The Traverse Theatre

The Happiness index: Jonny & the Baptists

13/03/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

We’ve been aware of Jonny & the Baptists for quite some time, though we’ve somehow never managed to catch their act… until now. This is strange when you consider that we saw (and enjoyed) Jonny Donahoe’s delightful solo piece, Every Brilliant Thing, at the Edinburgh Fringe way back in 2015. 

Still, no matter – here we are at the Traverse 2 and there’s Jonny and his ‘Baptists’ (Paddy Gervers – don’t worry it’s explained later), decked out in their colourful Lucy and Yak jumpsuits and ready to launch themselves into their latest opus.

The Happiness Index – so I’m reliably informed – was originally conceived by one David Cameron, some time before he steered the UK into the disastrous car crash that was Brexit. It was, allegedly, a means of qualifying exactly how ‘happy’ his constituents were. As two struggling self-employed performers, both plagued by mental health issues and coming to terms with the fact that performing in Europe was now effectively off the cards, Jonny and Paddy were not chuckle-bunnies. And as the Conservatives’ disastrous years in power unfolded, the pair were clearly not destined to have much respite from the situation.

The ensuing account of their years of struggle could so easily be a tale of steadily-mounting misery, but instead we’re treated to a kind of stream-of-consciousness blitzkrieg, composed of equal parts caustic patter and seemingly unrelated songs, all of which are bitterly funny and most of which have me laughing out loud, sometimes in outright disbelief at what’s just been said.

Somewhere in there, there’s J and the B’s woeful attempts to compose advertising jingles – I can only picture the looks of disbelief of the faces of the people who might have commissioned them. There’s a thank you to one Nigel Farage, whose outraged complaint about being ‘mocked by people who are taking money from the Arts Council’ alerted the performers to the fact that they might actually be eligible for such funding in the first place. There are songs about the various medications for depression and their potential side effects. There’s a swift summation of Liz Truss’s short lived prime-ministerial career. And there’s a song about a monkey’s funeral (of course there is!) that frankly defies description.

If the object of tonight’s exercise is to lift my spirits, then Jonny & the Baptists succeed in epic style. Maybe it’s simply that I’m on the same wavelength as them, but this is one of the funniest shows I’ve seen in a very long time. Afterwards, I spend an hour or so on YouTube, checking out some of the duo’s greatest hits, which are well worth further investigation.

In short, if your own happiness index is at a low ebb, my prescription would be to find a venue where Jonny & the Baptists are playing and get yourselves down there at your earliest opportunity. If laughter really is the best medicine, this is the place to get your fix.

4.2 stars

Philip Caveney 

The Tailor of Inverness

14/11/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

 Matthew Zajac’s remarkable monologue tells the true story of his father, Matteusz, born in Poland and destined to be inextricably caught up in the turbulent happenings of the Second World War, despatched first to fight for his home country and then, latterly, enlisted by both the German and the Russian armies. But when we first meet Matteusz, he’s telling his young son a popular folk tale about a boy and his father, pursued through the snow by a pack of wolves. Zajac speaks initially in Polish, the translated words projected onto a backdrop that is itself a collage of countless garments, plastered onto a wall. As Zajac talks, fiddle player Gavin Marwick provides an inventive accompaniment and the musician remains onstage throughout, his playing reflecting the varying moods.

Zajac soon switches to English, speaking in his father’s voice (with a delightful Polish/Scottish accent), telling us of his early days in Glasgow: how he first became a tailor and how he eventually ended up in the more tranquil environs of Inverness. It’s warm, amusing stuff, but it’s evident as he talks that there’s more – much more – that he is not ready to reveal right now. It’s only as the story progresses that the various threads are unravelled and the hard truths emerge. When Hitler’s forces invade Poland, Matteusz’s life is irrevocably disrupted and, in the desperate struggle to survive, this man’s ultimate loyalty can only be to himself.

Of course, real life has none of the convenience of fiction and sometimes Matteusz’s story is so complex, so labyrinthine, it’s hard for me to get a fix on exactly what’s happening. Maps are projected onto the backdrop to illustrate Matteusz’s travels during the years of conflict – from Poland to Russia, from Galicia to Africa. A series of different uniforms are pressed into service to depict his switching loyalties. Well, not loyalties exactly, but which particular army he is next forced to enlist in.

Zajac is an accomplished storyteller and he manages to hold a packed audience spellbound as, in the later sections of the narrative, he switches from being his father to being himself, as he sets out on a mission to unravel the parts of Matteusz’s life that have been kept hidden – and to track down the sibling that Matthew didn’t even know existed. 

It’s an extraordinary tale and it’s weirdly unsettling to hear Zajac talking about the butchery going on between Russians and Ukrainians back down the years, only to reflect how essentially nothing has changed. The Tailor of Inverness is by no means a perfect piece of theatre – I feel sure that solving the issues of those more bewildering sections is not beyond the efforts of a playwright – but perhaps the play’s continuing success points to the old adage of not fixing what isn’t broken. 

And there’s little doubting the exuberant applause which Zajac receives as he takes his final bow.

3.7 stars

Philip Caveney

The Last Cabaret on Earth

17/09/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Almost before we know it, a new season of A Play, A Pie and A Pint is upon us for its – gasp! – 20th Anniversary run. This opening piece is part-play, part-cabaret and the title is not – as you might suppose – metaphorical, but quite literal. Due to a catastrophic solar event, the world is due to end in one hour (don’t panic!) and Sam (Marc Mackinnon) is stuck in a locked-down airport hotel, delivering his final show to a captive audience. That’s us, in case you were wondering.

He’s stranded hundreds of miles away from his longtime partner and co-creator, Mel, who can only contribute to the performance via a series of jumbled text messages. As the final hour ticks relentlessly away, Sam offers us some insight into his tortuous path into show-biz: the people who helped him on his way, the others who stood in his path.

One thing’s for sure: when the end finally comes, he’ll greet it with a song and a smile…

Mackinnon is an engaging actor and he delivers Brian James O’Sullivan’s script with considerable skill, performing a series of classic songs in a wonderfully distinctive style. Under Joe Douglas’s direction, Mackinnon lures the audience into his prematurely fading orbit. A sequence utilising an old glitter-ball and the torch from a mobile phone is particularly affecting.

I do have one reservation. Although the songs – ranging from Judy Garland to James Taylor – are beautifully sung and Mackinnon has a strong, plaintive voice, there isn’t much original material here. There is a charming little ditty about a man who lives in a house made of pasta (!) but I would like to hear more new compositions.

However, this apocalypse is weirdly captivating and a strangely delightful way to spend your last hour – even if the tragic conclusion seems horribly prophetic.

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney

My English Persian Kitchen

02/08/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Some productions appeal to all of the senses. My English Persian Kitchen is a good case in point. As we enter Traverse 2, I’m instantly aware of a wonderful aroma permeating the theatre, an enticing combination of chopped red onion, coriander, garlic and mint. The actor Isabella Nefar stands at a kitchen island cooking a meal – but then the lights change and she speaks directly to the audience, telling us that in her homeland of Iran, women rarely cook – and that far more women than men go to university. But of course, not everything about her homeland is quite so female-friendly.

She begins to prepare an Ash Reshteh, a noodle soup which she explains is an Iranian classic and, as she talks, the food begins to simmer and the fragrances intensify. The character relates her backstory, her marriage to a man she trusts only to discover that she is trapped in an abusive relationship with somebody who wants to control every aspect of her life. With her parents’ help she manages to escape to London and sets about trying to start a new life for herself. She learns ways of fitting in, of adapting to this unfamiliar culture, using food as a means of expressing herself and communicating with others.

But even there, the ghosts of the past still come back to haunt her…

Nefar is an engaging storyteller and Hannah Khalil’s compelling script is augmented by Dan Balfour’s eerie soundscapes and Marty Langthorne’s effective lighting design, past turmoil evoked by a flickering lamp and strategically placed spotlights. Jess-Tucker Boyd’s dynamic movement sequences make even the slicing of an onion look like a life and death struggle. We come to understand that cooking has been the character’s salvation, a way to rekindle the happier years of her childhood and the close bond with the parents who taught her so much.

As the story unfolds and those tantalising smells exert their powers, I am drawn ever deeper into the experience – and I’m delighted when, quite by coincidence, I am chosen to be the first person to taste that Ash Reshteh. It is absolutely delicious and, lest you worry that only one viewer gets to try it, let me reassure you that at the play’s conclusion, the entire audience is welcomed onto the stage to sample it for themselves.

This could so easily be dismissed as a mere gimmick but, in the case of My English Persian Kitchen, written by Khalil and cleverly directed by Chris White, it’s more – much more – than that.

4.1 stars

Philip Caveney

Chicken

18/04/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s certainly a memorable entrance as Eva O’Connor struts and pecks her fretful way onto the stage of The Traverse, clad in an ingenious suit (designed by Bryony Rumble) that transforms her into the creature of the title. That said, she is no ordinary chicken. O’Connor plays Don Murphy, a proud Kerry cockerel and a ‘true son of Ireland.’ Hatched on a beach and full of ambition, he begins the long and eventful journey to stardom with dogged determination, working his way from appearing as Jesus in a local nativity play to the dizzy heights of Hollywood. I mean, come on, how many chickens do you know that have actually won a mother-clucking Oscar?

Chicken, co-written by O’Connor with Hildegard Ryan, is certainly like nothing I’ve ever seen before and O’Connor’s performance is a study in utter commitment as she circles the stage, staring intently into the audience, flapping her wings and flinging out chicken-related puns with absolute conviction. Don, it turns out, is also an inveterate name-dropper. He’s worked with all the biggest Irish film stars – Michael Fassbender, Colin O’Farrell, Brendan Gleeson – and he’s had some strange encounters along the way.

But things become more unsettled when he crosses paths with a daring avian performance artist who reminds him that not all chickens are as lucky as he – and that many of them are destined for the dinner plates of humanity.

For all O’Connor’s undoubted skills as a performer, Chicken is ultimately a little too one-note for comfort. Though exquisitely told and punctuated by a couple of spirited, strobe-lit dance sequences (courtesy of Marianne Nightingale), it doesn’t really have anywhere else to go. By the time Don tells us of his return to his roots in Derry – to star in a Martin McDonagh movie, no less – I’m starting to wish the piece would progress in some more fundamental way, other than pointing out the ultimate limitations of Don’s poultry form. But then, quite without warning it reaches its conclusion.

All respect to O’Connor who gives this 100%, but ultimately I am left wanting more. Happily, that doesn’t extend to calling in at Nando’s on the way home.

3 stars

Philip Caveney

Pushin’ Thirty

19/03/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s 2011 and Eilidh (Taylor Dyson) and Scott (Sam James Smith) have just won their school talent show with a brand new song. Like plenty of other teens, they dream of pop stardom, but they live in Dundee, not a place renowned for its entertainment opportunities. Scott impulsively announces they should pack their bags and head for London, where fame surely awaits them – but Eilidh is reluctant to leave while her mum is ill, so Scott grabs his guitar and jumps aboard the Megabus without her.

Now it’s 2023 and they’re both fast approaching the dreaded three-o. Eilidh is living with her widowed dad and working at a local bakery. The two former friends haven’t exchanged so much as a word over the passing years, not even a Facebook post. When Scott returns out of the blue, his dreams of stardom in tatters, Eilidh is somewhat nonplussed to learn that he wants to pick up where they left off…

The latest addition to the A Play, A Pie and A Pint season, Pushin’ Thirty by Taylor Dyson and Calum Kelly is a gentle, whimsical tale about missed opportunities and the enduring importance of friendship. It’s a deceptively simple piece, laying bare the types of hurts and insecurities we so often bury. Anchored around two vivacious performances from Dyson and James Smith, this is compellingly told, the actors inhabiting their roles with ease so that we totally believe they really are old pals. There’s a steady stream of witty banter (never ask Scott why he doesn’t sing!) interspersed with some memorable songs from Dundee-based company, Elfie Picket. Beth Morton’s direction is sprightly: the pace never flags and the music is seamlessly incorporated.

Anyone who has ever picked up a guitar and dreamed of making it big will identify with this story. By my reckoning, that covers most of the people I know – and I’m sure they’d all enjoy this funny, heartwarming production.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Starving

12/03/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s December, 1972 and Scottish independence campaigner and all-round firebrand, Wendy Wood (Isabella Jarrett) is preparing to enter the fifth day of her hunger strike. She’s seventy-eight years old and this is just the latest in a long string of adventures.

It’s also December 2024 and, at the age of thirty, copywriter Freya (Madeline Grieve) is stuck in her Edinburgh flat, crippled by insecurity and afraid to venture out into the world she finds so overwhelming. She too hasn’t eaten for a while – but her hunger has more existential beginnings.

Somehow the two women find themselves occupying the same time and space. Which is all fine and dandy, until Freya checks out her companion on Wikipedia and discovers that A. She’s famous and B. She died in 1981.

Imogen Stirling’s sprightly debut play (we previously saw her performing in the fabulous Love the Sinner) flings these disparate characters together and explores what makes them so different. At the same time, it uncovers the qualities that they have in common. Director Eve Nicol has the good sense to keep the proceedings all stripped back, just a bright banner and a couple of microphones for those moments when the women need to vent their feelings – which they both do, volubly and admirably.

Jarrett is quite awesome as Wendy, staunch, bold and ever resistant to the idea of being told ‘no!’ (After the show, I also look Wood up on Wikipedia, and it’s quite the eye-opener). As Freya, Grieve handles her more nuanced character with absolute assurance. I find myself alternately amused and amazed by the breadth of the material covered here, and there’s plenty to make me think about the various political issues that are touched on. I also love the play’s exuberant conclusion, the two protagonists joining together in a rousing rap about the need for freedom.

Once again, A Play, A Pie and A Pint have come up with a production designed to brighten your afternoon. Don’t miss your chance to share it.

4.5 stars

Philip Caveney

Peak Stuff

01/03/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

ThickSkin Theatre have a reputation for ambitious, cutting-edge theatre and I’m happy to say that Peak Stuff – a riveting new play by Billie Collins – does not disappoint. Indeed, this edgy slice of words and music manages to keep me on the edge of my seat throughout. 

I’m immediately pulled in by the ingenious set design, which has drummer Matthew Churcher poised in the midst of a hollow, which is itself surrounded by a series of flat panels onto which Jim Dawson and Izzy Pye’s video designs are projected. Churcher is, in effect, the beating heart of the story, his intricate, propulsive rhythms combining with the soaring, majestic music of Neil Bettles (who also directs) and interacting with the narratives of three disparate characters, all memorably played by Meg Lewis.

Alice is a disaffected teenager, who is both appalled and galvanised by the awful reality of life in the 21st century. The world is burning and nobody seems to care! She’s determined to make her voice of protest heard above the hubbub, but is unsure of exactly how to go about making it happen. Ben works in marketing and is a loner, currently living in his mother’s house, which he is steadily filling to bursting point with a whole series of pointless purchases. They include a massive collection of branded trainers, which he never even takes out of their boxes. Online influencer Charlie is gleefully devoting herself to her latest project: selling parts of her body online to the highest bidder, starting with the little finger of her left hand…

How the lives of this strange, unconnected trio unfold is the bedrock upon which Peak Stuff is built – and the greatest wonder of this multifaceted piece is that there are so many ways it could go wrong; the whole edifice could easily collapse in upon itself in a stream of disconnected words, music and lights. The fact that it never does is surely testament to how tightly drilled this creative unit is. Lewis moves effortlessly from character to character, with just the slightest of changes to her voice and posture; Churcher keeps supplying those metronomic rhythms as the excitement steadily builds – and the three narratives combine with the eye-popping video projections which take us from Albert Square, Manchester to the heart of a blazing building.

This is bold, experimental theatre at its finest and the tumultuous applause that greets the final chord is evidence that tonight’s audience has been just as thrilled as I am.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney

The House

03/02/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Imagine if you will a Punch and Judy show, elevated to the very peak of its puppetry potential – where, in an incredibly complex set, a whole cast of brilliantly-sculpted characters caper and bicker with all the subtleties of human comedians – and you’ve pretty much got what Sofie Krog Teater’s The House is all about. Appearing at the Traverse Theatre as part of the Manipulate Festival, this has a sold-out crowd screeching with laughter as it rockets to an uproarious conclusion.

We are told first of how a house can speak of what has happened within its walls, and then we’re shown the titular abode, an old crematorium. It’s been owned for years by an old woman who now lies in a four-poster bed up in the top bedroom, rapidly approaching her demise. Her nephew, Henry (who bears an uncanny resemblance to Stan Laurel), and his wife, Cora ( a cigarette constantly jutting from her mouth), run the business on her behalf. Cora knows that there’s a will that names them as their great aunt’s successors and she’s gleefully counting the days to the big payoff. But at the last minute, a lawyer is summoned and an important change is made…

Cora is intent on keeping the house for herself – and only the old woman’s faithful dog stands between her and justice.

I know that puppeteers Sofie Krog and David Faraco are concealed within that miniature house somewhere, because I definitely saw them climb inside it at the beginning. And I know they must be operating everything that happens, but the illusion is so brilliantly engineered, I forget about them completely as they unleash one ingeniously conceived bout of slapstick after another.

The puppets themselves are wonderful little creations, so full of character and nuance that they almost come alive as they scamper from room to room, trying to outwit each other. Everything about this performance – the lighting, the music, the props – is exquisite and I love the piece’s grisly sense of humour, its celebration of the darkness of the human soul. Oh, and did I mention that the house can revolve, to show us an entirely different view of what’s happening within?

If you haven’t managed to catch Sofie Krog Teater on this visit, do keep an eye out for them in future. This unique show offers a touch of genius that will brighten the day of anyone lucky enough to see it.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Learning to Fly

17/11/23

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

We have an unusual reason to remember the name James Rowland.

Searching back through the annals of our reviews blog, I see that, on the 14th March 2019, we were in the Traverse Theatre, watching him perform A Hundred Different Words for Love, part of a trilogy of plays he was touring. We managed to see all three of them but, due to circumstances beyond our control, in the wrong order.

You don’t need long memories to recall that this was a troubling time for theatre-makers around the world – and indeed, the poor turnout for this show had nothing to do with Rowlands’ material but instead spoke volumes about how frightened audiences were of mysterious new virus that was afflicting the world. Tickets had been sold, but few customers were brave/reckless enough to turn up and take their seats. Sure enough, just two days later, theatres across the UK were instructed to close their doors – and it was a long time before they were safe to reopen them.

Happily, things have moved on since those dark days  – and Rowland’s latest offering, Learning to Fly, is a charming and affable piece, based around a recollection from the performer’s youth, a time when he lived in Didsbury, Manchester, near to Fog Lane Park. 

Weirdly, in the 1980s, I lived there too, but that’s another story.

Rowlands is as likeable and swaggering as ever. I can hardly fail to forget that he performed one part of the aforementioned trilogy stark bollock naked, which certainly takes some confidence, but tonight he’s modestly dressed in a white singlet, trackie pants and trainers. He wanders onto the stage, has a brief chat with the audience about trigger warnings and the like, and then launches into his story.

He tells us about being fourteen years old and about an unspecified illness that keeps him from going to school; and how his struggling mother leaves him for one day a week in the care of Anne, an elderly neighbour, who never seems to leave her house and who spends most of her time listening to the music of Beethoven.

Against all the odds, the two of them  form an uneasy friendship, one that steadily grows over the weeks until one night, James does something unprecedented – something that will change their relationship forever…

Learning to Fly is a charming and beguiling piece, one that veers from outright hilarity to moments of pathos and regret. It’s easy to picture Rowlands as a youngster, steadfastly pursuing his own particular goals in life, which perhaps unsurprisingly, are not those of the average fourteen year old. I can believe that he would do something so spectacularly off-the-wall. 

If I’ve a criticism to make, it’s simply that some of the pay-offs are not always delivered as forcefully as I’d like – and there’s an indecisiveness to the conclusion that has tonight’s audience unsure of whether the time to applaud has actually arrived or not. 

But it would be an unsympathetic viewer indeed who doesn’t derive enjoyment from this unconventional mix of comedy, storytelling and music. 

Hopefully Rowlands’ current tour will be allowed to continue without the unwelcome interruption of a pandemic. Fingers crossed.

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney