syringe – this is a compelling piece, raising some important questions about autonomy.

All in all, this is an thoroughly entertaining evening, a welcome antidote to all the red roses and slushy poetry.

4 stars

Susan Singfield