The day started at the Amplify Festival event by the Marketing Society at Assembly where the main speaker was Frank Cottrell Boyce. He of children’s book writing, the 2012 Olympics opening ceremony and The Queen x Paddington fame. He gave a talk about humour and its value that was interesting, seemingly pretty spontaneous, totally self-effacing and utterly charming. His best line, being a staunch Catholic, was that he thought the Ogilvy Lecture – that he was delivering – was about St John Ogilvy. (It’s not, it’s in memory of advertising super hero, David Ogilvy).
He made being Catholic with seven children seem pretty cool.
The main draw of the day was the first of two excursions to the wonderful Festival Theatre to see the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater of New York – founded by the now deceased eponymous dancer in the late 1950’s. The main event was his global phenomenon Revelations which closed a triple bill of 30 minute pieces (Programme 2). The first (Memoria) was unremarkable, save for the introduction of a large group of young Scottish dancers who had been trained by the troupe for two weeks, surely a life changing experience for these youngsters who looked every bit as accomplished as the main dancing corps.
The second piece (the River) was way too episodic for me and felt almost like individual or duet/trio audition pieces.
What struck me about both of these openers was the highly dated lighting, with a square speckled gobo effect that I really didn’t like and a lack of overall modernity. So far so meh.
But Revelations was to change all that.
You could say it was, indeed, a revelation.
An 18 strong piece about the history of black America (to 1960 when it was conceived, although I feel the music may have been updated since then) so it’s not a complete history, but does track the story from slavery to a degree of gentrification, at least in one demographic of the black struggle against oppression.
It’s stunning, ranging from one gorgeous male solo to a rumbustious finale when the full corpe is resplendent in golden dresses and dinner suits.
The gospel and spiritual music that combines in this ultimately joyous, but initially oppressive, dance is glorious in itself and the finale brought the house down and up on its feet. Me included.
It was even better on my second visit.
(But hey, that’s a spoiler alert and me looking into the future).
It’s the second time I’ve seen Israeli dance company L-E-V, this time performing Chapter 3: The Brutal Journey Of The Heart at the Festival Theatre in the Official Festival.
The last time I saw L-E-V was in 2018 and I raved about them then. (Even though, like tonight, there was a Palestinian demo outside the theatre, screeching that our tickets were covered in Palestinian blood.)
I’m raving about them even more now. And GET THIS you can see them tomorrow night, and I will probably go again, availing myself of the fabulous Tenner On The Day deal that the Festival provides.
The set is a big black box, no decor, and only four lights are used in the entire show but to outstanding effect.
The absorbing and beautiful techno music, by Ori Lichtic, keeps up a relentless 160bpm beat for 50 minutes with no breaks as the piece is performed “straight through”, as it was the last time I saw L-E-V .
I know nothing of the dance peice’s meaning but it’s ecstatic.
The seven dancers (4M,4F) are dressed in tattooed flesh coloured body suits (from Maria Grazia Chiuri, the Creative Director of Christian Dior Couture) and their make up looks as if they have been bruised. The performance largely consists of micro movements, tics and robotic movement, largely as a unit as they crawl across the vast Festival Theatre stage like a giant crustacean. Rarely is there physical contact between the dancers. It’s exquisitely realised, completely mesmeric and all aspects of the company’s component parts are rendered completely as one.
This description of the piece by Sharon Eyal sheds not a morsel of insight into what it’s about, but maybe you will understand it.
Nonetheless, it’s extraordinary and the 50 minutes vanish in the blink of an eye. Although there’s no grandstanding going on by the end we could see rivers of sweat pouring off the troupe as it’s minimalist attention to detail and rigour took its toll.
I’ve seen magnificent dance at the Edinburgh International Festival and this certainly cements L-E-V’s position at the top of the hierarchy. Magnificent. 5 Stars.
Interesting to note that L-E-V’s founder, Sharon Eyal, who is now based in France (Not Isreal) has been commissioned 7 times by my all time favourite Dance company (NDT) to create works for them, so her status amongst the world’s greats is unquestionable.
So excited for the Fringe to start and I was not disappointed.
A simply superb start.
Let The Bodies Pile by Henry Naylor at Gilded Balloon an (almost) one woman show that takes us on a partly comedy but truly dark journey from Harold Shipman to the care home deaths of Covid, via Myra Hindlay, and some pretty earthy sexual fantasies about Matt Hancock. Disturbing but funny. A cracking script and solid performances.
Next up comedy. Freya Parker at Pleasance. One half of Lazy Susan. A slightly meta, strangely amusing stand up show about being cheeky. Excellent use of the C Bomb (once) in an amusing autobiographical run through of Freya’s life. Very enjoyable.
The best was last. Mythos Ragnarock is an eight hander Norse Mythological story centred on pro wrestling with more oohs and Ahhhs than a 70’s wife swapping party. Extremely funny all action romp, set to a very loud Scandi folk and death metal soundtrack. Absolutely nailed on five star mayhem. An absolute must see. So see it at Assembly Roxy. Standing ovation material.
(Freely encouraged to capture the action on stage at Work.txt)
I was delighted to attend the Scotsman Awards in the morning at The Pleasance Beyond and to see Manic Street Creature pick up the Mental Health award.
Later I popped over to Summerhall yet again, (my 11th Summerhall show) to see another great production called Work.txt, in which there is no cast and the audience become the performers. So it’s immersive and participative but not much of it is improvised as a very clever and funny script, projected onto a large screen, tells us as audience members, those who love/hate their work, earn more or less than 30k, are Geminians and so on (there’s a lot of ways of slicing and dicing the 100 or so in the room) to read out the next line, build a Jenga city out of oversized Jenga blocks (at one point the entire audience/cast were on stage beavering away.) It’s hilarious. 4 Stars.
(hard at work)
Next up, two Edinburgh Festival shows, The first is by Leith’s Grid Iron Theatre Company, who specialise in site specific work. This one was in Leith Academy and called Muster Station. It’s an immersive show in which the audience are moved around the school (the muster station of the title) as evacuees. Scotland (Fife specifically) has just hit 45 degrees and is about to be hit by a massive tidal wave that threatens our very being. Our destination is Finland. In the opening scene we are herded through an immigration check by a variety of (some kind, some brutal) immigration officers and put into a holding pen whilst some of the characters (some plants) are revealed to us. It’s a high point of the show and promises a great deal more over the next two hours, sadly it didn’t materialise. What we are treated to is five 20 minute plays within plays that fall short of scaring us, lack believability and are actually all a wee bit dull if I’m honest. A great concept that doesn’t quite come off. 3 stars.
Next Up The Jungle Book Reimagined, Akram Khan’s bold multi media show, taking the old jungle book story and again setting it in a post climate apocalypse. The cast are all dancers but there’s also a huge amount of projected animation and a rather cod script played through the PA which the actors lip psych to. The music for the show is diverse but not very joined up so what I felt I was witnessing was an embarrassment of riches, but not much dance (movement sure and very fine movement at that). Act 1 dragged and was frankly a mess. The interval, however, reset the show. Better music, more dance, less animation and a more striking and clear storytelling arc. It’s beautiful, for sure, but it fell way short of my expectations. 2 stars for Act 1 4 for act 2 so a 3 star experience overall.
My pick of the weekend. Little Warrior. I hope to see the ‘Full Monty” in time.
This was not great weekend for the entertainment. Although hardly a disaster.
Let’s start with the good. I saw a lovely short documentary by LS Films at The Vue in the film festival on Saturday afternoon called “Little Warrior” about a young Venezuelan female boxer coached by Gary Young, via the internet, from Edinburgh. It’s beautifully shot and a teaser for the feature that may come if funding does. I do hope so as it’s really lovely. 3.5 stars.
Then we went to the Book Festival to see the glorious PJ Harvey unspool horrifically in a sixth form wankathon. Special criticism goes to the interviewer, Don Paterson, who I am reliably informed is a great poet and PJ’s mentor. Trouble is though, he liked the sound of his own voice more than PJ’s. And PJ’s poetry reeks of pish and ham. A truly awful evening in the company of greatness. 2 stars.
The day finished with a cheeky wee invite to the Film Festival closing party at which I had a good old chat with Mark Cousins and his partner. Very enjoyable.
On Sunday I went to an absurdist comedy (I hate to say it but it was meta) called Horse Country at Assembly Studio 2. Two amazing male performers present a very absurd, surreal, meta show that simply wasn’t to my taste. That said I have to doff my cap at their performances. James loved it. But James is meta. Performance 4 stars, script 2 stars. Overall 3 stars.
Hens Teeth’s lovely Love you more. My pick of the day.
I’ve already shared my thoughts on the Dream Machine experience here. (It’s six stars because it’s a once in a lifetime experience. (Although I will be going back to experience it again.)
But I took in a further three shows yesterday. The first, The Chairs, Revisited at The Pleasance Jack Dome by Vagabond Productions is a fucking shitshow. An elderly couple, living 400,000 years in the future in a lighthouse, invite the local great and good to their home to hear an oration from an orator. It’s told in rhyme (loose rhyme). But these visitors are either imaginary or are just not seen to save cost because it would be a cast of thousands. (Have to leave that for for the movie.) Instead the visitors become mime opportunities and they are represented by the chairs they invited to sit on. Many, many chairs gradually populate the stage. It’s fucking bollocks. 2 stars.
Love You More (at Space, Surgeon’s Hall) is ostensibly a female two hander by Bristol’s Hens Teeth Productions is a delightful surprise. In a sea of metaness (like the aforementioned pish) this is a straight up story play about the cool girl at school who befriends the geek and somehow develop a friendship that works. Told in reminiscent flashback it charts the long term relationship between Megan and Charlie in a simple set that doesn’t get in the way of two excellent performances. It’s only 45 minutes long but it’s a little diamond in the Fringe. Last show today so you’ll need to be quick. 4 stars.
Last up, at the same venue we saw Eric Davidson’s Spin We Gaily Daily Ukulele Ceilidh. A truly horrendous title (and very off-putting – it was chosen by a friend) that belies a very good and very funny one man revue show. The spin we daily bit refers to a giant tombola wheel with cryptic song themes (nicked from Elvis Costello) that he spins between songs to choose the next one. What we get is political satire, and very funny it is too. Fairly sweary but no C Bombs and certainly stemming from the left wing. Great entertainment and think he’s transferring to Fringe on the Sea next week. Certainly one to seek out. 4 stars.
You know that feeling? You’re in that sub-Brechtian shizzazzle, but the crowd choice for tonight is either heavy drag or Irish hip hop improv mood.
Sure you do. To be sure.
As the vote is cast I’m in a 20 minute queue for a George Square Guinness (£6.50. Actually fuck off), quietly praying that the Irish hip hopper wins the day.
He does.
Abandoman it is. (At Udderbelly. Or is it Underbelly? Who knows.)
So, nine of us, fresh from good chat and burgers, head off to the Udderbelly/Underbelly tent to meet the darling of Edinburgh’s hip hop improv scene; Mel, clutching her comfortable wooly grey gloves, like her Gran would have adored her for. Little would she know they’d be minor stars of the show.
I’m girding my loins to confess that I once lied to my daughter on a 10k time boast or that the best thing I could come up with on things I’d lost was, “my virginity”. But these secrets remain as I wasn’t thrust centre stage.
Abandoman is a Fringe favourite, and for a reason, he’s great. He does all that Showstopper and Baby Wants Candy do, but he does it on his own. Naked. High risk. It’s a monumental achievement to hip hop night in, night out with no back up. Just him.
(BWC and Showstoppers just do it better though.)
Did I like it? Yes, I laughed out loud many times but there’s something missing in it for me. Some of it in the diction and clarity of the performance and a lot of it in the slightly contrived AI concept behind it. I’ll take Baby Wants Candy first, Showstopper next.
It’s cool. It’s funny. But I’m a fussy twat and this couldn’t clamber over the three star bar for me.
The truly beautiful Larkhall. Miss it at your peril.
Two more really great shows and couldn’t have been more different.
Let’s start with Larkhall – Piano and Creative Coding at, yup, you guessed it, Summerhall.
It’s a beautiful show by astounding pianist and, eh, creative coder, Larkhall in which he, a variety of collaborators and a computer called Otto wire up a piano, via some effects pedals and a hard disc, to a screen. What Larkhall plays, and it’s really quite something – systems music-based with elements of Penguin Cafe Orchestra in there as a reference point if you need one – is linked, via his coding algorithms, to a variety of video installations that create images in real life, like fractals (although nothing as obvious as fractals) labyrinths, great American highways at night, mysterious sea creatures and more in response to his heart felt and glorious piano playing. I promise you have never seen the likes before and its truly wonderful. Four, edging five, stars.
Liz Kingsman: One Woman Show at The Traverse comes here full of London glory. Winner of a South Bank Award for comedy and a darling of the Guardian, her ‘meta’ show (yes another one) is brilliantly conceived with layer upon layer upon layer of rug pulls, verbal trickery, storytelling genius, character play and nods and winks to popular culture that she slags, but in a playful, not horrific, way. It’s glorious laugh out loud, but deeply enthralling stuff. Don’t laugh too loud though, you might miss the next plot twist, if indeed there is a plot. It’s very, very funny and very, very clever. Another 4 stars for me.
For over 90 minutes Jodie Comer, once again revealing her voice au natural as she did in Help on C4 last year (a devastating performance), held me in a state of suspended animation. Ninety minutes of monologue, directed with such nuance and skill, by Justin Martin, that you might be forgiven for thinking you’d witnessed a cast of ten.
Courtroom dramas have long held audiences in their thrall. I can think of many that have slammed me in the chest (on the big screen) but this is something else. It’s a play with a massive twist in which Comer, defence council for the indefensible (“How can you stand up for men you know are guilty?”), becomes the prosecution in her own world – but the prosecution in the form of witness and a victim of sexual abuse (like one in three of all women).
She takes this twist by the balls and squeezes out a performance of such supreme dexterity, nuance, skill, emotion, power, vulnerability and even humour that I was left gasping (open mouthed frankly) time and again. Her many voices (not overplayed) her ticks and mannerisms, the tears, her ability to volte face in an instant (especially in the cross examination scene) are truly remarkable. And the energy. And her memory. And her timing.
Although we saw it in a cinema, Scotland’s best as it happens – The Hippodrome in Bo’ness – the audience spontaneously burst into applause at the end. We knew she couldn’t hear us.
But we all felt it. Greatness. That’s what we felt.
You must remember that moment you first fell upon Jodie Comer as the sassy, hilarious, brilliant Villanelle in Killing Eve and marvelled at her then. Well, that was just the start of something magical, and it’s got a long way to go. In Help she is astounding. In this she is mesmeric. It’s simply implausible that it’s her second ever appearance on a stage, the last at 16 in a school play. It beggars belief frankly.
And another shout out for the subtle musical underscore by Rebecca Lucy Taylor (AKA Self Esteem). It’s lovely.
This show is a must see, as so many NTL Live shows are, and it’s a bargain. Can’t buy tickets at a can buy price.
Liars, cheats, self-centred blowhards with empty promises and corrupt motives.
Each and every last one of them.
Right?
Well, actually, no.
Not if you have political ambitions in Leith that is.
First off, you have Deidre Brock, the sitting SNP MP for Leith and North Edinburgh and then there’s her closest competitor, Labour’s Gordon Munro.
A long term Councillor for City of Edinburgh Council I had the great pleasure to build on my Dad’s friendship with Gordon when I first met him as a fellow Board Director at The Royal Lyceum Theatre Company, one of Gordon’s many Council responsibilities (funnily enough that’s where I first met Deidre too).
I was immediately impressed with Gordon’s enthusiasm and contribution – so many of these posts are really statutory and lead to disinterested contributions, if any at all. Not Gordon.
It helps that he is a passionate lover of so many art forms, not least theatre. (Oh, and the mighty Hibees.)
But as time went on I started to stumble upon him all over the shop. In art galleries, at gigs, in the theatre. And then I called on his help to find a new home for Forth Children’s Theatre.
Boom!
He was straight in there, scouring Leith for us, putting forward all sorts of suggestions (including a disused car park under the Banana Flats).
I read some of his work in The Leither. I chatted to him in corridors. I quickly formed a deep respect for a man who wears his heart firmly on his sleeve and makes no compromises with his political beliefs.
To say Gordon is left of centre would be to downplay his passion for the Labour movement. An all-consuming passion that manifests itself in all the values of Labour that I love (although I vote SNP).
This is what politics should be about. A man of the people who cares wholly in his rage against the machine.
I love that about him. I love that about great politicians of any hue (and actually there are a lot of them that aren’t what I painted in my opening paragraph).
But, if you want to see what integrity looks like in flesh and bone, look no further than Gordon Munro.
An actual hero in my book. (And the only other person on earth I know that likes the outstanding Yasmine Hamdan.)
Now read about his heroes.
And, come the revolution. Back Gordon.
My Favourite Author or Book
Victor Serge. I first encountered Serge in 1983 when I bought a battered second hand copy of his ‘Memoirs of a Revolutionary’ published by Oxford books in 1963. It’s a great read and a fantastic insight into the tumults of the first half of the 20th Century. When the New York Review of Books brought out an edition which included material omitted from the edition I knew I bought it right away. I was not disappointed its still a great read. NYRB have also brought out his notebooks which cover 1936-1947 and his humanity shines through despite recording the murder and deaths of several friends. A threat that he constantly lived under too as Stalin’s GPU kept him under observation. They also publish some of his fiction too. His writing is superb and his volume of poetry ‘ A blaze in the desert’ is worth seeking out . “ All the exiles in the world are at the Greek informer’s café tonight,” is a line from his poem ‘Marseilles’ written in 1941 and a film script in one line. But don’t take my word for it here is what Susan Sontag thinks of Serge : “ Serge is one of the most compelling of twentieth-century ethical and literary heroes”. She’s right.
The Book I’m reading
As always I have several on the go. ‘Paint Your Town Red – How Preston took back control and your town can too’ by Matthew Brown & Rhian E Jones’ is essential reading. ‘The Divide – A brief guide to Global Inequality and its Solutions’ by Jason Hickel infuriates and illuminates in equal measure.’To Mind your Life- poems for Nurses & Midwives’ is life affirming. ‘ The way to play – coaching hints and technique’ by Inverleith Petanque Club is to hand as I’ve taken up this sport during Covid. ‘ Fixture List season 2021/22 Hibernian FC is essential year round reading for me as a lifelong Hibs supporter.
The book I wished I had written
Is still locked in my head and unlikely to make it out .
The book I couldn’t finish
Funnily enough I had a conversation recently with Ian Rankin where we both said we started but could not finish ‘Confessions of an English Opium Eater’ by Thomas de Quincey. Turgid.
The book I’m ashamed I haven’t read
‘The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner’ by James Hogg. I know, I know it inspired Stevenson , it’s a classic etc but life gets in the way. Maybe one day.
My favourite film
Too many but if its one only then it has to be ‘Casablanca’.
My favourite Play
It has to be Peter Brooks ‘ Mahabarata’ in Glasgow . 3 nights in a row of the most sublime theatre I’ve ever seen. The whole audience, which included a chunk of Scottish Actors, were on our feet shouting for more.
My favourite podcast
I don’t do podcasts but I do recommend the blog ‘Stand up and Spit’ by the poet Tim Wells. Great stuff and always interesting.
The box set I’m hooked on
‘American Gods’. A great cast and a good realisation of a favourite book.
My favourite TV series
Tiswas. It just broke all the rules and was great fun too. Chris Tarrant , Sally James , Spit the Dog and the Phantom Flan Flinger along with some cool music . What more do you want.
My favourite piece of Music
‘Teenage Kicks’ by the Undertones. Perfection. When Peel left us and Hibs adopted it for a while as our tune part tribute and part due to the boy band look team we had at the time I was chuffed.
My favourite dance performance
I’ve been lucky enough to see Nureyev, Wayne Sleep, Ballet Rambert, Michael Clarke but it has to be Carlos Acosta with ‘On before’. He has this amazing ability that some football players have of being able to hang in the air. His company will be worth catching when we get the chance to enjoy live performance again.
The last film/music/book that made you cry
Film – Motorcycle Diaries – Walter Salles. I know that’s Guevara’s companion in the last scene watching the plane take off. Alberto Granado at 84 was not allowed in to the USA for the premiere at Sundance despite Robert Redford’s best efforts.
Music- Kathryn Joseph at Pilrig Church Hall. Go see here at Edinburgh Park in August.
Book- Notebooks 1936-1947 Victor Serge. So many deaths.
The lyric I wished I had written
‘Happy Birthday’ – not the Altered Images one. Imagine the royalties (and yes I know there’s a story to this lyric).
The song that saved me
Not a song but a request to dance the Gay Gordon’s at a wedding in 1985. We’ve been together ever since.
The instrument I play
The voice. Badly.
The instrument I wish I’d learned
The piano.
If I could own one painting it would be
‘Nighthawks at the Diner’ – Edward Hopper. I have had a print of this up on the wall since 1983.
The music that cheers me up
A whole bunch of 45’s from season 1977/78. Punk Rock shook things up and even Bowie upped his game with ‘Heroes’. We were lucky.
The place I feel happiest
Home with our family our two daughters , son in law and the best thing to happen during lockdown our granddaughter Ada.
My guiltiest cultural pleasure
Alcohol. It’s got me in and out of trouble. Seen me on my hands and knees outside a nightclub in Tangier. Arrested in Burnley. Stealing a Police hat from the back of a Police car outside a Police station. Chased by a knife wielding pimp in a Miami hotel. And I keep coming back for more.
I’m having a fantasy dinner party. I’ll invite these artists and authors
Dead – David Bowie, Marilyn Monroe, Humphrey Bogart , Frida Kahlo, Jesus so the wine would flow , Oscar Wilde.
Alive – Brian Eno, Marianne Faithfull, Annie Lenno , Jan Gehl, the Singh Twins, John Byrne.
And I’ll put on this music
Bessie Smith, Yasmine Hamdan, Calypso Rose, Ludovico Einaudi, Max Richter.
In the past fortnight I have had the pleasure of being in the audience for two Larry O’Keefe Shows. Batboy: The Musical and Heathers: The Musical.
He is best known for Legally Blonde.
I have yet to see Legally Blonde, but the two lesser shows in his income stream are both outrageous, hilarious, original and compelling from start to finish.
Both productions were university musical theatre society shows (Batboy: Glasgow Uni Cecilians and Heathers: Dundee Uni Operatic Society) and both were triumphs.
His style is, shall we say, unorthodox and treads in the same furrow as Avenue Q, Jerry Springer The Opera and, I imagine not having seen it, Book of Mormon.
Irreverent, rude, taboo challenging.
If you’ve seen Avenue Q you’ll love ‘Everyone’s a little bit racist’ and that’s a good reference point as in these O’Keefe shows we get zero racism BUT we DO get insights into incest, homophobia, mental health issues, gang rape, mouth sword fencing and a smattering of other ‘uncomfortable’ observations.
Foul language, extreme sexual references and semi-nudity pepper both shows. They are a delight and I will forever be looking for Fringe and amateur productions in the years to come.
It’s not so uncommon to see ‘tour de force’ performances on screen because cinema and TV affords the actor the physical space and respite to tear the arse out of a performance. It’s a one off and retakes allow them to experiment and finesse the part and to build in nuances.
But of course the stage has many ‘tour de force’s’ to reference, Olivier springs to mind in the Shakespearian silo, but they are fewer in number and elitist in observation.
Nevertheless, in the digital cinema world, to that august canon must be added Maxine Peake’s Hamlet.
Let’s ignore the gender issue here. It’s a red herring. The fact is that Peake is, by anyone’s measure, slight.
And yet the sheer energy she exudes performance after performance is ant like in its ability to punch above its physical weight.
Her skill is to mesmerisingly tic and twitch her way through a descent into moral madness. It’s very compelling indeed.
And yet her slightness brings with it a vulnerability that really draws you in. Captured on the big screen it only serves to emphasise the greatness of this performance at the Royal Exchange Theatre during last year’s Manchester International Festival.
If you get a chance to see one of these ‘live’ theatre screening jump at the opportunity. You will thank me.
What gets you through that odd time between midnight and 4am (the most common time for people to die in their sleep – and known as the hour of souls)?
That’s what Cora Bissett explores in this part hilarious, part melancholic exploration of life in Glasgow, although it could be any city in the world really.
It came to the Edinburgh Fringe on the back of rave reviews and awards and I can tell you they are justified.
There was no programme handed out so I can’t be sure who was performing but they ranged from a babe in arms to a bunch of thirty/forty somethings.
This band of troubadors included actors, singers, musicians, dancers and gymnasts and feels like a modern day Chaucer’s tales. It’s all supported by a, sometimes beautiful, video backdrop that blends effortlessly into the action
I counted 22 performers at the curtain call (to a standing ovation) including the aforementioned Cora Bissett (Roadkill).
This is more of a polemic on life in Scotland and a curation of Scottish culture than a story as such.
And the result is a thing of great beauty.
“Chips and Cheese” a late night drinking song had me rolling in the aisles but the closing number that spelled the end of the night, and indeed life itself, was hauntingly beautiful.
The great and the good of Scottish music were involved in creating the show; Withered Hand, Emma Pollock, Ricky Ross, Rachel Sermani, Errors, Swimmer One, RM Hubbard to name but a few and it’s nothing if not eclectic. You might have thought that would make for a hotch potch of styles but it all knits together beautifully.
There are two moments of aerial acrobatics (in very different styles) that are simply breathtaking and in the second case deeply poignant.
Without ever reverting to kitsch or kailyard or tradition of any sort this performance brews up an homage to Scottish culture that is right on the money for the 21st century. It’s the sort of thing that, on a good day, National Theatre of Scotland embraces so well and this is right up there with the very best of what NToS does.
I eagerly await my trip to Dundee to see Bissett’s very different, and even more lauded, Roadkill in September.
I’m off to the Lyceum for the first read through of the script for “of Mice and men:”. John Steinbeck’s classic.
Very excited.
It comes to the theatre in mid- February and here is the synopsis as posted by The Lyceum…
Armed with nothing but hope, and the dream of one day living and working on their own land, George and his childishly innocent companion Lennie start work on a ranch.
New friendships are made and at first life looks good, until gentle Lennie, unaware of his own immense strength, unwittingly shatters their dreams in one disturbingly tragic act.
This is theatre at its most powerful.
Cast:
George…………………William Ash
Lennie………………….Steve Jackson
Candy………………….Peter Kelly
The Boss/Whit………Greg Powrie
Curley………………….Garry Collins
Curley’s Wife………..Melody Grove
Slim……………………..Liam Brennan
Carlson………………..Mark McDonnell
Crooks…………………John Macaulay
Oh how I love this concept and this theatre group.
OK. As you know, I have a vested interest but Summer on Stage is a wonderful initiative that must create lifetime memories for the young people involved.
And once again two diametrically different shows spellbound its audience tonight.
CURTAINS UP
The older group (14 to 18 ish) performed Lorca’s Blood Wedding.
Now; this is no light undertaking. It is not for the fainthearted.
This is a mammoth theatrical event and for a cast of youth to take it on relies on production and direction of utter commitment so John Glancy should take a bow for having the chutzpah to go for it.
It’s epic.
It’s supremely challenging and the cast pulled it off to great effect thanks in large part to the astonishing direction by Steve Mann. Really his input cannot be underestimated. Visually, it’s stunning, the movement enthralling and the chorus work electrifying.
The principal parts, and there are several, were all carried off with great skill.
Hanni Shinton (as the grieving mother) in particular has a stage presence beyond her years; but so too Isla Cowan as the Bride.
This really is a show that is dominated by the woman as they grieve, plot and react to situations running out of control as the menfolk brutalise one another for their shared love of the same women.
A special note of praise has to go to Rebecca McCoach as the Beggar Woman as her disturbingly dressed “thing” creeped us all out. Hanging around the stage like a bad smell and representing death her presence was foreboding and distasteful. Perfect.
Of course, taking three weeks to stage an epic does not come without its faults. For me the end became pretty intense and I’d like the volume to have dropped a little but that’s a pretty churlish point about a show that must make each and every contributor immensely proud.
INTERVAL
Part two introduced us to the younger members of LYT (10 – 13) in a show called ‘It Snows’ which was redolent, to me, of Let The Right One In, the Swedish vampire movie that is essentially about young, and innocent, love.
This is a charming piece of theatre that was brought to life vigorously, hilariously and touchingly by director Christie O’carroll who was responsible for LYT’s recent production of Bassett which I was fortunate enough to see twice. Christie is a treasure. the lightness of touch of her direction of this superb script was a real triumph.
There are moments of laugh out loud comedy (particularly when the chorus play out stereotypical mother and father skats). But it’s sad and touching too.
The show tackles the trials of growing up with the subplot of a poor, lonely little girl, ostracized from her community, maybe disabled, maybe abused watching on, detached from her upper floor room (it was this plot devise that reminded me so strongly of Let The Right One In), meanwhile Cameron and Caitlin attempt to “get it on” awkwardly, whilst each is the subject of peer abuse (especially Cameron). Like two peas in a pod they gradually overcome their shyness and this leads to a delightful romance.
Again the chorus adds vibrant colour to the overall piece (a play written ostensibly for 7 parts but which effortlessly carries 30).
My only criticism would be that the dance routines slightly stopped the flow of the play and were slightly too long.
Other than that; Louis Plummer, Beth Moran and your 28 colleagues take a well deserved bow.
EPILOGUE
One last point. Technically the shows were a triumph. The set stunning, great lighting and we could hear every word. No mean feat.
People often associate theatre as a home for serious intellectual exercise. A place to be challenged politically, ideologically and linguistically. But that is to miss the point. Because Mark Thomson constantly espouses his theory that when all is said and done theatre is about entertainment. Sure big ideas can be shared (take Copenhagen from two years ago for instance) but let’s not forget that for £20 spent on a night out people want to enjoy themselves, not just have a brain training workout.
Few congregating places achieve all of these things so effectively.
In cinema one is limited by its lack of engagement physically. Cinema, although for many the centre of their art world, is distant, even unattainable. Art Galleries, although more involving, lack dimension; in most cases the work is done and dusted and we, the audience, come along to wonder at its craft or thinking. We do not take part. The church is too often the home for hectoring and instruction rather than involvement.
So that leaves theatre. Theatre is visceral, real and involving. In this play there are moments of soliloque and sheers pantoesque interaction that acknowledge the involvement of the audience. Then of course there’s the collective laughter, cheering and applause.
Educating Agnes is pure entertainment and sits alongside a number of recent balls-out, have a bloody good laugh evenings in Grindlay Street: Irma Vep, Earnest and The Beauty Queen of Leenane stand out in this respect. But none of them had me quite as out of control as this absolute raucous beast of a comedy. I was literally sweating with laughter.
“Shut up” my wife hissed on three or four occasions, digging me sharply in the ribs, as I exploded, yet again, with laughter at this script and performance that fit together symbiotically.
It’s part slapstick; and for that to work as well as it does we have to invite Scotland’s finest stage comedy actor, Steven McNicoll, to stand forward.
He only has to enter stage left to have me grinning from ear to ear. This man is a legend I tell you. Like a huge Norman Wisdom or a latter day Rikkie Fulton he lives and breathes comedy. Just the way he stands, the way he walks, or the way, in this show, that he uses gaping, inordinately long pauses
to
deliver
a
killer line makes him a diamond.
I don’t know if Liz Lochhead wrote the part with him in mind but if she didn’t there was some divine intervention and certainly the hand of Tony Cownie at play.
To pair him with Kathryn Howden was another stroke of casting genius. The pair are bawdy and gut bustingly funny from start to finish. The scene where they attack Arnolphe with a salmon and a string of sausages will live long in my memory. And, OMG, when the slapstick scene erupts with pantomime door effects I swear I was going to actually micturate.
Now, did you see what I did there? I mixed OMG with an olde worlde term like micturate, and that is the secret of Liz Lochhead’s success. She’s our Makar you know, and a Makar is described thus in Wikipedia;
It especially highlights the role of the poet as someone skilled in the crafting or making of controlled, formal poetry with intricate or involved diction and effects.
That description aptly summarises this show. It’s an epic poem with more wordplays than a session in coalition. The way Liz Lochhead can drop out of a Scot’s rhyming couplet drawn from 17th Century French and retort with a cool “Whatever.” The way a heartfelt monolgue on love, loyalty and obedience can be met with a solitary middle finger pointing to the roof rafters is jaw dropping. It’s also excruciatingly funny. This is writing like nobody else does and it’s something to very greatly treasure.
But this is not just a Liz Lochhead beast. She could never have brought this to bear without the utterly brilliant direction of Tony Cownie. Every line has a nuance and an opportunity to wring an extra laugh out of it by some frm of physical theatre; a look, a posture, a harumph here or there. It’s these that bring it so explosively to life and was what made Liz Lochhead giggle throughout at her own creation (I sat behind her last night so saw how much she was enjoying Cownie’s interpretation. In particular I think she appreciated (as my wife did) the careferee and niaive abandon with which Mark Prendergast literally threw himself into the role of Horace.)
I liked his performance a lot, as I did McNicoll, Howden and Nicola Roy as the eponymous heroine.
But I’m saving the best for last.
Peter Forbes as Arnolphe performed as commandingly as anyone I’ve seen on this stage in recent years. He stands alongside Stanley Townsend, in A view From The Bridge (for me at least), in this respect.
On stage for almost the duration and with at least 50% of the dialogue he never put a foot wrong. But much more than this, the interpretation he put into poor old Arnolphe’s twisted character, the labyrinthine logic that he applied to the morals and ethics of creating a concubine out of Agnes and the despair that ensues as it all goes horribly wrong is expressed through shrieks, hollers, quasimodo-like grimaces and bodily twists and turns that make you squirm in your seat.
He is epic.
This show is epic.
This show is stone wall, nailed on five star quality.
If you miss it, and you’ve read this, then frankly I despair.
Fame will go by and, so long, I’ve had you, fame. If it goes by, I’ve always known it was fickle. So at least it’s something I experience, but that’s not where I live. Marilyn Monroe
I don’t know who invented high heels, but all women owe him a lot. Marilyn Monroe
I have feelings too. I am still human. All I want is to be loved, for myself and for my talent. Marilyn Monroe
Marilyn Monroe. Not just a dumb blonde.
Marilyn Monroe, is perhaps the most famous woman in the world, ever!
OK, she may have been beaten to it by Mary, the mother of Christ, just as her son pipped John Lennon to the male crown.
Fame haunted Monroe all through her life and her complex personality, as demonstrated by the quotes above, confused not just the public and her biographers, but the lady herself. Just how dumb was she? It was hard totell at times. And the drugs didn’t help.
Her background as an abandoned orphan was a great driver but also a disturbing nightmare that she used rink and drugs to escape.
This lack of grounding no doubt contributed to her demons and dreadful lack of self worth.
So, put her in a hotel wing with Europe’s dazzling blonde intellectual arthouse love, Simone Signoret; the brainy blonde, on a trip to the US in March 1960 where she was about to win best actress Oscar for her role in Room at The Top, (the successful blonde) and what could possibly happen?
That’s the premise of this very interesting triple header directed by Philip Howard as a co production with the Citizens Theatre in Glasgow.
But Signoret wasn’t there just to pick up her Oscar. She was accompanying her husband (the lucky blonde), Yves Montand (unseen) who was performing as male leade alongside Marilyn on the set of Let’s Make Love. (Not a career high, despite Cukor’s direction).
Meanwhile Monroe’s third Husband, Arthur Millar, types furiously away off stage as their marraige disintegrates (they divorced 10 months later).
Of course, Monroe gets the hots for Montand, which hardly helps matters as Signoret is deeply in love with Montand and remained married to him until her death in 1985.
Circling the cage is Monroe’s one real friend (it would seem, certainly in this context) her hairdresser and colourist Patti (played by Paulie Knowles). She acts as a compere of sorts in a similar way that Alfieri did in Millar’s View from the Bridge earlier this season.
The show is a mix of mirth (“The Communists ; they’re the poor people aren’t they” quips Monroe) and misery as Monroe’s grip on reality gradually unravels, thanks mainly to her terrible insomnia fuelled by endless bubbly and a cocktail of prescription drugs.
It’s sad to see, but subtly realised.
And realisation is the real strength of this show which is built around a startling performance by Frances Thorburn in the title role and ably abetted by French actress Dominique Hollier.
A knowledge of the period is useful for one’s enjoyment as the McCarthy Witch Trials provide subtle, but important, background noise to the events on stage.
The wardrobe of authentic period couture that Marilyn parades through several costume changes is a particular delight too.
Life is about decorum, ritual, appropriate behaviour, pleasing one’s community and peers. Not acting instinctively, ferally, as one sees it. Because the community one lives within; the workplace, the neighbourhood, the church sets the standards and morals. No matter how much it might be inappropriate or even wrong it’s the rule of the crowd that defines the behaviour of the one.
When Eddie Carbone decides he’s against this collective spirit; driven by jealousy, lust and rage, the rule of the crowd in Italian Brooklyn is jettisoned and Eddie Carbone becomes a lone ranger with disastrously selfish consequences.
It’s a big theme and a big play. Probably Miller’s greatest, certainly the most thought-provoking I’ve had the privilege to experience. And experience is the right word to describe John Dove’s “View”.
I kid you not, this was the most compelling and jaw dropping night I have spent in a theatre in my existence. So powerful are the performances, most notably Stanley Townsend’s which held you in his thrall every moment he uttered a word, that theatre becomes a vehicle of transportation into another world. Other stand out performances are Richard Conlon’s Marco (restrained but ultimately very scary) and the inimitable Kath Howden. The whole is held beautifully together ( a la Greek Chorus) by Liam Brennan.
This is no ordinary play. The subjects it brings out; jealousy, homosexuality, incest, faith, community, life long love, hope are at the very core of one’s being and it does so in a way that is hugely provocative and actually, with a performance of this standard, really quite humbling.
This is not just a five star show; it’s five star+.
It’s the thing these days to reinvent Shakespeare to the point that the Shakespeare inside is barely recognisable. The Lyceum don’t do this. Two year’s ago the Lyceum’s Macbeth was heavily criticised for this but I really enjoyed it. This year’s Romeo and Juliet by contrast has been lauded by the critics, partly for its lack of denial. Again I really enjoyed it.
What this production does is, for the most part, let Shakespeare’s language wash over you like a spa treatment. Enveloping you in a warm bath of language that’s part familiar, part alien. It’s a very compelling and quite riveting experience.
Blessed with a cast of great quality, director, Tony Cownie makes them sing from the off. Liam Brennan stands out as a monumentally great actor and Will Featherstone is superb as Romeo. Others I cared for to slightly lesser degrees and sadly Juliet was, for me, a bit of a disappointment – not that Kirsty Mackay didn’t put her heart and soul into the performance, she just didn’t engage me. It’s a difficult call as act two is an endless lament on her part and so it’s very easy to overstep the mark to the point that Juliet wails once too often.
She did.
Sorry.
Aside from that, this is a truly beguiling theatrical experience. Pjhilip Pinsky’s music was, as ever fantastic , and I thought I recognised the central motif which I’m sure was a nod to Craig Armstrong. Like I said earlier, one feels drawn into a different world that doesn’t need a “message for today”. And it hasn’t got a great deal to say metaphorically, politically, socially; it’s just a great piece of theatre deftly and engagingly handled.
It was the first board meeting of the new term today and I’m immensely proud of the season we are about to put out in the next 9 months. Shakespeare opens on Saturday with Romeo and Juliet, followed by The Importance of Being Earnest (a very rare 4 act performance) and then The Snow Queen for Christmas.
There after the season opens up with a mix of classics (another Miller – the last in John Dove’s immense series) and premieres.
For the second year running I found myself at the opening night of Summer on Stage, an extraordinary theatrical venture that gives young people a truly great experience. As it happens I was sat next to a lovely lady from Cairn Energy who was one of the founders of the whole thing and I have to say she was as blown away as I was.
The evening consisted of two productions, one for younger children (up to about 16 I’d say) and one for older youths. The former was a charming tale called The Musicians in which a “shite” school orchestra arrived in Russia to perform as part of a cultural exchange, only to find that their instruments had been impounded at the airport because a spliff had been found in one of the cases. The spliff had been secreted there because the doting flautists in the orchestra had hoped to use it medicinally to calm down the highly excitable conducter played excellently by Louis Plummer.
In the end the performance was mimed to Tchiakovsky’s 4th Symphony but inspired by the supportive (eventually) intervention of two hilarious stage hands/cleaners who stole the show (Keir Aitken and Samuel Adams).
The second performance, A Vampire Story, is a highly complex meeting of 19th Century vampirism with contemporary mental health issues and is quite stunning. Both shows shared basically the same simple but highly effective set but in this one the set was used to meld two very different eras very effectively. Although dark in content it is also hilarious in parts; it deals with the story of a teenage girl who clearly has become delusional and is creating a fantasy world of vampires as she seeks (with the help of her sister ) to escape the grasp of the authorities by constantly moving on. On her journey she encounters another lost soul in the form of a home taught kid who is similarly trying to escape the attentions of his eccentric parents. I can’t tell from the programme who played what parts but all of the principles were phenomenal and a special word has to go to the dotty teacher, Mint, played by Blair Grandison. (The Home Economics teacher, Filet, who was played by Emma Mckenna was a class character part and I recognise the girl who played the part from previous Lyceum Youth performances – a real talent).
Director Steve Mann made a considerable impression on me with this show because the content was complex, the movement difficult and the pace very important. All were delivered perfectly in a great technical set up so that what emerged was a highly professional production that replicated the sort of conditions that professional rep actors and technicians have to (and most certainly had to) work under; short time scales to learn and perfect the the performances. In this case A Vampire Story was created in under three weeks and The Musicians in under two.
As a kid, I’d have loved to have had this opportunity and so hats off to The Lyceum for making this happen and also to Cairn Energy for supporting it financially.
Sondheim’s Sweeney is, for me, very near to perfection in terms of musical theatre. I rate it alongside West Side Story and Ragtime for wit, quality and sheer vocal demand. It’s more an opera than a musical in truth but Sondheim insists that operas are for opera houses and musicals are for theatres. So, a musical it is.
This production has been lauded by the critics and I can see why.
I don’t want anyone to take this the wrong way but it felt like a very high quality amateur production (with a budget) because the performances across the ensemble cast were riproaringly enthusiastic and heartfelt. (My point is that I sometimes feel in professional theatre that some of the passion is missing. Not here. )
This show rocks from the opening bar of Sondheim’s astounding prologue to the last bar of the shattering epilogue (both are highlights of the musical). Act 1 in particular was spellbindingly good, partly because the material is so strong. (I feel the same about West Side Story as it happens.)
But this is certainly no amdram performance. It is highly polished, visually powerful (a very good set) and musically accomplished. And what a great theatre space. My first, but not last, visit to the Dundee Rep.
I was pleasantly surprised to see Richard Conlon in the cast, playing Pirelli terrifically. (An old FCT cast member.)
It’s difficult not to make comparisons to the Johnny Depp/Helena Bonham Carter roles in the movie, but I won’t. Suffice to say that in the title role David Birrell was brilliant without being OTT. Much of the humour was reserved for Ann Louise Ross who played Mrs Lovett beautifully but particularly deviously. You really got a feeling for her as the real driving force of the operation. Poor old Sweeney is just consumed with anger and the need for remorse, old Mrs Lovett’s in it for what she can get.
This is the least gory version of Sweeney I think I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure a drop of fake blood was spilled throughout and that did slightly lessen the drama in the second act killing spree. But it didn’t spoil the overall effect.
A major shout out must go to the ‘ensemble’ who really carried the show. Too often professional musicals (especially tourers) are let down by weak chorus work because the numbers on stage are insufficient. Again, not here.
I absolutely loved this. Great value for money with a 16 strong cast and an 11 piece orchestra; three hours of entertainment, and all for £18 with a standing ovation to boot. Go on the Rep!
A rather amusing “no animals were killed in the making of this smoke” type announcement preludes the opening of this play and then the curtain rises to reveal a dark, brooding, half-lit miasma that remains throughout.
And yes, it’s smoky.
The darkness is entirely appropriate as this is a tale from the early 18th century when dark deeds were done, folk lived in smogs of half truth, rumour and mountains of religious guilt. And we’re not even talking Catholisism here. No, welcome to the dank, scary world of Calvinism.
YE WILL NOT HAVE FUN. YE WILL NOT FORNICATE. YE WILL NOT SMILE. YE WILL NOT DAE ANYTHING THAT THE LORD WOULD FROWN UPON.
Because the Lord, back then, was all seeing, all telling, all rule making.
This was a land of ignorance and powerful religious figures. The meenister was all.
Sound familiar?
Yep, it’s a fascinating allegory (or is it a metaphor) for our times today where religious extremism, east and west, is a licence for abhorrent and inexplicable sinning.
The early days Obama (Mc)Bin Laden of James Hogg’s novel is played at just the right side of lampoon by the truly terrifying Kern Falconer and he is the axis of evil that the play revolves around. It’s into his house that the naive Robert Wringhim is brought, with his mother, to “enjoy” a life of strict religious instruction. And enjoy it he does, to a point, until the Meenister sets out on a campaign to “justify” his pupil. To make him immune to sin on earth and guarantee him a place in heaven, no matter what. In time, the Damascan moment arrives and Wringhim is indeed (apparently) granted that place in heaven.
His ticket safely tucked away in his inside pocket the charming young Wringham is now granted the right to exact retribution on all wrongdoers that cross his path; and there are plenty of them.
The central premise of the play then unfolds around this – that if a place in the afterlife is guaranteed, rather than has to be earned, where does one draw the line?
If one can sin and not be called to task then surely sinning will follow. And if this sinning is not actually considered a sin then the atrocities that might result are presumably acceptable. Is this not exactly the point that appears to be brainwashed into suicide bombers the world over (because Wringham is essentially Calvinism’s suicide bomber).
Is he mad? Is Gil-Martin his voice of conscience – or the devil? There’s certainly a thin line between schitzophrenia and devotion in this play.
The “11th man” of this astonishing performance is the set. It rocks. Built on a rotating platform the oblique monoliths that seemingly stretch to the sky are variously abstract tables, beds, tombstones and pulpits, but mainly they are dark foreboding skyscrapers of the future. They are the metaphoric twin towers that I believe this play alludes to.
Ryan Fletcher is stunning. He does not overplay his quite considerable hand. Iain Robertson as Gil-Martin nails it. Lewis Howden is a scream. and John Kielty plays his parts with restraint. This is a blokes play. Sure Rae Hendrie carries her part beautifully as the Mother but all the lines belong to the men.
Mark Thomson has to be lauded for both the writing and the direction of this very superior night of theatre. And I’m certain he will be.
It’s brilliant. It’s funny. It’s electric. It’s dark. It is an absolute must see.
We took ownership, however briefly, of the Church Hill Theatre tonight and had our first run, in the studio theatre. Tomorrow we do our technical run at 10.30. Dress at 2.30 and open at 7.30. We’re ready. The rehearsals on Sunday, last night and tonight have all built on each other and started from a good place. It’s getting pretty tight all round I have to say. (Although one of my numbers – Get me to the Church on Time from My Fair Lady happily calls for rumbustuousness and a lack of overall discipline!)
The show with the exception of the Sat Mat is, to all intent and purpose, sold out. As I predicted. And the Saturday matinee is half sold and will no doubt fill up quickly now as the latecomers realise that when we said we thought the nights would sell out it wasn’t just us making it up.
If you’re lucky enough to have a ticket (and believe me you will count yourself lucky) you are in for a spellbinding evening’s entertainment.
I count myself blessed and privileged beyond belief to be part of this. Felix McLaughlin who just came up from Cardiff on Sunday to join the final rehearsals was dumbstruck by the depth and quality of talent on show. I’m not talking about me and my generation here I’m talking about the current and just ‘graduated’ cast who have talent in extreme. And the directing team, choreographer and musical direction team have to be seen to be believed.
The impact this show has had on me will never be repeated in my life. I feel sure of that because it is truly a one off, truly a labour of extraordinary love.
My father would not only have got ‘the tingles’ as he called it. He would have been swept away in a tidal wave of emotion which is exactly what will happen to our audiences because, on the whole, their lives have been so positively influencd by the wonderful work of FCT and this is, after all, the best of FCT.
I keep coming back to the greatest thing of all; membership is a mere £3 – for the year – which includes the opportunity of being in a 10 night run on the Fringe PLUS a show like this and we’ve never had even so much as a penny of public sector funding.
FCT is immense and this joyous photo from the rehearsals sums it all up for me.
Mark Thomson, The Lyceum’s Artistic Director, often talks before his shows of the need for theatre, and The Lyceum in particular, to entertain.
Now, entertainment comes in many forms. I’d list The Shining, Apocalypse Now and Hunger among my favourite and most entertaining movies but they are not everyone’s cup of tea; nor are they uplifting. My wife wouldn’t have described Hunger as entertaining, that’s for sure. So the notion of entertainment is open to considerable interpretation.
But let’s get this straight from the off; Irma Vep is PURE entertainment.
I laughed until I broke out into a sweat.
I cried and howled with laughter.
I gasped with laughter.
This show is utter class from the first, and I mean the first, moment the curtain rises and we see Andy Gray as he walks onto stage sporting a fake wooden leg and the limitations that places on straightforward movement. John Cleese would have applauded loudly.
This sets the scene for farce of epic proportions. Not Pythonesque though. It’s more in the tradition of Scots Panto. There are many nods in the direction of Russel Hunter, Walter Carr, John Grieve (is he related to the director I wonder, indeed assume) Francie and Josie and, king of them all, Stanley Baxter. Which is to heap a great deal of praise on the heads of the quite astonishing performances (in terms of characterisation, timing, energy and wit) of Andy Gray and Steven McNicoll.
Honestly, they will have you rolling in the aisles.
As I said, Panto, and slapstick, is the predominant genre here, although the show’s story is actually a pastiche of Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca with a bunch of Hammer House of Horror thrown in for good measure.
I cannot imagine what the script must have read like because it is SO Scottish, so ‘of the people’ and so personal to Gray and McNicoll that you wonder what was on the page.
Each of them plays about four parts but they interchange through very quick changes from scene to scene all night and at times it is breathless and, as a consequence, even more hilarious.
McNicoll’s Jane Twisden is possibly the dominant role (the evil maid in Rebecca) played like the tea lady in Father Ted at maximum volume throughout. It’s so beautifully crafted and voiced that it leaves you gasping again and again.
Gray’s best moments are in his Lady Enid Hillcrest character which moulds Stanley Baxter and Mark Walliams into an unholy combination.
But seriously, there is not a single moment of weakness in any of the characters they play.
The direction by Ian Grieve is faultless and the wonderful set is a key part of the show with its myriad of doorways from where every character appearance and disappearance heralding yet another belly laugh each time they appear. It’s ingenious.
I cannot praise this show highly enough.
OK it’s got an odd name but don’t let that put you off. (It’s an anagram of I’m a Perv by the way!)
Go. Go now. No, now. Don’t think about it. Just go. No, do. Do it. Do it now. Go do it. Go on. Go on, go on, go on. Now. That’s it. Get down there. Now. Yes, now. Go on now.
I will be performing on Saturday night at 7.30 in the Forth Adults Theatre Christmas fundraising show which promises to be a right good Christmas heart warmer. It’s at Holy Cross Church Hall in Bangholm Loan, but if you want tickets best make contact before the night as it will sell out.
My fellow uber-talents will be singing a range of Christmas crackers, but singing solo scares me too much so, perhaps appropriately I’ve decided to scare the audience in a different way. So I shall be debuting a freaky ghost story that is a real chiller.
Paul Higgins, may be the most remarkable new stage-writing talent since Gregory Burke. It really is written brilliantly, flowing along at 100 miles an hour packed with hilarious one liners, and I believe it’s autobiographical. (Actually it’s very unfair of me to heap this comparative praise on Paul Higgins given my lack of comparative insight; but if he isn’t the best then Scottish Theatre is absolutely booming.)
I urge you to see this play before it is too late. (It was pretty much sold out on a dreich Tuesday in late November.)
It’s a fantastic smorgasbord of Scottishness. As the nation of doom we like to dwell on the dark side and this does it magnificently. I honestly have never encountered a script, in film or on stage, that leaps like Bambi on steroids, between bleak nihilism and outrageous humour, line by line, quite as well as this.
It is remarkable.
The main theme centres on belief 9or lack of it). I suppose the key character in the five person cast is the youngest son who has opted out of the seminary (or is that safe haven?) that he has studied at for seven years because he has become atheistic. Is there a God? Is there a Catholic God (OMG)? Is there a point? Why should I coexist with you? Have I a future?
But, at the gleaming, glowing, pulsating, dangerous centre of it all is the horrific patriarch, Gary Lewis. What a performance. The drunk, child-beating, wife-hating (but actually not particularly misogynistic) husband engulfs the stage with his presence.
It is massive.
The audience howled with tears and laughter and, for me, it was another triumphant National Theatre of Scotland performance. I’ve seen three this year in three different theatres.
For those of you that know my father you will know that he used this expression a lot when describing events and moments that hit the spot and created a real emotional resonance. Today I had “the tingles” as we completed our second rehearsal for the FCT 30th Anniversary Show.
We’d learned the words and melody of “With This Life of Mine” from the Matchgirls on Friday night and today we blocked and rehearsed the movement (really exciting stuff from Jill) and brought the whole thing together.
It was really quite superb, particularly with singing coach, Joyce’s, interpretation and rigour, and her addition of harmonies
Then a new dimension was introduced.
Liam Sinclair, one of the directors, made us think about the point of it and where it fitted into FCT’s huge canon of work. The 20 minutes he took at the end of the rehearsal turned something that was great into something that is, and will be, utterly compelling, truly moving and peerless.
The way he did it left me breathless.
Be warned. There will be tears. (Especially from my sister Jane.).
Well, 20 plus years later, I’m back on the stage with FCT for their thirtieth anniversary show next April. First rehearsal tonight and I was given a pretty safe solo part. There are some astounding talents in the show. Some of the male leads have incredible voices. Just as well as this is the first song I have to learn. It’s going to be a major challenge but I’m looking forward to it.
We’ve all agreed that I should seek sponsorship from Imodium.
gibberish 