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***** (5 stars)

“What a joy!” 

A packed town hall enjoyed Scottish Opera at its best – bringing the thrills and terrors of opera “where you are” and holding the audience captive with a pared-down but emotionally full-fat performance of not one but two major operas by Verdi and Donizetti.

Scottish Opera’s pop-up operas are most frequently performed in the open air, using a specially adapted trailer which provides the performers, at least, with a bit of shelter from the elements.  Today we had the luxury of an indoor venue – and some shelter from the sweltering heat outside.

The pop-up formula is simple: two singers, two musicians, and a narrator tell the story and perform some of the music from an opera.  What makes it fascinating for me is the skill with which the essence of the story is extracted from the wealth of detail that surrounds it, and the choices that have to be made about which bits of music are chosen to bring the narrative to life.

It was even more fascinating to me with Rigoletto and Elixir, because both of them have a central role for a tenor – the villain in the former and the hero in the latter.  No tenor her, but a soprano, Holly Teague, and a baritone, Colin Murray, between them playing a wide range of parts.  In Rigoletto the baritone got to sing the really famous tenor aria La donna è mobile [lucky man!] but Nemorino’s challengingly high aria from Elixir [una furtiva lagrima] was given to the cello, whose emotionally nuanced rendition was, for me, one of the high spots of the evening.

Rigoletto is the court jester to the womanising Duke of Mantua.  Rigoletto’s daughter, Gilda, is the duke’s latest object of desire.  Rigoletto plans to have his master assassinated but it all goes horribly wrong when Gilda chooses to offer herself to the assassin’s blade – she still loves the duke though she knows he’s a bastard.  The father of one of the duke’s earlier conquests cursed Rigoletto – the jester realises that the curse has struck.

In Elixir clumsy, not-over-bright Nemorino is hopelessly in love with the clever, witty and beautiful Adina, who has no time for him.  Dr Dulcamara, a travelling mountebank comes to the village peddling his magic elixir, the cure for absolutely everything.  Nemorino has overheard Adina telling the villagers the story of Tristan and Isolde, and demands that Dulcamara sells him some of the Isolde’s magic potion.  Under its influence [cheap red wine] his changed behaviour intrigues Adina.  A flirtatious recruiting officer, a gossiping best friend, more elixir, and a sudden inheritance contribute to a happy-ever-after ending – with some gloriously lively music surrounding the outpourings of emotion from the love-lorn hero.

Colin Murray was having a field day with so many opportunities to display his superb mastery of character and ability to reach out and engage us in the dramas played out before us.  In Rigoletto he was not only the jester but also the wretchedly miserable father, Monterone, the determinedly professional assassin Sparafucile – and to crown it all, got to sing the Duke’s truly memorable signature tune.  He didn’t get to sing Nemorino’s big aria, but had enormous fun with other bits of our hero’s part while also swaggering as self-appreciative recruiting officer Belcore and pulling everyone’s strings [except Adina’s!] as Dr Dulcamara. 

Holly Teague was an impressive Gilda – face, voice, and body language all expressing the young woman’s tentative first forays into the world of love; her deep love and compassion for her father, who still deeply loves her long-dead mother; her shame at her treatment at the hands of the duke, her anguish at his betrayal and, despite all this, her inability to stop loving him and so choose to sacrifice herself to save his life.  Power, richness, delicacy, subtlety and perfect control of the quietest notes were all here – I hope Holly gets to sing the complete role very soon.  As Adina we had a very different woman: confident and in control, sure of herself and determined to get someone better than the stupid peasant boy who sighs over her from afar…  how wrong she is!  And she realises this, and acts with determination, and gets her man [and takes a little bit of time en route to be the gossiping Gianetta who spreads the good news of Nemorino’s sudden and unexpected change in fortune.

Dani Heron’s storytelling was utterly brilliant.  Totally immersed in the action, not just observing from the sidelines: playing some of the characters, commenting wryly on the situations, always totally engaged and engaging, she kept us enthralled all evening.  I particularly appreciated her feisty weegie take on Elixir’s narration.   Allan Dunn’s brilliant narratives struck the perfect balance between translating from the original Italian and creating superbly witty and memorable language.   A friend brought her ten-year-old son and his friend: they were gripped throughout, particularly loved Elixir, and have been talking about their solves being problemed ever since!

And oh gosh the skills of the two musicians!  It was a joy to watch guitarist Sasha Savalone and cellist Andrew Drummond Huggan’s involvement in the music and their total attention to the singers.  I never cease to marvel at the extremely clever arrangements of the richly emotive scores written for a large-scale orchestra.  Sasha does a miraculous job of providing the total orchestral ‘backing’ for Andrew’s cello, which soars and pleads in Rigoletto and sings out true love and devotion in Elixir.  Andrew and Derek Clark as music directors have produced two wonderful scores, the stories entertainingly illustrated by Agnes Xantippa Boman [Rigoletto] and Essi Kimpimäki [Elixir]. 

Director Darren Brownlie has done a superb job with these twostrongly contrasting and superbly realised productions.  Applause at the end was loud, prolonged, and richly deserved!

Scottish Opera Pop-ups: A little bit of Rigoletto and A little bit of The Elixir of Love, Portobello Town Hall, Edinburgh run ended for outdoor dates and more information go to: Pop-up Opera 2026 | Scottish Opera

***** (5 stars)

“Deeply emotional”

What a treat!  After the powerful emotions of Cringe, Boys don’t dance is another deeply emotional piece, this time exploring the joy of dance and its power both to express deep emotions and to transcend physical limitations. 

The sheer beauty of the opening moments will stay with me for a long time.  A wheelchair dancer in front of a mirror begins their warmup at the barre: arm movements of profound grace and beauty captivated me.  Subtle lighting made the mirror both reflective and semi-transparent, making visible the standing dancer behind it who first reflects the first man’s movements and then starts to move the mirror itself, allowing the couple to move in perfect partnership around the floor.

Piotr Iwanicki has used a wheelchair all his life: Ross Malloy is able-bodied.  Both have danced from an early age, and together they bring choreographer and company leader Marc Brew’s own dance story to the stage.  Born in the Australian outback, where boys don’t dance but play football and do other ‘manly’ stuff, Marc would dance to any and every kind of music – but where no-one could see him.  Channel-hopping on the telly, he’d dance along to any song he could find, copying the dancers’ moves and exuberantly expressing the sheer joy of dance – stopping instantly if anyone was near.  When his mum was out at work, he’d explore the joys of dressing in female clothing, using the draping folds of fabric to emphasise the grace of his movements, rapidly reverting to ‘normality’ when she came home again.

A horrific car crash put Marc in a wheelchair.  Slowly he began to discover the possibilities of dancing on wheels – tentatively at first, but gradually developing confidence and skill and the ability once more to express his every emotion through dance.  Ross and Piotr join in a jaw-dropping display of the possibilities offered by a BMX bike and a wheelchair in addition to the equally staggering options open to an able-bodied dancer and a wheelchair user.  Words fail me as I try to describe the two men’s strength, agility, daring and complete trust in each other as they whirl gracefully around the dance floor and don’t shrink from hurtling towards and up the BMX trick ramp….

This production is an outstanding example of making a show accessible to as many people as possible.  On a screen at the back of the stage, a talking crow and a signing human provide explanations at key points in the narrative, while creative captions are projected on to a box near the front of the stage.  There are sensory warnings before the show begins, along with assurances that it’s okay to fidget, move about or leave if necessary.  Would that more shows paid this much attention to people’s differing needs!

In the brief Q&A that followed the show, the similarity between the two men was clear – both had danced from an early age despite the lack of dance in their surroundings.  I was fascinated to learn that Piotr was a European wheelchair dance champion, and that because he’d been dancing in his chair all his life, the thing he found hardest was learning to express hesitation and beginner’s movements with his chair.  Ross in his turn must have been hesitant at first when faced with the challenges of dancing with someone in a chair.  Both were eloquent about the trust and wordless communication necessary when dancing together, especially when things weren’t quite going according to plan.

Gene Kelly, in Singin’ in the Rain, has the memorable number gotta dance: Piotr and Ross display that same passion and drive in showing that boys definitely do dance.  This show is proof positive and will inspire anyone – even girls – to refuse to allow themselves to be told that they can’t.

Imaginate Children’s Festival Present Marc Brew Company, Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh, Runs Ended However production will conclude its tour at The Lemon Tree, Aberdeen on Friday 5^th and Saturday 6^th June.

***** (5 stars)

“Graphically Portrayed”

Oh my what a visceral shocker, in the best possible way.  Scott Fletcher, Scott Hoatson and Kirsty McDuff belie their age to portray to perfection kids on their very first day at ‘big school’ as well as their schoolmates and the assorted adults in their lives.

Reid’s not only dealing with ordinary first-day feelings but also with his parents’ clever idea of moving house – and across the country – during the summer holidays, meaning that he doesn’t know a soul in this vast gaggle of kids waiting to be sorted into classes.  He’s trying to keep his head down, to stay unnoticed: it’s not his fault that he’s late into the first class and has to make a snap decision about which of the only two empty seats he sits in.  Boy or girl?  He chooses boy – and so meets Gordon.

The horrors of school are graphically portrayed – those inflicted, sometimes unwittingly, by staff and decidedly deliberately by fellow kids.  The worst come from the three class bullies, well known to Gordon but new to Reid, who marvels at Gordon’s ability quietly to ignore the taunts and insults that flood out from these three, whom he calls Gorgons.  Greek mythology, and especially Perseus, who rescues princess Andromeda from snake-haired Medusa and her fellow-gorgons, feature largely in the narrative and become the focus of a game Reid and Gordon develop together at home.

Things are becoming bearable: the Gorgons are beginning to tire of their taunting in the face of complete lack of reaction – but then disaster strikes.  An incident – with a major cringe factor – escalates and results in a total rift between the two friends.  If this were a perfect story, that would be the catalyst for a swift and supportive reaction from staff and parents – but this isn’t.  The incident’s consequences blow up out of control, a well-meaning attempt at reconciliation fails disastrously, and Reid isolates himself in his misery.  It takes an unconnected tragedy to bring about a movingly-portrayed reconciliation.  What is unexpected is the way Reid turns his great weakness into a towering strength which makes the start of year two so much better than year one.

The set resembles a school’s tiled changing room [facilitating much chalk writing and drawing as the narrative advances].  Five chairs are moved, and at times thrown, around to create different settings as the action moves at a cracking pace.  There’s brilliant use of an overhead projector – I loved the way it brought the Perseus game to life.  A set which at first sight looks virtually closed has an amazing number of exits and storage spaces for props.  The choreography and lighting are superb, and the rapid, wickedly accurate script brings the characters and narrative into vividly horrifying life.

Over two thirds of the audience were primary school leavers, and the most telling applause at the end came from them – they obviously recognised, felt with, and applauded the feelings of the characters in front of them.  Cringe is a brilliant show that deserves to be widely, hopefully sparking both discussion and thoughtful action around the nature of bullying and the power of true friendship.

Imaginate children’s festival presents Cringe, Scottish Storytelling Centre, Edinburgh, Run ended