Traverse Theatre

Hotdog

26/03/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Hotdog (Chloe-Ann Tylor) is all dressed up and ready to party! 

Wearing a garish hired costume and carrying a handbag, a phone and a bottle of lemonade, she’s leaving the sanctuary of her flat and heading off to an undisclosed location to strut her stuff. Outspoken and full of pent-up bile, she is determined that tonight she will be the life and soul of the party. She will dance and drink and curse and laugh out loud! She will sweep aside anybody who has a single bad word to say about her and show them who’s the boss.

But, as is so often the case, her forced exuberance only exists to mask a deeper, darker truth. Because something bad happened to Hotdog in the recent past – something that it’s going to take her a very long time to come to terms with.

Written by Ellen Ritchie and directed by Beckie Hope-Palmer, with an enchanting central performance  by Chloe-Ann Tylor, the latest piece from A Play, A Pie and a Pint is an astutely observed drama that deals with the subject of trauma. Tylor (most recently seen by B&B in  Same Team: A Street Soccer Story and in the fabulous Battery Park) talks directly to the audience, discussing her character’s uncompromising, no-holds-barred approach to life. She tells us about her apparent hatred of her over-protective mother and her revulsion for the kind of fridge-magnet things that people are prone to say to her. 

As she chips steadily away at the brittle carapace she’s constructed around herself, the real story gradually emerges – and it’s utterly heartbreaking.

Tylor is joined onstage by Ross Allan, who at first undertakes the role of a silent stage hand, ensuring that props, music cues and sound effects are there whenever Hotdog needs them. It’s only in the poignant final stretches that he becomes Andy, the proprietor of the chippy where Hotdog tends to finish up her evenings. As in his previous role, he is exactly the helping hand she needs, the one who keeps a caring eye on her. He’s also the bearer of a truth universally acknowledged – that Joni Mitchell is the greatest lyricist of all time.

Kenny Miller’s set might at first glance seem overly complicated, but all those meticulous white lines on the floor – like Hotdog’s motivation – eventually fall into place.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Escaped Alone

14/03/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

First performed at the Royal Court in 2016, Caryl Churchill’s Escaped Alone is a fascinating piece, revealing some essential human truths despite the brevity of its running time.

Three retired women – neighbours – sit in a garden, chatting inconsequentially. Mrs Jarrett (Blythe Duff) calls out a greeting as she passes by and is invited to take a seat. On the surface, she fits in, joining in the conversation. But she’s plagued by her knowledge of what’s happening in the news. At regular intervals, while the other women freeze, Mrs Jarrett rises and stands before Lewis den Hertog’s bleak black and white video projection, monologuing about apocalyptic events in the world beyond the garden. It’s like she’s zoning out, and we’re inside her head – and then she’s back again, making small talk, as if nothing has happened.

Although the catastrophes Mrs Jarrett describes are absurd in their extremity – all food has been diverted to TV channels; the hungry only know breakfast as an image on their screens; obese people sell their flesh, cutting rashers from their own bodies – the situation is depressingly normal. Just this morning, listening to the radio, I hear that 300 kidnapped Nigerian schoolchildren are still missing. In Gaza, shots have been fired at starving Palestinians waiting for a food truck. War still rages in Ukraine. It’s horrible. “Should we have curry or pasta for dinner tonight?” I ask my husband. We’re all fiddling while Rome burns.

The set, designed by Anna Orton, heightens the feeling of pretence. The grass is too green, the sky too blue; it’s what the women want to see, not what’s really there.

But, however fervently they cling to the façade they’ve created, real life keeps creeping in. “I’d love to go to Japan,” muses the agoraphobic (Anne Kidd). “Get yourself to Tesco first,” advises the caustic former GP (Joanna Tope), puncturing the daydream. Most resolutely cheerful of all is the ex-hairdresser (Irene McDougall), fresh out of prison for killing her husband. She went down for manslaughter, “but it might have been murder, in actual fact.” Nothing is what it seems.

Under Johanna Bowman’s direction, the performances are pulsing with vitality. There’s an urgency to proceedings that underscores the latent horror. Churchill’s script offers no real plot or character progression and this Tron Theatre production makes sense of that. It’s a snapshot of the way we’re stuck: a never-ending cycle of looking away; distracting ourselves from what’s really happening; ignoring the overpowering emotion consuming us.

“Terrible rage. Terrible rage. TERRIBLE RAGE.”

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

A Giant on the Bridge

08/03/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

One look at the stage in Traverse 1 is enough to convince me that tonight, I’m going to witness some serious musicianship. There’s a complex arrangement of guitars and drums on display, as well as electronic keyboards, a violin, a harmonium and other instruments I cannot even name. They’re all connected by a jumble of leads and microphones that make me wonder how anyone will negotiate their way through it without tripping up. Then six musicians emerge from the wings, pick up their respective instruments and launch headlong into an extended piece of gig theatre that pretty soon has me in raptures.

Devised by Liam Hurley and Jo Mango, A Giant on the Bridge is created from a collection of songs written in Vox Sessions by the inmates of prisons across Scotland. It’s heartening to acknowledge that this joyful music has emanated from such grim beginnings, but here it is: a complex, labyrinthine piece that explores a whole range of different moods, moving from plaintive acoustic ballads to propulsive electric rock.

There are five different narratives here, the performers often breaking the fourth wall to speak directly to the audience. Louis Abbot delivers The Songwriter’s Story, telling us in essence about his daily routine, trying to coax music from troubled prisoners. Kim Grant delivers her Giant Story, a traditional tale about an imprisoned giantess, who has lost her heart to a ruthless king. Jo Mango gives us Clem’s Story; she’s a social worker and poet whose interactions with the daughter of an inmate unlock her own past trauma, while Jill O’Sullivan shares June’s Story, playing the role of a young woman looking after the daughter of her twin brother, D, and preparing for his imminent release from prison. And finally, Solareye relates D’s Story; he’s a man who sees and translates everything that happens to him into a distinctive form of rap.

If this description makes it all sound like a complex jumble, make no mistake: the various story threads are brilliantly interwoven, the narratives cunningly echoing and reinforcing each other, before the strands are drawn together into a heartfelt and uplifting conclusion. I find myself constantly thrilled by the sheer ambition of this production and the way its various goals have been so consummately achieved. The musicians also take on acting roles with aplomb.

It’s not just me who loves this show.. The wild applause from a packed audience is confirmation of how successful – and how unique – this musical experiment is. If you can grab a ticket to see it before it moves on, I urge you to take the opportunity. This is something very special.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Bread and Breakfast

05/03/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

The latest production in the A Play, A Pie and A Pint season offers a distinct change of pace. Who’s up for a good old-fashioned British farce? You know, the kind of vehicle that Brian Rix would have had a field day with back in the 1960s – slapstick characters painted with broad strokes and even broader dialogue.

Welcome to Nessie’s Lodge, a bed and breakfast somewhere in the Highlands, a place where holidaymakers can relax in real style – provided they turn a blind eye to the indigestible food and the bedbugs… not to mention the rats. I said not to mention them! Proprietor Irene (Maureen Carr) is growing rather tired of the business, even though it boasts a single star from the AA. She dreams of selling the establishment to anybody who’s dumb enough to shell out money for it. But she’s continually hampered by her dimwitted young employee, Jo (Erin Elkin), who somehow manages to misinterpret every instruction she’s given. 

Then, in a distinctly Fawlty Towers twist, an AA restaurant inspector (James Peake) arrives out of the blue and the writing’s on the wall for Nessie’s Lodge. Also on the wall is a possibly priceless work of art that might just save Irene’s bacon…

Bread and Breakfast, written by Kirsty Halliday and directed by Laila Noble, has some genuinely funny lines in the mix, though there’s a worrying tendency to over-signal and over-explain them. Furthermore, it should also be said that those classic Whitehall farces were always anchored by absolute precision and excellent production values – which we can’t really expect from a modestly-budgeted lunchtime show.

The packed crowd at this afternoon’s show are clearly enjoying themselves, laughing throughout. As ever, stalwart actor Carr generates her own brand of potty-mouthed good humour; she’s a natural comic and has the audience in the palm of her hand. Elkin is excellent as Jo, giving her an edgy, almost manic appeal, as she flails from one hapless misunderstanding to another. Meanwhile Peake has the funniest moment of the show, as he delivers a spirited rendition of God Save Our Gracious Quing!  

If Bread and Breakfast isn’t quite to my taste, it’s nevertheless interesting to see a play so tonally different from anything I’ve previously seen at PPP.

3 stars

Philip Caveney

Jack

27/02/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s a wet and miserable February day, but we don’t care because A Play, A Pie and A Pint is back – and if I say the new season starts with a whimper, that’s no bad thing. Because the whimper belongs to Jack.

And Jack is a puppy.

At first, our protagonist (Lawrence Boothman) isn’t too enamoured with his Christmas present. He doesn’t like dogs. They smell and they piss everywhere and they require a lot of care. But he can’t say that to ‘Him’, his un-named partner, can he? That’d be ungrateful. “Aw,” he says instead. “You shouldn’t have. Thank you.”

Of course, it doesn’t take Jack long to win the protagonist over, vet bills and chewed-up espadrilles notwithstanding. And when ‘He’ is killed in a car accident, Jack is both a source of comfort and a reason to go on.

Appealingly directed by Gareth Nicholls, Jack is a witty, engaging monologue, effortlessly straddling the line between acerbic humour and devastating emotion. Boothman reels us in from the opening lines and we’re absolutely with the protagonist as he mourns his lover and struggles to cope with his grief.

Liam Moffat’s nicely-crafted script paints a convincing portrait of a man adrift. The protagonist doesn’t know how to be a widower; he’s too young; there’s no template for him to follow. Heartbroken, he rebuffs his London friends but, away from the security of his crowd, he’s startled by the homophobia that denies the importance of his relationship and excludes him from his partner’s funeral.

The set, designed by Kenny Miller, is suitably simple: a raised platform with a sparkly backdrop, a single plastic chair and a ticker tape bearing captions for each successive ‘chapter’ of the protagonist’s story. Dogs really aren’t just for Christmas, it turns out.

So Jack gets this PPP off to a flying start. No, I’m not crying. You are.

4.4 stars

Susan Singfield

Protest

27/01/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Hannah Lavery’s 2023 play, Protest, makes a brief but welcome return to Edinburgh as part of its new tour, with two performances at the Traverse this weekend. Having missed it at last year’s International Children’s Festival, we’re delighted to have the chance to catch up with this lively, engaging production from Fuel, Imaginate, Northern Stage and the National Theatre of Scotland.

Amy Jane Cook’s set is a brightly-coloured children’s playground, the natural habitat of the P7 girls whose story this is. The climbing frames and running track serve both to entertain and to constrain, opening up possibilities at the same time as imposing limitations.

Through three cleverly-interwoven monologues, we learn about the challenges faced by these very different characters. Alice (Kirsty MacLaren) is a live wire – and the best runner in her class, so she’s outraged when a boy gets chosen for the final leg of the inter-form relay. Jade (Harmony Rose-Bremner) has always been proud of her family history but her happiness is “dented” when she faces racist abuse for the first time; suddenly, she doesn’t feel so secure in her home town. Meanwhile Chloe (Amy Murphy), a quiet, introverted child, has the weight of the world on her shoulders. She’s desperate to save the planet, but how can she do it on her own? She hasn’t got any friends and she can’t even ask her brother to help her any more, because he’s gone all moody since their dad left home.

But is any of these girls prepared to accept what’s happening? No way. They’ve got their Grans on their side, and they’re ready to stand up. To raise their voices. To protest.

Under Natalie Ibu’s assured direction, this is a vibrant, kinetic piece of theatre, the girls’ unselfconscious physicality propelling the action. Rarely still, they’re bursting with energy and enthusiasm, besides themselves with the injustice of it all and delighted with their efforts to put things right. It’s tonally spot-on, embracing the naïve optimism of eleven-year-olds – and reminding us how this might just be what we need to change the world.

Splendidly acted, this is a delightful and inspiring play, and I am pleased to see that it has attracted a young audience today. Children aged 8+ should get a lot from it – and the adults accompanying them are in for a thought-provoking treat as well.

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

Play Pretend

24/11/23

Traverse Theatre

Framework Theatre is a rather special support organisation for emerging theatre-makers in Scotland, helping to build a “better, stronger, Scottish theatre sector”. It’s often said that you should write about what you know, and playwright Katie Fraser certainly does that, with this self-referential piece about, um, emerging theatre-makers, battling the old guard and forging a new way.

Actors Amy (Claire Wootton) and Greg (Gerry Kielty) are rehearsing a new piece about Flora MacDonald and Bonnie Prince Charlie. For her, it’s an exciting opportunity, her first professional role since leaving drama school. For him, it’s a backwards step; his career trajectory has been stymied by an unspecified scandal, so he’s slumming it, waiting out his time on the naughty step by directing and starring in this ‘little’ play.

To begin with, Amy is deferential, and Greg responds well to this. He’s pleasant, happy to share the benefits of his experience. But we soon see his darker side as Amy gains confidence and begins to question his peculiar interpretation of what is supposed to be a feminist play, written by ‘Harriet’, a young female playwright.

It makes sense that Greg should contrive to keep Harriet from the rehearsal room, as he tries to assert his dominance over the narrative. But Play Pretend suffers a little from the absence of this third character: I find my attention diverted from the action on stage as I wonder why she doesn’t ignore his instructions and come to see what’s happening to her play. It might be more convincing if we were to hear Greg making up outrageous excuses about why she can’t attend.

Fraser’s script comprises a series of vignettes, from which the story emerges bit by bit, the two actors learning more about each other as the rehearsal process goes on. It’s a strong idea and generally works well, although I do find myself wishing for higher stakes, and for a bolder, more cathartic climax.

Laura Valerie Walker’s sprightly direction highlights the meta-theatricality of the piece. The slow-motion transitions are effective in conveying the passing of time, moving us from one snapshot to the next, reminding us that this is all a performance, but they are too protracted, and start to become a little wearisome towards the end. The set, by Isadora Gough, with its over-abundance of tape marks on the floor and moveable furniture, reinforces the point that this is a constructed image, an illusion, designed to tell a tale.

Both Wootton and Kielty inhabit their dual roles convincingly. Wootton nails Amy’s mixture of self-assurance and desperation, her superficial politeness masking her frustration with Greg’s pomposity. She needs this part to kickstart her career, so she forces herself to put up with his condescension – but Wootton shows us what a struggle this is. It is to Kielty’s credit that we feel any sympathy for Greg: he is a bombastic, arrogant man, showing no contrition for his past aberrations and riding roughshod over the two young women he’s working with, assuming that he knows more than both the playwright and female lead about what this feminist drama needs. Nonetheless, Kielty manages to convey Greg’s underlying vulnerability, his fear at being left behind as the tide turns, his self-esteem dependent on his status.

With its artfully-woven historical and contemporary strands, Play Pretend is a thought-provoking and insightful piece about the struggles we face as we try to move towards a more egalitarian society. When you’re used to privilege, as the saying goes, equality feels like oppression.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

The Grandmothers Grimm

01/11/23

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

The Grandmothers Grimm, written and directed by Emily Ingram, returns to Edinburgh for the final two nights of its latest tour. Premiered in 2017, this long-running play continues to resonate six years later, drawing in a sizeable crowd tonight at the Traverse.

Revisionist fairy tales are nothing new: like pantomimes, these stories survive because they’re endlessly adaptable. But this production, by Some Kind of Theatre, is more about intellectual property: who invented the stories, who owns them – and who gets the credit.

It’s no surprise to learn that the past was sexist (the present is pretty sexist too). But it is perhaps news that the Grimm brothers’ project – collecting traditional folk tales for a compendium – actually deprived a lot of working-class female storytellers of their living, like a nineteenth-century Spotify. After all, who’s going to pay to listen to an old woman tell them a story if they have ready access to a printed copy of the text? Jacob (Justin Skelton) and Wilhelm (Gerry Kielty) might argue that they never claimed authorship of the tales, readily acknowledging their process, but it was their names on the cover – and their profits in the bank.

Marie Müller (Ingram) opens the play, alone, weaving her narrative with practised ease. This, we understand, is how the stories were traditionally told: a paying audience listening, rapt, as an elderly, peasant woman draws us in. When Jacob and Wilhelm burst onto the stage, accompanied by the middle-class Marie Hassenpflug (Sophie Harris), it’s clear that Old Marie doesn’t stand a chance. She’s displaced, allowed to speak only for as long as it takes for the brothers to transcribe her words.

Hassenpflug doesn’t fare much better. She’s educated so the Grimms are superficially more respectful towards her. Nonetheless, they purloin her stories with a blatant disregard for her authorship; it doesn’t occur to them to credit her (a bit like those celebrity children’s authors, who don’t credit their ghost writers…). Harris imbues Hassenpflug with a fierce dignity, which makes for a stark contrast to the brothers’ pettiness.

Kietly’s Wilhelm is focused on sales. He thinks the stories need to be sanitised so that parents will buy them for their children. Skelton’s Jacob hates this idea: he doesn’t want to create the kind of sappy stories he associates with Charles Perrault. He favours a warts and all approach, arguing that the darkness is what makes the tales. I’d agree with him if it weren’t for the fact that his version of ‘authenticity’ denies the existence of the real originators.

The staging could hardly be more simple: the performance area is almost empty, save for a desk and a couple of books; the only additional props are some feathers, cups and apples. This is no-frills, low-budget, black-box theatre – and none the worse for it. Skelton provides the comic relief, galloping round the stage as a donkey prince, as the quartet bring the various tales to life. It’s deftly done, so that we hear the original versions and then see them warped and changed. The pace never falters.

If The Grandmothers Grimm feels like a natural fit for the Edinburgh Fringe, then it’s nice to be transported back to August on this cold November night.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Battery Park

26/10/23

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Whatever happened to Battery Park? Back in the 90s, they were ‘the band most likely to happen’, but they suddenly – irrevocably – split, leaving just one iconic album for their many fans to remember them by. So where and why did it all go wrong.? The beauty of Andy McGregor’s love letter to the Britpop era is that it’s all done with such veracity it’s hard to believe that it’s a piece of fiction – that the titular band never existed.

The play opens in the present day. Angie (Chloe-Ann Tylor) is at University and she’s doing her dissertation on Britpop (of course she is!). She tracks down Tommy (Chris Alexander), drinking alone in his regular haunt at Greenock Bowling Club, and asks him for the inside story. He needs a little persuading but soon enough he’s reminiscing about his younger self (Stuart Edgar), his older brother, Ed (Tommy McGowan), and their best pal, Biffy (Charlie West), who is one of those guys who likes to hang around with musicians – a drummer. Tommy has been writing songs and, lured by the possibility of a paid gig at the aforementioned bowling club, the boys hastily put together their band.

But while Tommy can write a catchy song, he’s not that confident a performer, so when Lucy (also played by Tylor) mentions that her best friend, Robyn (Kim Allan), is a brilliant vocalist/guitarist, it’s a no-brainer. Robyn is confident, talented and determined to make it big, no matter what it takes. From their very first performance, the new line-up seems destined for success…

Battery Park captures the sweaty exuberance of a band’s early days with absolute authority, providing an inspired mix of drama and high-octane rock. Kenneth McLeod’s set design somehow manages to incorporate all the necessary jumble of instruments and amplification into the story without ever getting its leads tangled, and I find myself marvelling at the ingenuity: the speaker cabinet that doubles as a safe is inspired!

While the first act chronicles the band’s dizzy rise to the brink of stardom, Tommy has signalled from the outset that the second will detail its heartbreaking descent into ignominy. The resulting dramatic irony is almost too much to take. By the closing stages, I’m watching with tears in my eyes.

All the performers excel, both as actors and musicians – and it certainly helps that the band’s numbers (also written by McGregor) are a series of propulsive bangers, each one containing a memorable hook in the chorus. As the musicians hit the final chords of the closing song, the applause erupts, intense and heartfelt.

As gig theatre goes, this is a perfect example of the craft. Don’t miss it.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Disfunction

24/10/23

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Sadly, this is the final PPP of the season; Tuesday lunchtimes just won’t be the same without an invigorating hour of original theatre. Luckily, Disfunction (“with an ‘i'”) provides a rousing send-off. This is first-rate stuff: a beautifully distilled character study, with a slice of social commentary on the side.

Kate Bowen’s play tells the story of sisters Moira and Melanie (Maureens Beattie and Carr respectively) and a game they’ve been honing for fifty years. Their goddaughter, Tanya (Betty Valencia), thinks she’s found a way to monetise their creation – by turning it into a sort of reality-TV experience, where viewers can pay to watch them play. At its best, the game is all Taskmaster-style fun: one round requires a blindfolded participant to put a pin in a map and then (sans blindfold) make their way to wherever the pin lands. Caveat: no cars allowed. Oh, and once they get there, they need to take a photograph of themselves. With four animals.

At its worst, the game is an exercise in, well, dysfunction. With a ‘y’.

The Maureens are surely two of Scotland’s national treasures, aren’t they? It feels like a real privilege to see these two great actors in such an intimate setting. They clearly relish their roles, especially Carr, who gets the plum part of the sassy, self-destructive Melanie. But Beattie is just as impressive as the more reserved and taciturn Moira, and Valencia more than holds her own as troubled Tanya, all bright-eyed desperation, a paper-thin smile covering her pain.

Lu Kemp’s kinetic direction means that the characters are always in motion (notable moments include a hilarious performance of Whigfield’s Saturday Night routine), and highlights that peculiar combative closeness that defines so many families.

Are there any negatives? Not really. Disfunction‘s role-playing political round perhaps stretches credulity (if there are only three people playing and each one has to ‘be’ a politician, who has set the questions to catch the others out?), but that’s my only gripe. Otherwise, it’s a pure delight. After all, as Tanya so cannily perceives, who doesn’t want to watch a bunch of strangers tearing themselves apart?

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield