Category: Mary Woodward Review

***** (5 stars)

“Absolutely superb”

Four young men – a poet, a painter, a musician, and a philosopher – struggle to make a living in Paris.  It’s Christmas Eve, freezing cold, and they are cold, hungry, and penniless.  Rodolfo, the poet, burns some of his manuscripts for a fleeting moment of warmth while Marcello, the painter, thinks longingly of Musetta, his former lover.  Schaunard, the musician, and Colline, the philosopher, arrive with some food to share.  Their landlord hears them horsing about and comes demanding the rent they owe him, but they distract him and slip away to join the fun in the streets outside.  Only Rodolfo remains, trying to finish something he’s writing.

A knock at the door heralds the arrival of a young woman who lives upstairs: her candle has gone out and she needs to relight it.  She then drops her key and can’t find it again – both candles have now gone out… In the darkness the two collide, and Rodolfo realises she is very cold – her hand feels frozen.  He tells her about his writing: she tells him she embroiders flowers for a living, and that although her name’s Lucia, everyone calls her Mimi.  The two fall in love, and go out to join Rodolfo’s friends at the Café Momus.

The streets are full of people rushing to complete last-minute errands, sitting enjoying themselves, or simply watching the world go by.  Mimi meets Rodolfo’s friends: Marcello is in agonies watching Musetta with Alcindoro, her latest elderly admirer.  He realises he still loves her: together they and the others disappear, leaving Alcindoro to foot their bill.

A couple of months later, things aren’t so rosy.  Mimi is constantly distressed by Rodolfo’s irrational jealousy, and tells Marcello she is going to leave him.  Rodolfo in turn confesses that he’s worried about Mimi’s increasingly poor health.  The two lovers agree to stay together till the spring comes, but Marcello and Musetta break up again.

Spring has come, and Marcello and Rodolfo try to pretend they don’t miss the two women.  Schaunard and Colline arrive with food to share, but they are interrupted by Musetta, who says Mimi is dangerously ill.  Musetta leaves with Marcello, intending to pawn her jewellery to pay for some medicine and a doctor.  Schaunard and Colline go to pawn Colline’s overcoat, leaving the two former lovers to remember happier times.  The others return, but only in time to witness Mimi’s death.

This production – a revival of André Barbe and Renaud Doucet’s 2017 production for Scottish Opera – is, in the main, absolutely superb, as is the lighting design of Guy Sinard.  The show opens with a crowded scene in present-day Paris, with tourists waving selfie-sticks, pawing through antique shops’ offerings, and listening to a street singer.  A young woman with a pink knitted hat sits and listens to an old gramophone record – the lights dim and she is transported back into the past, to the garret where two young men are trying not to freeze to death…

So far, so good – though I guess if Mimi dies at the end of the opera, how can she be in Paris looking back at her past life…? [it’s opera, don’t ask awkward questions!]  The time-travelling is infinitely more jarring at the start of the second half – we’ve gone back in time, so why bring us back for a mostly incomprehensible present-day scene with migrants and protesting dairy workers which then somehow mutates to the street scene between the four lovers?

The intimate scenes are superb – each of the six major characters is real, passionately alive and wanting to feel all the intensity of the emotions sweeping through them.  The crowd scenes are handled brilliantly – one could see them many times and still find new bits of business one hadn’t seen before.  The chorus, and the newly-formed children’s chorus, are all magnificent.  The principal soloists all have gorgeous voices, and Scottish Opera’s orchestra under Stuart Stratford played as thrillingly as ever – though I could wish that, at the most intensely emotional moments, they hadn’t swamped the singers’ top notes.  Mario Chang and Hye-Youn Lee were an excellent pairing as Rodolfo and Mimi, though I found Roland Wood and Rhian Lois’ Marcello and Musetta a much more engaging duo – loving to hate and hating to love each other, they kept stealing the show.  Edward Jowle had already impressed me in his roles in the double bill Scottish Opera presented earlier this year: he did so even more as Schaunard.  Callum Thorpe’s voice was a joy to hear, and he made the most of Colline’s contributions – especially his farewell to his coat.

The real problem I have with this opera is the conflict I feel between what the music is saying and the reality of what’s being presented on stage.   When I was younger [and especially when in love] I wallowed in the lush romantic music – love sweeps you off your feet and conquers everything, it’s the most important thing in life…  And then I matured, and slowly and painfully learned that being swept off one’s feet isn’t the best basis for a sound relationship, so that I can’t watch something like Bohème without an internal critical commentary on the main protagonists’ behaviour.  But then – they were young, and foolish, and maybe I need to be a bit more charitable: after all, I made some utterly appalling life decisions when I was their age…

Suffice it to say that, despite all my internal grumpiness, it was a splendid evening, overriding all my objections and showcasing the very best that Scottish Opera has to offer.  Come and relish the joy of being alive, and in love; marvel at the overflowing energy of the crowd scenes; and shed a tear [or several] at the sad bits.  Let this glorious production and Puccini’s heartrending music carry you away to the land where all that matters is love: save reality for another day.

La Bohème, Scottish Opera, Theatre Royal, Glasgow, Runs until Saturday 25^th October for more information go to: La bohème | Scottish Opera

The Production will also visit His Majesty’s Theatre Aberdeen Wednesday 30^th October – Saturday 1^st November, Eden Court Theatre Inverness Thursday 6^th November – Saturday 8^th November and the Festival Theatre Edinburgh Friday 14^th November  – Saturday 22^nd November.

***** (5 stars)

“What a joy! “

In the middle of turbulent times, an hour’s music in the quietly brilliant acoustic of Northesk church was more than welcome – it was a gift beyond price.  

Canadian guitarist Tim Beattie began his programme with Philip Glass’s Partita.  Originally written for solo double bass, Tim arranged this group of pieces for guitar.  I always think I hate Philip Glass’s music, and then come across something I really like – an object lesson in not judging a book by its cover, eh?  The guitar’s wonderful warm tone and resonant bass sang through music that started off sounding amazingly Spanish – but then weirdnesses crept in in the harmonies [rather as in Poulenc’s songs]; there were pauses, as though the composer had had a sudden thought interrupting the flow of notes; quietly reflective passages; gentle quirkiness.  The whole work was full of surprises and a delight to listen to.

We were then invited simply to relax and let the next three sets of pieces wash over us – which we were more than happy to do.  Dances by seventeenth century Spanish composer Gaspar Sanz, pieces from Scottish lute music manuscripts, and four ‘Shakespearean pieces’ for lute from the time of Elizabeth I of England, flowed over us in a gleaming stream.  Tim used his capo to shorten his guitar’s strings and produce a sound more like that of a lute – quieter, gentler, still clear but also slightly muffled: dance music for smaller, more intimate rooms.  

The Spanish dances were delightful: lively, stately, and with some very interesting rhythmic oddities.  The Scottish ones were instantly recognisable as coming from a wide-open misty landscape, with a sub-text of melancholy and longing – with some really extraordinary chords towards the end.  As Tim said, hard to believe they were written four hundred years ago…  The English dances which followed were more flowing and comfortable, still with moments of melancholy: and the wonderful Dowland Sick tune, in which melody and accompaniment twined gorgeously round each other, brought back memories of long-ago singing Dowland songs with my lutenist friend. 

The final piece in Tim’s recital was JS Bach’s Prelude, fugue and allegro, BWV 998.  This might have been written for the lute [though the music goes beyond the instrument’s range] or possibly for the lautenwerck, a keyboard instrument with a lute-like body, whose strings were plucked rather than hammered.  Whichever is the case, the piece has been appropriated by guitarists – and it’s easy to see why, as it’s a phenomenal work which gives the guitarist the opportunity to display their talents to the full.  Back with the full, rich guitar sound, the prelude was architecture made visible; the fugue’s simple theme became a multi-layered, joyful creation, with melodies wrapping themselves around each other and then joining together in chordal passages; the allegro was a burst of merry, rippling joy, singing loudly and then quietening into shining pianissimo passages. 

The conclusion of the Bach brought a storm of applause from the audience, who didn’t want to let Tim go.  His encore was sublime – I have no idea what it was but it moved me deeply: the long silence after the piece concluded indicates that everyone else felt exactly the same. 

My notes say hold it against your heart and sing through it – and this is exactly what Tim Beattie did with his guitar this lunchtime.  I hope he comes to the Brunton again soon – if he does, I’ll be there!

Tim Beattie, guitar, Music at the Brunton: lunchtime concerts, Northesk church, Musselburgh, RUN ENDED

Next month:  Ryan Corbett, accordion, Tuesday 11 November 1pm for more information go to: https://thebrunton.online.red61.co.uk/event/2814:600/2814:885/

***** (5 stars)

“What a stunner!” 

Having been gripped by the Fringe Show Athens of the North, written and performed by Mark Hannah and directed by Fraser Scott, it was no surprise that Common Tongue, written and directed by Fraser, was equally mesmerising.  Written fur fowk who huv been telt tae speak ‘proper’ their hale life, this show is full of ideas about language, identity, culture and, possibly most important of all, the Scottish Cringe.

Olivia Caw’s Bonnie McKay looked slightly awkward as she came on to the subtly tartan-bedecked stage, but as soon as the house lights came up enough for us to be seen, she was away… Within seconds she had us laughing, and the laughs continued throughout the show as we were drawn into her world and her story.

Bonnie grew up speaking Scots, raised by her paw, laughing at his poems, relishing the richness of the language [so many different descriptors for the weather!] and a sure refuge in times of stress and distress.  The Scots language, along with Gaelic, was given official status by the parliament at Holyrood in July 2025: but for centuries before this had been suppressed, discouraged, banned… 

“Scots is not the language of educated people” – Bonnie struggles with the challenge of encountering her boyfriend’s parents for the first time.  She’s already discovered at primary school that words she finds rich and satisfying are seen by many as dirty, ‘not said in this house’; that her and her best friend’s houses illustrate totally different priorities.  Painfully aware of arriving late and sweaty, she’s trying not to make any mess in a pristine house like a show catalogue.  His parents’ language is nothing like her own.  As she’s grilled about her education and her hopes for the future she knows they’re making the standard assumptions about her intelligence and class.  Trying so hard to be friendly, with so little encouragement, her habit of opening her mouth and talking without hinking covers her with embarrassment and she rushes out of the house completely forgetting to collect the shoes she was asked to remove on arrival.

Bonnie realises that she is fascinated by language itself, and goes to uni to study English.  There’s a wonderful poetry session where the always-right Christopher is invited to read Burns’ To a mouse.  Bonnie can’t bear it – she bursts out of her habitual shell and declaims the poem as it should be said, and we all rejoice at her vision of Rabbie cheering her on.  How can the others in the class understand the poem – none of youse don’t speak these words – it’s not their native tongue.

The opportunity to do a year in America gives Bonnie further food for thought [though the country is in some way familiar to her from telly and the fillums].  So many Americans claim some Scottish ancestry, know so little about the country and its people, and struggle to understand her language.  A Hogmanay party at times feels like Glasgow [though without Jackie Bird] but she is thrown completely off balance when asked to explain auld lang syne and realises she dinnae ken whit it means.  A phone call to her pa helps her get herself back together: she goes back into the party, explains the words, and gets everyone there [and us!]not only to sing again but get the arms right and at the right time too.

Back home after graduation, Bonnie is horrified to discover how small she finds her home surroundings now her horizons have expanded.  A theatre trip with her pa leads to a total cringe moment, but a visit to the local to hear ‘a band’ has a profound effect.  Words carry our history, and though it’s exhausting continually to engage in the mental gymnastics of tweaking how you speak, it’s important to keep hold of those words and the identity they give you.

The richly descriptive language, Bonnie’s wry asides and epithets, and her full-on engaging personality bring her story painfully to life yet have us howling with laughter at the same time.  There’s much to muse on – how can a word make fowk so uncomfortable regardless of content or context?  Why am I seen as stupid or ignorant for speaking in my mother tongue?  Why do I always assume that it’s me who’s wrang?  And yet – I make similar assumptions about people who ‘speak posh’, or who make uninformed comments about my native land…  

Language is part of our identity.  We may share a common tongue but… Uniformity is death. Diversity and difference are salt, light and life.  Vive la difference!

Common Tongue, Festival Theatre Studio, Edinburgh, RUN ENDED but Scottish Tour continues until Saturday 18^th of October for more information go to: https://www.creativescotland.com/news-stories/latest-news/archive/2025/09/common-tongue-returns-to-scottish-stages-with-autumn-tour

***** (5 stars)

“A marvel of such miracles”

What better way to start a railway adventure than by eating steak and kidney pudding in the Old Parcels Office at Keighley Station and then riding in a carriage pulled by a heavily chuffing steam locomotive up the short but at times pretty steep incline and past the iconic Oakworth station to Oxenhope station (660 feet above sea level, it says) where the performance takes place in the engine shed?

Before the performance begins, there’s plenty of time to investigate the delights available in the area surrounding the station courtyard: a mouth-watering choice of hot pies, snacks, sweets and other treats, Railway Children souvenirs, and drinks of all kinds: I succumbed to the lure of Thunder and Lightning ice cream, and was not disappointed…

And then it was time to enter the Engine Shed – which I last visited towards the end of last year to see the KWVR’s incredible production of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol which began and ended in this shed, but moved to a [moving] steam-hauled train for the intervening scenes.  At that time we were surrounded by locomotives: now we entered a blacks-hung area in which tiers of seating faced each other across a section of railway track.  At one end there was a typical railway bridge and hint of a signal box: at the other the corner of a stationmaster’s house, beside a black tunnel leading who knows where… 

Bridging the track/gap between the rows of seating at one point was an area of wooden planking on which sat some black trunks.  This simple grouping was our first view of the absolutely marvellous set design – in essence extremely simple but capable of extreme versatility thanks to four superbly agile blue-clad ‘railway workers’ – uncredited, but fully deserving their huge applause at the final curtain.  

It wasn’t immediately obvious that this small area of planking was on a trolley on wheels which could be moved up and down the rail tracks which lay between our two tiers of seating.  The flexibility and versatility of scenes and props this enabled was a stroke of design genius: not only scenery but cast members could swiftly be moved in and out of our view, and new scenes set up out of sight and magically brought into view when required.  Fabulous [especially the landslide]!

The whole show was a marvel of such miracles, and brought smiles to all the faces intently watching and engrossed in the action playing out in front of them.  The lighting is superb, and the sound effects and music fit quite wonderfully into the drama, heightening the emotion where appropriate, but never, ever, going over the top or playing for cheap effect.  Altogether, it’s an outstanding production – a wonderful collaboration between playwright Mike Kenny and director Damian Cruden.

The story is fairly simple.  Three ordinary children – Roberta [Bobby], Peter and Phyllis – lived with their mother and father in an ordinary house with ordinary but not always nice servants and an ordinaryish mother and father.  Mother stayed at home, and father went out to work and “did something”, working for the government “to keep you all safe”: it was all very nice and, by repetition, ordinary.

Peter’s birthday, however, was far from ordinary.  Cake with candles had been brought [and blown out] when the doorbell rang.  Mysterious fragments of conversation, half-heard, ensued, and father came back to say “I’ve been called away … on business”.  Life becomes increasingly far from ordinary.  The servants leave one by one, and suddenly mother and the children pack up, leave their house, and set off for Yorkshire. All the children are told, in essence, is that “it’s not necessary for you to know anything about anything” – all they know is that mother is very unhappy and that it’s best to avoid asking any questions or talking about anything that adds to that unhappiness.

The children find life hard at first – anything they say is met with “you’re not from round here, are you?” and they become painfully aware that they are very poor – but slowly they make friends, especially with Oakworth stationmaster Perks and, when mother falls ill, with the doctor.  Their one solace is visiting the nearby railway every day, and waving to the Black Dragon, the 9.15 London train which takes their love to father.

The Old Gentleman on the train, a persecuted Russian author trying to find his wife and children, a coal-mining expedition which could have ended in disaster, a wounded [human] hound and an averted railway disaster weave their way through this narrative of adjusting to new surroundings and attendant hardships, finding friendship and help in unexpected places, and the strength of family [even when they drive you mad].

The narrative is framed by the three children, now grown up, who look back and play out the scenes from their memories – as with all families, disagreeing about the details!  It’s only in the final scene that we see Bobby, Peter and Phyllis at the ages they were at the time of their Railway Adventure, which allows a more intense dramatic experience than if the three were their ‘actual’ age.

The whole cast is superb.  Even before the show officially begins, we are invited to engage with the actors, being waved at and waving as they walk along the edges of the ‘platforms’ in front of our seats.  By the time the action begins we have become part of it rather than detached spectators waiting to be entertained: when we finally get to play a part, the whole audience acts as one, joyfully.

All the cast, from youngest to oldest, were superb – a fantastic team effort that was still completely fresh despite having been on show at least once a day, and often twice, from the end of July.  The minor parts were all beautifully presented, with much doubling up of ‘crowd’, ‘villagers’, travellers and other such parts,  and a lively ‘hare’ and ‘hounds’.   I was particularly taken with the performances of the ‘grown up’ Bobby, Peter, and Phyllis – Farah Ashraf, Raj Digva and Jessica Kaur: but everyone was excellent!

The show had so many marvellous moments I could be here for hours telling you about them, but I’ll try to be brief.  One of the most magical was the way we entered the tunnel to find out what had become of the injured hound in the local boys’ school’s ‘hare and hounds’ race – another stroke of complete genius, very simple and supremely effective.  Others: the “very long and boring” speech made by an unnamed official at the presentation ceremony after the averted disaster; the magic tricks and unexpected behaviour of the Russian emigré; Perks’ transformation from outraged repudiator of what he sees as charity to generous acceptor of birthday gifts from well-wishers; the wonderful music that built up to and accompanied some dramatic moments and the lovely song to celebrate Bobby’s birthday; and many, many more.

But the crowning moment for me, the real tears-in-the-eyes one for a lifetime lover of steam locomotives, is the first appearance in front of us of locomotive 52044, who glides towards the three children who are furiously waving red flannel petticoats, trying to stop the train from crashing into the landslide which has covered the tracks…

I was only able to see this show on the antepenultimate night – the run ends on Sunday: had I the time, I would rush to see it again immediately.  As it is, I’ll have to wait and hope that this incredibly and deservedly popular show makes its way back to the KWVR next summer.  Fingers crossed!

The Railway Children, Keighley & Worth Valley Railway, Runs until Sunday 7^th September for more information go to: https://kwvr.co.uk/railway-children/

**** (4 stars)

“Unmitigated mirth”

Previously seen in 2017 in a performance which was part of the Theatre Royal Glasgow’s 150th anniversary celebrations, this show has been revived to mark the 155th birthday of the legendary Scottish entertainer Sir Harry Lauder – and what better place to see this than in the great man’s birthplace, Portobello, on the anniversary of his birth.  Ticket sales from these performances will go to Erskine Veterans Charity, which Lauder supported in his lifetime, and of which tonight’s performer, Jamie McDougall, is an ambassador.

Born on August 4th, 1870, in humble circumstances, Lauder became the equivalent of a pop idol today, a household name with an international career, who at one time was the highest-paid entertainer in the world and was knighted in 1919 – “the first knight of the music halls”.  He started off as a comedian, but later introduced  gentle romantic songs into his performances and preferred to describe himself as a minstrel.  His only son John died in the Battle of the Somme in 1916, and Lauder spent a vast amount of time and energy entertaining the troops in France and raising over a million pounds for the care of wounded ex-servicemen by his performances around the world.  He died on February 26 1950.

Jamie McDougall, well-known and -loved tenor whose performances with Scottish Opera are always a joy, was giving his penultimate performance of Lauder.  From the moment he stepped onto the stage of Portobello’s town hall, he had us in the palm of his hand, pouring seemingly boundless energy and enthusiasm into a succession of Lauder’s catchy songs, sentimental without being saccharine, twinkling with oh-so-slightly naughty humour, and inviting us to enjoy ourselves as much as he was in performing for us.

Filmed scenes from Harry Lauder’s funeral segued into the man himself coming through the auditorium and on to the stage to meet his rehearsal pianist [the lovely and talented Derek Clark, former Head of Music at Scottish Opera].  His very first song, Stop your tickling, Jock! had the audience applauding enthusiastically – and the applause continued all night. 

While conducting the rehearsal, ‘Lauder’ was also talking to a journalist who’d come to interview him – thus providing the perfect vehicle for him to talk about his early years and the gradual growth of his success.  One of my favourite numbers was the utterly appalling temperance song he apparently sang at a Band of Hope concert when he was only five: the song was dreadful, but his rendition thereof was priceless!

What was also apparent was the man’s professionalism and the ways he ensured he was remembered, in an age which abounded in great singers, including the opera stars Gigli and Caruso… Make an entrance, always by the front door: if it’s in New York, be driven down Broadway preceded by a piper.  Use the extra space on a recording after the song has finished to carry on speaking and become known for doing this.  Cultivate a reputation for being tight with your money. In private he was obviously a very loving and generous son, husband and father, a tender-hearted man whose wife Nancy was the rock on which he leaned.

And then there were the songs…I love a lassie, a wee deoch an Doris, it’s nice to get up in the morning, we parted on the shore, the road to the Isles, and the final Keep right on to the end of the road had most of the audience joining in, with Jamie McDougall’s encouragement because singing is the thing that makes you cheery.

It wasn’t unmitigated mirth –  the tragic news his son’s death was superbly portrayed, and immediately followed by film footage from the trenches.  It was sobering to see apparently normal landscapes and realise that they concealed soldiers and weapons, and that many, or possibly all, of the men on film would not make it back home, or only with serious injuries.  What was impressive was the way Lauder didn’t abandon himself to grief but used his fame to raise money for wounded soldiers,.

And somehow, through the grief, Harry kept the sparkle and joy in his performances, just as Jamie McDougall did so superbly throughout this evening in Portobello.  I’m sad that tomorrow night is Jamie’s last-ever performance of Lauder but so very glad I had the chance to see him remember and enjoy portraying the life of the great man on his 155th birthday.

Scottish Opera: Lauder, Portobello Town Hall, Edinburgh runs until Tuesday 5^th August.