Sebastian Lim-Seet | Bouquets & Brickbats

25/11/23

Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

Hans Christian Andersen’s The Snow Queen has never been my favourite fairytale. Although there are plenty of gloriously memorable images – and the book I had as a child was beautifully illustrated – I’ve always found the plot unwieldy. Happily, in this very Scottish adaptation, Morna Young does an excellent job of clearing the dead wood, jettisoning some of the unnecessary complications and illuminating the story’s season-appropriate warm heart.

We start off in Victorian Edinburgh, where we were for last year’s An Edinburgh Christmas Carol. But we don’t stay there long: The Snow Queen is about a quest, so of course there’s an epic journey to be made. Best friends Gerda (Rosie Graham) and Kei (Sebastian Lim-Seet) are orphans, living with their respective grandparents. Every evening, they climb up onto the roof of their tenement to tend to their pot plants and plan for the future. Kei dreams of going to university, while Gerda wants to see the world.

Meanwhile, in another realm, some trolls have broken a magic mirror and its shards have caused havoc, turning Beira, the Scottish Queen of Winter, into the evil Cailleach Bheur (Claire Dargo), determined to reign forever, and never relinquish her power to Bride, the Queen of Spring. Bride (Naomi Stirrat) isn’t strong enough to overpower the Snow Queen, but she does manage to slow her down – by planting five seeds of spring inside five human beings. So far, the Snow Queen has tracked down four… and now she thinks she knows where the fifth one lies. Kei doesn’t stand a chance. Corrupted by the magic mirror, he turns against Gerda and follows the Cailleach Bheur to her icy lair. But the Snow Queen has reckoned without Gerda, and underestimated the power of true friendship…

With a lively score by Finn Anderson and some very memorable songs – including Quines Gotta Fight and the innuendo-rich A Horse with a Horn – this production is as bold and vivacious as everything we’ve seen Cora Bissett direct. Graham and Lim-Seet convince as sweet and wholesome children, while Dargo’s white witch is suitably scary. Samuel Pashby – who plays Corbie, the Snow Queen’s corvid assistant – is an excellent clown, his gymnastic capers always engaging. But it’s Hamish the Unicorn (Richard Conlon) who steals the show, which does unbalance things a little – but, honestly, it doesn’t matter a jot. After all, this is a piece of festive family fun, and it’s hardly surprising that a rainbow-farting magical beast should be the mane (sorry) attraction.

I’m a little bit in love with Emily James’ set, which mirrors (and thus closes) the Lyceum’s dress circle, reflecting the theatre back at us. It’s huge and imposing and difficult for the actors to negotiate – and therein lies its beauty. The image is as in-your-face as it gets, too direct to count as subtext, and I admire its audacity. It’s impossible to ignore. James’ costumes are wonderfully opulent too: I’m drawn to the bright colours of the flowers in the fairy garden, and to the Cailleach Bheur’s shimmering pastels.

The Snow Queen straddles the line between theatre and panto, Hamish’s broad humour contrasting with the more serious underlying themes. For the most part, I think this works, although some of the jokes don’t land as well as they might, eliciting titters rather than belly laughs. Perhaps it would be an idea to have Hamish and Corbie engage more directly with the audience, signalling the tonal change. Nonetheless, the enthusiasm with which the final rendition of A Horse with a Horn is sung suggests that even the youngest attendees are fully on board.

A sparkling delight.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

19/09/23

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s the year 1880 and Jessie (Madeline Grieve) is in big trouble. She’s just murdered her husband and she’s covered in his blood. He’s the captain of the ship she’s currently aboard, a cruel tyrant who recently condemned an innocent cabin boy to fifty lashes for stealing a biscuit. He probably had it coming, but still, his crew are unlikely to be sympathetic.

To make matters worse, Jessie has sought refuge in the cabin of the ship’s Chinese cook, Jin Hai (Sebastian Lim-Seet), a man with probelms of his own. Shunned by the other members of the crew, he is planning a daring escape from the ship – but, try as he might, he cannot find the box of matches he needs in order to make his departure go with a bang.

When the inevitable hue and cry kicks off, Jessie and Jin Hai realise that they’ll have to ignore their respective differences and hide out together. In doing so, they begin to realise that they actually have quite a bit in common. Their conversation takes in a range of subjects: colonialism and Chinese medicine; murder and morning sickness; ginger and gunpowder.

Alice Clark’s spirited two-hander, a co-production between Òran Mór and the Traverse Theatre, is inspired by the adventures of the playwright’s own great-great-grandmother, a seafaring lass with a colourful backstory. The fact that the two protagonists in Ship Rats speak like contemporary Glaswegians out on the lash is initially jarring but, once I settle into the rhythm, it makes for a fun-filled fifty minutes, even if the tone is sometimes relentlessly frenetic.

Grieve offers a rollicking turn as the amusingly foulmouthed Jessie, while Lim-Seet makes an astute foil for her bawdy barrage of invective. If occasionally Jessie and Jin-Hai seem to possess the kind of insight that really only comes with the advantage of historical perspective, well that’s acceptable, given that this wants more than anything else to be a commentary on the toxic nature of Empire.

Director Laila Noble keeps the action propulsive enough to ensure that the pace never flags and Ship Rats has me entertained right up to the final scene.

3.4 stars

Philip Caveney