Author: Brett Herriot

**** (4 stars)

“Holds her audience entranced”

Janis Mackay is best known for her storytelling and her children’s books.  I well remember a show at the Scottish Storytelling Centre a few Fringes ago, which she wove around the birth of a young seal in a cottage garden by the sea in the north of Scotland.  Today Janis was at St Columba’s by the Castle to tell us about her first novel for adults – On a Northern Shore.

It all began with being offered a writer’s residency in Caithness, which was only for six months – but Janis ended up living there for five years [and a baby seal was born in her garden!].  During the residency she held workshops for all manner of local people – youth groups, groups of people with learning disabilities, lunch clubs – and also had time for her own writing.  The landscape of Caithness is challenging, and very unlike the ‘idea of Scotland’ – mountains, trees, lochs and heather.  It’s very flat, almost treeless, and very sparsely populated [the Clearances had a lot to do with that…].  Janis wrote many poems while in Caithness, and shared some with us.

This poem [included with her permission] describes it perfectly

Caithness

Is a white flag of sky

Surrendering

To wild nesting edges.

The sky is vast, arching over the lonely, mostly drab-coloured landscape.  Silence is everywhere.  The inhabitants are more closely attuned to the natural world than might be the case in urban environments, and much more aware of the incredibly thin nature of the veil separating the ‘real’, observable world from that of otherworldly magical and mythical beings.

Superstitions are a much more believable part of life here, and there is a rich heritage of myth and legend.  It’s hardly surprising that there’s a prevalence of selkie stories in the far north of Scotland and particularly the islands of Orkney.  The land and sea are at times almost indistinguishable, and for a being who can be both a seal and a woman once the sealskin is shed, slipping from one to the other is the easiest thing in the world.

Janis holds her audience entranced with her version of one of the many selkie stories that exist.  A lonely fisherman out on the sea late at night is about to row for home when he hears a voice singing.  It’s as if a fishhook has pierced his heart, drawing him towards the sound.  He reaches an island where a number of young women are dancing and singing: when he stumbles over a pile of sealskins, he realises they are silkies.  One by one they slip back into their skins and into the sea, but one can’t find her skin – the fisherman has hidden it.  He asks her to marry him, saying he’ll give her skin back in seven years’ time: but when the seven years are up, and they have a son, Ruaridh, he refuses to disclose where he’s hidden it…

The romance and poetry of such stories, and the compelling power of the stark Caithness landscape inspired Janis to write the novel, which tells the story of a lonely and isolated fisherman, Rab, who doesn’t quite believe the rituals his now-dead father insisted they perform, but feels he must do them anyway.  He’s down on the shoreline on Ne’ersday: is that a sealskin he trips over on the shore?  Is there a body tumbling in the waves?  Is he just suffering from a massive hangover? 

On a Northern Shore is described as ‘a haunted love story steeped in Celtic folklore’ which I felt drawn to buy and look forward to reading once I’ve finished reviewing all these shows!

ScotlandsFest Ghosts of the North, St Columba’s by the Castle (Venue 367) for more information go to: https://www.edfringe.com/tickets/whats-on/scotlandsfest-ghosts-of-the-north-a-gothic-love-story

**** (4 stars)

“Everything a musical should be”

Oh goodness this show stirred up so many memories!

The opening number sets the tone – bright eyes and cheery smiles cover the quartet’s razor-sharp dissection of everything that can make an opening number truly appalling.  It’s greeted with such enthusiasm that it’s hard not to feel that at least fifty percent of the audience know this show by heart…

Four very talented performers – Emma Ralston, Joel Benedict, Rory Connolly and Samantha Dorsey take us on a journey through the life of an aspiring musicals performer – the thrills, the challenges, the disappointments, the highs [and lows] of stardom – in a non-stop stream of witty, punchy, satirical, whimsical, and oh-so-true-to-reality musical numbers created by the incredible Alexander S Bermange.  Aaron Renfree’s direction and choreography keep the audience engaged throughout, and designer Sorcha Corcoran and lighting designer Chris McDonnell produce a show that glitters, sparkles, and inspires us all with a desire to tread the boards and sing our hearts out.

Emma, Joel, Rory and Samantha introduce us to four young hopefuls, fresh out of music college and sure that they will instantly land a wonderfully satisfying and perfect job in a musical.  But first they have to succeed with an audition – and this is where my trip down memory lane began.  I resonated so strongly with so many of the situations: waiting what seems like forever for your turn in front of the auditioning panel; sure that you will be wonderful, that no-one else will have chosen the song you’ve picked, only to find that everyone else is singing that song too and, when you finally get on stage, the panel don’t bother to look at you and stop you before you’ve managed to sing more than a few bars.  Oh how depressingly familiar it all was!

Of course, if you don’t succeed in an audition, you could always take part in a performer’s showcase – assuming your performance isn’t scuppered by any number of things, not least the appalling quality of the piano that’s accompanying you.  And there are those who’ve maybe given up on their quest to be cast in a musical, and have turned into Superfans, whose passion for musicals takes over their entire lives. 

Should you make it on to the stage, being well aware of the many things that can mar or even ruin your performance, you need to begin with an apology – in this case, a list of ‘excuses’ so long and complex it’s a wonder the singer could make it on to the stage at all!  And then the title song – I wish my life were like a MUSICAL.  It seems as though life would be perfect: nothing would go wrong, it would be fit for a queen.   But oh dear: think of all the things that go wrong for characters in a musical – is this really what I want, after all?

Then joy of joys, you get cast!  But – now you have to learn the dance routine created by a choreographer who’s a masochist – it’s all a step too far.  You think things are looking up – you get cast in a leading role: but it’s as the understudy.  Every day living in hope, every day disappointed as your star turns up at the very last moment: is this to be your life forever, always standing by?

And that star – maybe their talent is undeniable.  Or maybe they are there simply because of their name, and the reality is that their talent is most definitely on the wane.  They love to sing, but goodness me they could give Florence Foster Jenkins a run for her money!

Then you get cast in an actual role.  An extensive period of preparation is needed each day if you are to bring your best to this role: is it really worth the effort?  Things are looking up – you are now the co-star in a romantic role: but that, too, is fraught with danger as you lead up to the dramatic/ traumatic climax of the show…   Even reaching the top of the bill, taking the starring role, so much is demanded of you – social media duties take up so much time as you let everyone know just how humble and unspoilt you are.  They also bring you the attention of equally media-savvy fans…

There are, of course, ardent fans of musicals who nonetheless have to keep this part of their lives hidden, as their friends would never dream of exposing themselves to such a frivolous art form.  And then there’s the DIVA, who makes life hell for everyone around them.

During a career in musicals, you’re going to come across any or all of these situations – you’ll either work with, or turn into, one of the awful people we’ve seen on stage this evening.  So why do it, why put yourself through all that misery?  The honest answer is it’s who I have to be – the magic, the elation of creation, the joy of performing make it all worthwhile. 

And thus the show ends.

Or does it?

Oh no, we have to have an ENCORE, which like all the other numbers is greeted with a positive storm of applause from an audience who have loved every minute of the performance and will, quite likely, be back for a repeat  performance tomorrow.

I wish my life were like a MUSICAL was everything a musical should be – bright, funny, witty, colourful, realistic, fantastical, barbed, loveable and loving.  And, as every good musical should, it sent us out into the realities of life with a spring in our steps and a song in our hearts.

I wish my life were like a MUSICAL, Gilded Balloon at the Museum (Venue 64) for more information go to: https://www.edfringe.com/tickets/whats-on/i-wish-my-life-were-like-a-musical

*** (3 stars)

“Heartwarming”

This show is an interesting blend of shadow puppetry, shadow play, and very personal storytelling.  Harley Brooke Walter remembers their grandmother’s influence on themself growing up, and contrasts their relationship with Harley’s one with their birth mother. 

It’s obvious from everything that they don’t say, rather than what they do, that Harley didn’t have a good parent-child relationship, but had, and still has, a brilliant one with their grandmother, whose voice we frequently hear in snippets from recorded conversations.

Harley begins by saying that they are not their grandmother’s daughter – and I guess that, biologically speaking, they are not.  What comes through over and over again is how much Harley admires Noonie’s warmth, humour, kindness: her skills with her hands, her affinity with the birds that come to her back yard, the way she faces up to and deals with difficult situations, instead of hiding from and denying them.  As one who themself ‘learned to be quiet, learned to be small, not to be an inconvenience’, they have nothing but admiration for how their grandmother found a way not to be quiet, not to be small, and to deal with, accept and move on from situations which might have destroyed a lesser woman.

Years of therapy, of introspection, and continued and continuing observation of their grandmother have enabled Harley to arrive at the realisation that they may not be technically her daughter but that this is how they want to be, how they can be if they allow themselves to be, and to let go of the connection with their birth mother and her expectations of how a daughter should be.

Harley’s show was dogged with misfortune – losing all the equipment for the show shortly before its opening, though happily being reunited with it in time for today’s performance.  Today a malfunctioning lamp [which decided to work halfway through the show] meant that she had to use a flashlight for the closeup shadow play, resulting in somewhat clumsier than usual transitions and effects. 

But there was also much to enjoy.  A hummingbird puppet which came and nestled on my hand at one point, was an unexpected delight, as was a red cardinal puppet which brought life to grandmother’s story about the red bird in her yard which didn’t fly away when she came out to put food down in her yard.  And Harley’s connection with their audience is immediate and warm: and they allow their vulnerability to shine out without in any way asking for our sympathy or pity.

What emerges in the course of the show is a heartwarming account of a lovely, loving, hospitable and strong Southern woman, through which Harley is finally able to realise they have so much in common with her that they can write a love letter to themself in the writing of this show.

Not my grandmother’s daughter, Gilded Balloon at Appleton Tower (Venue 140 for more information go to: https://www.edfringe.com/tickets/whats-on/not-my-grandmother-s-daughter

**** (4 stars)

“Brilliant”

What a splendid way to start a full day at the Fringe!

But before I do, just a word about accessibility for the venue for ScotlandsFest.  If you approach St Columba’s from the Royal Mile, a notice directs you down a steepish flight of steps and then a few more.  There is an accessible entrance, but you have to carry on to the church to access it.  You can also go along Victoria Terrace to what looks like the end, and you can turn right and reach the venue that way – though you will still have to navigate the short flight of steps.

Now, back to the Wanton Women…

Mary Craig does a brilliant job of explaining the hows and whys of the explosion of witch trials in 17th century Scotland, without herself bursting into flames of rage at the treatment accorded to ‘wanton women’ of that time. 

Prior to the 17th century, all European cultures have a tradition of witches; in Scotland it goes back to pre-Christian times.  Witches were [mostly] women who were healers and charmers and claimed to have their power from the fairies.  St Columba brought Christianity to Scotland and didn’t seem to have much of a problem with witches, who might now claim to have their powers from God rather than the fairies, but went on much as before.

The 16th century brought the Reformation to Scotland and a particularly unpleasant form of Calvinistic Protestantism began to take over.  There were no fairies, just God and the devil: witches’ powers couldn’t possible come from God, so they must be from the devil.  People started writing crazy things about this, spreading the equivalent of conspiracy theories far and wide via the recently invented printing press – the equivalent of social media today.  The most influential book was one Malleus Maleficarum [literally ‘the hammer of the witches’], which Mary Craig describes as ‘a Boy’s Own Annual’ tirade against women, their demonic powers and, would you believe, their habit of keeping nests of penises up in trees…?!!

Prior to the 17th century, witches trials were ecclesiastical affairs, which generally involved healers, herbalists and charmers, and resulted mainly in ‘don’t do it again’.

The 17th century saw James VI of Scotland hot-footing it down to England, along with most of his Scottish nobles, leaving a power vacuum in Scotland, into which the Kirk stepped, with its Kirk Sessions acting as a ‘court of morality’ with lists of rules from women’s behaviour.  ‘Break one, and you’ll break them all’, was the prevailing moral view: and thus the accusation of “wanton woman” could be applied to a woman who is a bit mouthy, a bit independent, or simply a bit more brightly-dressed than most.

Mary Craig is always very fair, not excusing the Kirk’s behaviour but, by putting it into context, at least providing an explanation.  In the Calvinistic world of predestination, there was only God and the devil, who was very real and a constant threat.  The Kirk was full of God’s soldiers waging a constant war against Old Clootie.  Wanton women were the devil’s handmaids: they be sought out and destroyed before they proved the vessels through which the devil would enter and emperil the whole of Scottish god-fearing [ie Calivinistic] society.

The University of Edinburgh has a database listing the occupations of the occupations of women brought to trial for witchcraft in the 17th century.  Suddenly there are very few midwives, healers or charmers: the accused are often women with some social standing, some financial security, some intelligence.  It’s hard not to see the Kirk as simply terrified of women – not least because, despite the obvious superiority of men, it’s women who have the power to give birth…. At least 4,000 women [out of a total population of about one million] were arrested and tried during the century.

And Jamie Sext didn’t help with his hit publication Daemonologie, which Mary Craig describes as a better-written rehash of Malleus Maleficarum.  And so the wild theories and untruths circulate, proliferate, and feed the witch-hunt: and thousands of innocent women are strangled and then burnt at the stake, while any real witches keep their heads down and their mouths shut.  James adds further fuel to the fire by accusing ‘the witches of North Berwick’ – up to a hundred of them – of raising the bad weather which prevented him reaching Denmark and bringing his new bride, Anne of Denmark, back to Scotland.  It couldn’t possibly have been a freak storm, could it, it MUST have been witches.

Lady Manderson was accused and brought for trial by her own husband.  Agnes Finnie, a shopkeeper from nearby Potterrow, was the local midwife, bank and doctor in a very poor and deprived area of Edinburgh.  Selkirk Meg was accused of turning herself into a mouse and biting the arm of a neighbour’s child in the night.  Mary Craig brought these and many other women to life for us, telling their stories and making them real human beings, accused, tortured and killed simply for being different.

Some of them might simply be too old, past the age of childbearing, childless, or for some other reason unable to contribute to society any longer: being a grumpy old lady could be enough to warrant an accusation, a trial, an execution.  Did no-one complain at this outrageous behaviour?  Probably they were all too scared that speaking out might produce an accusation of ‘wantonness’ against themselves…

And I’m led to wonder if we today are any better than those terrified members of the Kirk who saw anyone who didn’t want or wasn’t able to fit the mould of ‘how you should be’?  Are women not still being accused – maybe not of witchcraft or wanton behaviour, but of not conforming to the [older, white] male version of how women should be?

After the show I asked Mary how she manages to stay calm and not explode with rage when dealing with such horror stories: she said she writes fantasy fiction in which the baddies get what they deserve.  I guess we could all fantasise about a world in which there is justice and equality for all…  Meanwhile, I’ll be very glad I wasn’t a woman in 17th century Scotland!

ScotlandsFest: Wanton Women Running Amok, St Columba’s by the Castle v367 for more information go to: https://www.edfringe.com/tickets/whats-on/scotlandsfest-wanton-women-running-amok