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***** (5 stars)

“Beautiful” 

A quiet, gentle, understated and deeply moving account of a young man’s first love interwoven with an account of the filming of Noël Coward’s Brief Encounter at Carnforth railway station in Lancashire, towards the end of World War Two.

Our Martin grew up in Carnforth, always painfully conscious of not fitting in to his family – the total

opposite of his dad, who doesn’t understand him and makes fun of his use of ‘big words’.  Mum and sisters Beryl and Muriel are there, but don’t seem to play a big part in this quiet lad’s life.  He tries to enlist but is rejected on account of his flat feet: not quite eighteen, what is he to do with his life?

It’s his mum who spots the advert for ‘background artists’ in a film to be made locally: Martin applies, and his life out of the spotlight begins.  It’s fascinating to see the filming of this iconic movie through the eyes of someone who doesn’t know what an enduring success it will be, and is surprised to be seeing Trevor Howard and Celia Johnson as real human beings, not celluloid idols.

In my pre-Edinburgh days I did some ‘walk on work’ as it was then called: there was an awful lot of waiting around, very little excitement, and virtually no contact with the stars of the pieces.  Martin, to his surprise, developed a good relationship with Celia Johnson, who felt it necessary to apologise to him for her London-eyes dismissal of Carnforth as ‘the back of beyond’ – and ends up playing the part of fairy godmother…

But it’s not Martin’s relationship with Celia that holds our attention, but the tentative one that develops with one of his fellow background artists, Hugh.  It’s sweetly and tenderly described – and flourishes largely thanks to the intervention of Miss Johnson herself…. But I don’t want to reveal everything – you’ll have to come and see this bittersweet story for yourself.  Suffice it to say that the parallels with Brief Encounter’s story line are subtly drawn and, if possible, even more moving.

Mark Kydd has written, and performs, a superb show which tugs at the heartstrings without ever becoming saccharine or predictable.  The way he creates the atmosphere of the time, bringing in details from stage, screen and real life, is masterly, and we follow Martin’s career in theatreland [always in the background] with great interest.  The cheeky lad from Carnforth may not hit the headlines, but his life is quietly satisfying – and the show’s final moments are both melancholy and comforting.

Mark gives a truly memorable performance as the quiet man who is happy to live in the background and who manages to make a good life for himself, even if it’s not the stuff that dreams are made of.

The run ends on Sunday – put yourself out to go and see this, it’s both seriously good and potentially eye-opening for those of the rainbow community who’ve never had to live in the shadows, watch their pronouns, and constantly have one eye looking out for potential trouble.  

What a lovely way to end my Fringe 2026!

Thank you, Martin: I’m glad you came into the foreground to present this show.

Our Martin in the Background, The Fringe, Scottish Storytelling Centre, Venue 30 , Run Ended, for more information go to: https://www.edfringe.com/tickets/whats-on/our-martin-in-the-background

*** (3 stars)

“Some Fabulous stuff!”

I found this sadly disappointing – though many in the Festival Theatre audience obviously found much to applaud.  Yes, Verdi’s Masked Ball isn’t the most intricately plotted of operas – it’s basically a love triangle with political overtones – but the music is full of emotion, and the situations not uncommon but none the less heartrending for those concerned. 

Verdi’s original intention was to write an opera based on the assassination of King Gustav III of Sweden, but he was forced to take the plot across the pond and base it in Boston.  Governor Riccardo is very popular, but also has enemies.  He is in love with Amelia, the wife of his best friend and loyal supporter Renato.  Amelia is torn between her illicit love for Riccardo and her loyalty to her husband.  Ulrica, an uncannily accurate fortune-teller warns Riccardo that his life is in imminent danger, but he laughs it off.  Ameila consults Ulrica, wanting to know how she can overcome her feelings: she is told to go to the haunted graveyard and pick a certain flower.  She obeys – but is followed by Riccardo, who confesses his love for her.  She in turn confesses her feelings, but begs him to help her be strong.

The pair are discovered by the group of conspirators who are plotting the Governor’s assassination.  Renato is also there, and gladly agrees to escort the unknown lady safely home.  He is appalled to discover that this woman is in fact his wife, and refuses to accept her protestations of innocence.  He joins the conspirators and gladly agrees to be the one who will kill Riccardo at tomorrow’s masked ball.  Amelia tries to warn the Governor, but in vain: he is shot by Renato.  Before he dies, he tells Renato of his wife’s innocence: Renato is horrified, and all present praise the generosity of the dying man.

This production from Zurich Opera updated the action to America’s ‘Gilded Age’, when the upheaval of the recent civil war was being replaced by a surge of economic and political activity.  The production was very busy, with [an excellent] corps of dancers who were also active players in the drama, waving hands, arms, and legs most distractingly even when nowhere near a dance floor.  Right from the start there was busyness – we couldn’t listen to the overture in peace, but had to witness an autopsy [of the dead Governor] which both Amelia and Renato gatecrashed.   The plot was set up against a background of waving arms and election materials; Ulrica’s séance was invaded by an unlikely group of supposed fishermen [Riccardo’s compatriots] who played catch with her crystal ball; Amelia kept glugging from a hip flask, while her plea to her husband for mercy was overridden by Renato’s whisky consumption and pistol-waving.  Even the ball scene was so crowded with distraction that it was only too easy to miss the main points of the plot.

The overall result was that the music got completely sidelined – a great pity, since there’s some fabulous stuff in the score.  I couldn’t help but contrast this production with Maxim Emelyanychev and the Scottish Chamber Orchestra’s latest contribution to their Mozart opera series – the minimum of action from the cast told the story very simply and allowed the music to envelop the audience in its magic.  Yes, there were laughs – but arising from the text, not put in to amuse the masses who couldn’t possibly cope with listening to the music without constant visual distraction.

The singing was [mostly] very good: ditto the orchestra – though there seemed to be rather a number of moments when the two were not in synch with each other.  The set made clever use of the revolve to transition from interior to exterior settings – but it was unfortunate that Riccardo’s huge emotional outpouring had to put him in front of the red velvet curtain while the ball scene was being set up.  The lighting was mostly sombre, with rather too much use of ‘oh it’s a dramatic bit, or it’s boding again – let’s get the lights to flicker’.  The costumes were almost entirely in shades of grey – very dismal: I had hoped the ball scene would be a riot of colour but this was not to be.

Like I say, others in the audience obviously thought the whole thing was splendid: I just wished Verdi had been allowed to be heard.  Technically it was [mostly] very good – but it really didn’t move me: and there’s plenty in the score of A Masked Ball to tug at the heartstrings and bring tears to the eyes.

Such a pity.

Verdi’s A Masked Ball, Edinburgh International Festival, Festival Theatre, Runs until 30^th August for more information go to: Verdi’s A Masked Ball | Edinburgh International Festival

*** (3 stars)

“An unvarnished account”

Yet another brilliant anti-war show.  No visible wounds, blood or guts on stage but they’re there throughout the performance as Edith and Frances struggle to maintain their sanity and their compassion as they work in a Scottish-run field hospital just behind the front line in the Balkans in the First World War.

Drawing on material from journals and letters and archive material held by the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh, we get a clear and horrific picture of the conditions the women were working in and the struggles they faced every day – lack of basic equipment and medical supplies, cramped conditions, unrelenting gunfire clearly audible, and an unending stream of wounded and dying men, many of whom need limbs amputated and many who will die before they can receive the care they need.

Small wonder Frances relies on gallows humour to keep her going: Edith has loftier ideals and talks about the noble cause and the warrior queens of old, desperate to make it clear to her male colleagues that a woman surgeon can and should be as much a part of the medical team on the battlefield as any man.  Frances points out that women have been dealing with blood, broken bones and shit since the first man needed his bum wiped: who can be better fitted than they to do this exhausting work?

Edith recounts in graphic detail the steps taken in the amputation of a limb.  The clinical terms serve to heighten the horror of the process – difficult enough in a clean and sterile operating theatre in a city-centre hospital: unimaginably stressful in a field hospital where there is barely enough anaesthetic or stuff to dress the wound.  How on earth does she keep going?  At the end of a 14-hour shift her hands are shaking – and there is very little chance of rest.

Frances keeps a journal, which Edith sneaks peeks into – and is surprised at the quality of the writing coming from someone whom she would doubtless only encounter at home if she needed a cleaner – and when would she speak to her cleaner??  The class difference is never clearer than here…  Frances is justifiably angry at the invasion of her privacy – but despite this, the two women become good friends, supporting each other through all the horrors they have to face.

In her hand is unvarnished account of the suffering caused by war, the primitive nature of medicine in war zones, and of the struggles women have had almost since time began to be able to realise their full potential in a mainly male-dominated field.

Massive credit to Joyce Falconer [Frances] and Clare Yuille [Edith] in this moving and thought-provoking show.  They were both splendid in their portrayal of women doing what women do: just getting on with things as best they can in the most appalling of conditions, trying to alleviate suffering in others without counting the cost to themselves.

Huge credit, too, to the creative team – Jordanna O’Neill, Christopher Silver, Michelle McKay, Kate Stamoulis, John Kielty and Laura Hawkins.  In her hand is part of a two-year Women in Surgery project, which explores and celebrates the remarkable history of women in surgery.  It’s clear from the play that women had continually to fight the idea that a woman’s place is in the home and that women were too delicate to do a man’s work – an idea that still won’t go away.

And more than a century after that first disastrous world war, men still think that killing each other is the way to settle arguments and make the world a better place.

When will they ever learn?

In Her Hand, The Fringe, The Space @Surgeons Hall, Venue 53, Runs until 29^th August for more information go to: In Her Hand | Edinburgh Festival Fringe

***** (5 stars)

“Such a joy! “

As a K-drama addict, I simply had to see this show: I was not disappointed, even though demons, spirits and idols failed to appear.  As anyone who has watched Mystic Pop-up Bar will know, the small orange tent-live structures [pojangmacha] that appear in the evenings and are gone by morning are a feature of night life in Seoul and many other cities in that part of the world.

There is, in truth, a small orange tent waiting for us as we come into the Studio Theatre: it’s lit up inside, but we can’t see through the awnings that stretch down to the floor.  Screens each side of the stage show us a panorama of Seoul – the masses of high-rise buildings, some offices, many flats – we can even see people at the windows of some of them.  We look down on the multi-lane highways, thronged with cars, and then swoop down to street level.  We leave the wide streets and dive into a network of tiny alleys, all startlingly clean and free from rubbish, devoid of people but thronging with tiny businesses: most of the signs are in Korean, but I spot Guinness high on a wall, and would like to slow down and browse, but no – on we must go.

And then, finally, we see a pojangmacha in front of us, slightly larger than the one on stage, but unmistakeably the same.  Jaha Koo comes on stage and silently starts getting his little bar ready for business – removing the awnings, putting the stools back on the floor, cleaning the surfaces – ready for the first customers of the night. 

The house lights go up, and Jaha comes towards us, inviting two audience members to be his customers: oh lucky Kirsty and Hugo!  They sit on the two stools and are introduced first to soju [a clear liquid not unlike vodka, 60% alcohol] and maekju, Korean beer [about 4.5%] which are mixed to create a cocktail which they sip while watching Jaha preparing their appetiser – cucumber with ssamjan sauce.  Oh how I wished I were a customer at that bar, as Hugo and Kirsty are introduced to more Korean dishes…

But this is not a Korean cooking show!

It’s a multidisciplinary meditation on home, family, memory, diaspora and displacement, adaptation and unconscious protest.  Music, song, film, animation, recorded voices, and spoken narrative intertwine to create a multilayered explanation and exploration of Jaha’s family history and personal experience of voluntary and involuntary displacement. Kimchi [including exploding kimchi] features largely, as do snails, eels, and gummy bears.  There is kindness and cruelty, friendship and ‘othering’: and so much to think about.

Food is a constant presence in Jaha’s story – familiar food reminds us of who we are and where we come from; sharing food with others can be sharing part of one’s history; and in so doing, one can feel less alone.  Going back home can simply point out how one doesn’t belong there either: perhaps almost all of us are perpetually displaced – routes have become our roots.

It’s a gentle, fascinating show which gives one much to think about.  If you knew nothing about South Korea before the show, by the end you would have had a much better idea of the country and its culture.  For me, it was a delight to spend time ‘in’ a country I’ve come to know and love. 

But the best things of all were the amazingly cute singing snail and the illuminated, animated eel…

Such a joy!  Gamsahamnida!  Thank you, Jaha Koo!

Haribo Kimchi, Edinburgh International Festival, Festival Theatre’s Studio Theatre, Runs until 24^th August for more information go to: Haribo Kimchi | Edinburgh International Festival