Tim Whitnall

Lena

10/08/23

Assembly George Square (Gordon Aikman Theatre), Edinburgh

Back in the olden days before there was The X Factor or Britain’s Got Talent, a certain presenter by the name of Hughie Green was the Simon Cowell of his day, fronting a shonky TV show called Opportunity Knocks. It was avidly watched, every week, by up to twenty million viewers.

I’m actually old enough to recall the fateful night in 1974 when opportunity knocked for Lena Zavaroni, a precocious nine-year-old from the Isle of Bute. She strode on to that little stage and sang a totally inappropriate song in a voice that could just as well have come from a seasoned veteran. British audiences were both shocked and delighted… and the votes flooded in.

The rest, of course, is tragedy. Lena was catapulted headlong into overnight fame, but was persuaded to move away from her parents’ council house in Scotland to live in London with her manager, Dorothy Soloman (Helen Logan). There she was groomed – there’s no more appropriate word for what happened to her – for stardom. After five consecutive wins on Opportunity Knocks, she was politely asked to step aside and then went on to tour the world. But you can’t separate a young child from her parents without dire consequences further down the road. Her father, Victor (Alan McHugh), and her mother, Hilda (Julie Coombe), could only look on in horror as their daughter’s world began to disintegrate around her….

In Tim Whitnall’s play, Lena’s story is recounted by none other than Hughie Green himself (the usual note-perfect impersonation by Jon Culshaw), while Erin Armstrong plays Lena, from childhood right up to her tragic demise at the age of thirty-five, somehow convincing us she can be all those ages without any prosthetics. Here too, a real character is uncannily recreated, complete with those cheesy costumes and that big, BIG voice. The production details have the ring of authenticity – there’s even a clap-o-meter! And if the character of Dorothy Solomon occasionally veers uncomfortably close to pantomine, well, no matter, every fairy tale must have a villain to hiss.

Lena captures an incredible true story, and I have to confess I appear to have something in my eyes as it approaches its inevitable, heartbreaking conclusion.

We’d like to think that it couldn’t possibly happen in this day and age, but a glance at the latest headlines is enough to confirm that, when it comes to the way we treat celebrities, we don’t appear to have learned anything at all.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Les Dawson: Flying High

15/08/22

Assembly George Square (Gordon Aikman Theatre), Edinburgh

For many in the auditorium, this show is a trip down memory lane. For me, it’s more of an introduction. It’s not that I’m too young to remember Les Dawson – he was on TV when I was a child – but we never watched his show at home, although I saw bits of it at my grandparents’ house, or with my friends. As I walk along the Meadows, on my way to George Square, I try to recall what I know of him. There isn’t much: I’m stuck at gurning, gruff voice, fake bosoms and “my mother-in-law”.

No matter. Let’s see what light the inimitable (ha!) Jon Culshaw can shed on a man who was, for decades, a staple of popular entertainment.

This 480-seater theatre is packed. There’s clearly a lot of lingering affection for Dawson – and a lot of faith in Culshaw to deliver. The set looks promising: it’s lavish by Fringe standards, dominated by a large screen, designed to look like a 1980s TV. There’s also a piano (or, at least, the back of one; I can’t see from where I’m sitting if it’s real), and an aeroplane seat, from where much of the material is recounted.

The premise is simple: Dawson is on Concorde, flying to Manhattan to perform at a private party for a rich ex-pat from Leeds. He has agreed to write an autobiography and, until it’s done, Dawson can’t focus on the novel he really wants to write. So he decides to put his time in the air to good use, recounting the story of his life, from the terraced streets of Collyhurst to the Royal Variety Performance.

Culshaw’s affection for Dawson is evident in his performance, which focuses on the comic’s warmth and charm, as well as his natural humour. I hadn’t realised that Dawson harboured literary ambitions, but it makes sense: the jokes, I see now, are often lyrical flights of fancy, undercut by a crude punchline. He uses language in a way that shows he loves it, playing with words, creating startlingly beautiful images. It’s fascinating to see this burgeoning in his youth, as Culshaw shows us a young wannabe poet pushed into boxing by a well-meaning uncle who doesn’t understand. Who knew that Dawson was the Billy Elliot of his day?

I like Tim Whitnall’s script, with its fourth-wall breaking acknowledgement of theatricality, as Culshaw speaks from the screen in a range of guises: as John Humphreys, for example, or as Dawson’s cartoon ‘gossipy-women’ creations, Ada and Cissie. “You’re a narrative device,” Dawson tells Humphreys, “helping to set the time and place.”

This is more than just a good impression, although it’s certainly that too. Although this piece is basically a monologue, director Bob Golding ensures it never feels static, and the audience is audibly appreciative. I leave feeling fonder of Dawson than I ever expected to.

4 stars

Susan Singfield