**** (4 stars)
“Very entertaining evening”
What a fascinating way to end this day’s reviewing!
Who knew that the afterlife is a queer thing in which we do not merely remember but relive disjointed fragments of our life on earth? Duncan Macrae, presented on the Storytelling Centre’s stage by Michael Daviot, did just that, giving us a wonderfully mixed tapestry of scenes and anecdotes from Macrae’s public and private lives.
There’s a rhinoceros on stage – or at least, a man with a rhino horn… Ionescu’s Rhinocéros was written in 1959, and its first West End production starred Laurence Olivier and Duncan, who gives us a personal account of the chaotic directing style of Orson Welles and Olivier’s intervention to save the cast from disastrous and total confusion.
Born in 1905 in Glasgow, his strictly Presbyterian family nonetheless countenanced annual trips to the pantomime, which sparked Duncan’s passion for theatre. He studied engineering at university but wanted to be an actor – but to do this professionally would have meant having to go to London, as there wasn’t a professional theatre in Scotland. He decided to train as a primary school teacher, and met voice coach Ann Mcallister, who had a profound influence on him.
He enjoyed teaching for some years – it must have been fascinating to be in his classes, as he would interrupt lessons to do unconventional things that he found interesting…. At the same time he was making a name for himself as a great comic actor in amateur theatre in Scotland. In 1947 he gave up teaching and turned professional.
Speaking to us from the afterlife meant we have a whirlwind, disjointed rollercoaster ride through the incredibly varied roles Duncan performed before his untimely death in 1967 from an undiagnosed and slow-growing brain tumour. Comedy, tragedy, pantomime; stage, cinema, television; Shakespeare, JB Priestly, Joe Orton; his career included them all and more.
Macrae began with a reputation for comic acting, but he was obviously a straight actor of considerable stature too, perennially dogged by an early TV performance of a juvenile party piece, the wee cock sparra, which became an albatross round his neck. We were given so many extracts from such a wide variety of plays that it’s hard to pick a favourite – but I think mine has to be from playwright James Bridie’s Gog and Magog. Harry Magog’s lengthy speech and very slow death scene, a wonderfully absurd rendition of Shakespeare reworked by William McGonagall, moved us all to delighted, groan-filled laughter.
This very entertaining evening was both an extraordinarily display of talent on the part of Michael Daviot and a fitting tribute to a great Scottish actor who contributed hugely to the development of a distinctly Scottish theatre tradition. Greatly appreciated by everyone in the theatre, it was a lovely way to end my day.
A Noble Clown, Scottish Storytelling Centre (Venue 30) for more information go to
ScotsGay Arts 