Category: Mary Woodward Review

**** (4 stars)

“Spellbinding!”

Imagine the stage – dominated by a huge rock set in front of a misty Highland landscape, atop of which the Monarch of the Glen proudly stands.  A giant thistle sprouts in the background, an enormous shortbread finger hovers above us, and a ‘jolly Scottish tune’ is perhaps designed to entice us to partake in ceilidh.  On to this stage strides a tartan-clad, bewigged figure accompanied by a woman in a long brown dress with a matching plaid stole over it.  We’re in Scotland, then, eh?

Martin O’Connor and Catherine King hold us spellbound as, with the assistance of Josie Duncan, Claire Frances MacNeil and Mairi Morrison, we are presented with interweaving narratives that invite and challenge us to ponder the nature of identity, language, culture, history, communication, myth, truth,  and the fact that it takes a lot ae imagination tae tell a true story…

Martin’s story starts with the ‘discovery’ in 1760 by James Macpherson of the long-lost fragments of Gaelic poetry composed by the third-century blind bard Ossian.  In what he called “the first Outlander effect”, these poems became all the rage in continental Europe, inspiring art and music, feeding into the development of the ‘Romantic’ period, and leading Napoleon to label Ossian his favourite poet.  The English, who by now had taken over Scotland and were doing their best to suppress each and every manifestation of Scottish culture, scornfully dismissed the poems – they must be a forgery, because how could these northern savages ever have produced such amazing works?

Were the works of Ossian real, or a very clever con?  Are they a part of Scotland’s history, or the invention of someone trying to write about what it ought to have been?  Martin was led to look at his own life and the total vacuum where a knowledge of Scotland’s story should have been.  When he was ten, his granda came from the isle of Lewis to live with him and his mum.  Until then, he was unaware that his mum spoke Gaelic, the only  language his granda had.   Martin must ‘get ahead’ and learn only to speak ‘properly’ [ie English] – so he could only talk with his granda via his mum, which limited communication…

The narrative is mainly in Scots, the songs weaving their way around and through this are in Gaelic.  Catherine is signing both, together with the occasional bit of English.  How does it feel to be speaking and understanding the least-used of the three languages in use tonight?  I feel blessed that twenty years’ residence in Scotland has enabled me to [mostly] grasp what’s said in Scots, but my Gaelic is non-existent [and, unlike Netflix, there are no subtitles].  How much am I missing by my lack of understanding – I can try to guess what the songs are about, but I could be wildly wrong – just as I could be if I watched K-drama without the subtitles.  How much are history, culture, and sense of identity bound up with language, how can they be understood from an outsider’s position of ignorance?  How arrogant to assume that something we don’t understand is necessarily of less value than our mother tongue, our learned way of doing things?  How isolating, how demoralising to feel that we are not understood, however hard we try to express ourselves, and that our history and culture are of less importance than that of the dominant power in the land.

It’s a brilliant script.  It’s a superb performance from all five artists.  The choreography is intricate and always an essential part of the drama.  The music is incredible.  The words tumble and spill and go round in circles, laughing, punning, crying, needling, scorning, challenging, revealing and obscuring meaning, showing the complexity of language and all its associations, assumptions and unvoiced undertones. Above all, they underline the importance, the life-enhancing essential nature of SPEAKING and, just as vital, of HEARING AND UNDERSTANDING WHAT IS SAID – not just nodding and smiling in incomprehension.  Communication requires effort on the part of both speaker and listener.

What a world is contained in a journey through a shortbread tin…

National Theatre of Scotland: Through the Shortbread Tin, Scottish Storytelling Centre, Edinburgh, Run ended but Scottish Tour continues. For more information and tickets go to: Through the Shortbread Tin | National Theatre of Scotland

**** (5 stars)

“Deeply Impressive”

Is it really thirty years since Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake rocked the world of classical ballet and brought joy to the hearts of the rainbow community by showing that same-sex love was deep and real and passionate and just as right and as valid as that between heterosexuals?  Goodness me: I wasn’t young even then, and am now thirty years older – and still this ballet has the power to move me deeply as I become completely immersed in its magical, painful, realistic and fantastical world.

A prince is unhappily trapped in a stiflingly conventional household in which everything takes place with mechanical, almost robotic, military-style precision.  There is no room for such messy things as feelings – dear me, no!  The prince’s mother is tightly wrapped in magnificent robes – even her incredibly flowing white satin dressing gown seems stiffly starched and speaks of ironclad self-control [though she is not averse to encouraging the respectful attentions of uniformed lackeys].  The nearest she gets to showing any signs of humanity or affection is stretching out a hand towards – but never touching – her son, even when he is writhing in agonies of despair and loneliness.  He dreams of escape, of wild swans erupting into his bedroom, but wakes to the intricately synchronised routine of allowing himself to be washed and dressed and accompanying his mother to any number of state visits, openings, and appearances…

An encounter with a seemingly brainless blonde bimbo appears to offer him an opportunity to experience human affection – but between them, the Queen and the mysterious Private Secretary [undoubtedly a close relation of Machiavelli] put paid to that.  A disastrous visit to the [hysterically funny ‘old style’] ballet is followed by a most unhappy experience in a nightclub, after which the young prince finds himself on the edge of a lake, seriously contemplating throwing himself into it.

And this is where the magic begins… Swans, swans, and yet more swans appear: virile, masculine, full of energy and power, and the biggest and strongest of them all is mesmerisingly attractive.  A tentative, wordless conversation begins; the strength of feeling between them grows, and culminates in the Prince’s first ever experience of real love.  No wonder he feels on top of the world and spontaneously kisses the old woman who comes to feed bread to the birds in the park!

At a ball at the palace, princesses try to attract the Prince’s attention – he does his duty by them but is clearly not interested.  He’s more concerned about his mother’s behaviour, especially when a startlingly attractive tall dark Stranger appears.  There’s something very familiar about him, and the Prince is heartbroken when his approaches are rejected while the Stranger pays attention to the princesses and even the Queen.  Suddenly there’s a gun in the Prince’s hand: a shot is fired and someone falls dead.  The Prince collapses and is carried out as paparazzi rush to capture shots of the spectacle.

The Prince is incarcerated in ‘hospital’.  Horrifying mechanical attempts at ‘treatment’ and ‘healing’ are attempted, while the Queen is unable even to pat her son’s shoulder sympathetically.  She really just wants him to pull himself together and act as a true royal should…. Back in his bed, the Prince curls into a tiny ball.  Swans emerge all around him.  His own special Swan appears, wounded: the others attack him while the prince reaches out for him in despair – to no avail.  The swan is gone, the Prince is desolate: his horrified mother comes into the room to find him dead.  She can’t see above the bed her son, curled round the Swan’s neck – the lovers united in death.

The superbly synchronised, multi-layered choreography of the first scene always has me wishing I could watch it again and again – so much is going on all at once that it’s impossible to comprehend it all.  The ballet in the following scene is so cringingly awful, it’s a miracle that the performers are able to keep their faces straight as they demonstrate all the ‘qualities’ that give classical ballet so bad a name – vapid arm-waving and posturing; ridiculously passionless and feeble attempts at storytelling; all the worst cliches you can imagine… such a strong contrast to Matthew Bourne’s clear, clean, straight storytelling in which every glance, every tiny movement or gesture speaks volumes.

The costumes in the nightclub and at the ball – the use of black almost throughout with the shocking pink of the Girlfriend’s very brief dress and the striking strong red of the Queen’s ball dress – enhance the impact of these scenes.  The Prince is a very lonely figure, slender in his plain white outfit over which he dons his ‘official’ uniform of a vaguely military [or naval?] nature.  The Stranger is also clad in black, but stands out by his devil-may-care nature, in strong contrast to the repressively formal behaviour of everyone at court. 

And then there are the swans… every time I see this Swan Lake, I marvel at the close attention to detail.  Mute swans don’t ‘speak’ but they do grunt and snort and hiss – and here all these sounds are used to intensify the effect of their body language and behaviour.  They are wild, inhuman, and dangerous – even when the cygnets appear to dance to their iconic tune, they are no sweet and fluffy little creatures but strong, boisterous, and potentially as dangerous as their elders.

The entire cast are to be applauded for their performances, their many costume- and character-changes, the astonishing accuracy of their ensemble pieces, especially in the opening scene and at the night club, and for still being standing at the end of what is an intense and challengingly physical marathon.  There are many outstanding cameos, too numerous to mention. 

Fronting this impressive cast were the principals.  James Lovell’s Private Secretary got everywhere, did everything, and got up to who knows what when no-one was watching.  Katrina Lyndon’s icily formal Queen probably deserved a lot of sympathy as she wrapped herself in a mantle of ice, but was impossible to feel for, given her behaviour towards her son.  Bryony Wood’s Girlfriend was a marvel of comic timing, especially in the Royal Box at the ballet.  It was hard to tell what her true feelings were, but she didn’t deserve the fate she met. 

Rory Macleod’s Swan / Stranger double act was deeply impressive: athletic, strong, unexpectedly shy and gentle at times, and so endearing when he tenderly cradled the Prince in his wings.  But for me the outstanding performance was from Leonardo McCorkindale as the Prince – his vulnerability, the fragility of the mask he dons during his public ‘performances’: feeling things deeply even when constrained by the formalities of his royal role and constantly yearning for the affection he craved but was always denied – until he met his Swan…

Small wonder the performance was greeted by thunderous applause and a standing ovation at the final curtain.  Thirty years on, the magic is still there, and the message comes across loud and clear: love is real, and strong, and powerful, no matter who the two lovers are.  Thank you, Matthew Bourne: here’s to the next thirty years of your Swan Lake.

Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake, Festival Theatre, Edinburgh, runs until Saturday 12^th April for more information and tickets go to: Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake

***** (5 stars)

“Deeply Moving”

Emma Baird, Helen La Grand and Anna Michels met as postgraduate students at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland.  I for one am profoundly grateful that they decided to join together to form the Lark Trio: today’s lunchtime performance of Tchaikovsky’s piano trio moved me deeply, and I don’t think I was the only member of the audience to be so affected.

Tchaikovsky was determined that he would never write a piano trio, said Anna in her introduction to the performance. However, the death in 1881 of his close friend and mentor, the accomplished pianist Nikolai Rubinstein, deeply affected the composer.  During the following winter he wrote this trio, subtitled à la mémoire d’un grand artiste [to the memory of a great artist] and oh my goodness, it’s an utterly incredible work.

The first of its two movements sounded to me like a lament for a lost lover.  Joy and sorrow intertwined in a journey through memories full of emotion, passionate outbursts of grief and anger, overwhelming deep sadness, moments of calm resignation and acceptance, solemn lamenting, fiery, tempestuous outbursts, small gleams of glorious sunshine and happy memories, and restrained moments made all the more poignant because of that very restraint.  Three strong, individual voices sang out in brilliant melodies, singly and together, taking turns in leading and supporting each other, pouring out a torrent of feelings that swept us all along until the final slow funeral march gradually sank into silence.

How to follow that?  With a theme and variations which some think might portray incidents from the life of Rubinstein – there’s certainly a huge amount of variety of mood, character, and feeling in this movement.  A simple melody, full of feeling and with extraordinary rhythmical character is developed into a string of variations which give each instrument a chance to show off.  The piano begins,  having great fun while the strings play pizzicato; a noble melody, reminiscent of gypsy music, is passed from violin to cello; the piano dances in its upper register while the strings provide a drone bass; a rumbunctious waltz is tossed around by all three; the piano plays monstrous chords reminiscent of Mussorgsky’s Great Gates of Kiyev from Pictures from an exhibition; a delicate muted string line is tossed between the two players while the piano ripples with arpeggios, giving us a moment of calm before a mazurka, which is both lively and very formal, played with almost military precision, allows all three musicians the opportunity really to show off.  A wonderfully lyrical serenade, throbbing with passion, led into a fast, fiery and furious finale – risoluto e con fuoco –which had all three players obviously enjoying themselves, dancing around, now frenziedly, now nimbly, building and relaxing the tension through all the keys you can think of, scampering towards what seemed must be a magnificent climax but…

The music was celebrating what must have been a glorious life – and now we remember the beloved is dead.  The music comes to a stark and solemn ending, a funeral march with sombre strings and dry, detached chords on a piano which slowly falters to silence.

We all sit, so deeply moved it’s impossible to break that silence – and then erupt into tumultuous applause, richly deserved.  What an amazing work; what superbly talented musicians; what a memorable lunchtime!

Please please please may we have the joy and privilege of hearing the Lark Trio again at the Brunton  VERY SOON.

Bite-sized concerts at the Brunton: Lark Piano Trio, Tchaikovsky piano trio in A minor Op 50, Northesk Parish Church, Run Ended

***** (5 stars)

“Breathtakingly brilliant”

An incredibly powerful piece, performed with passion and energy.  A vitally important message, conveyed with lyricism and hopefulness. 

A simple story, with strong overtones of the life of Greta Thunberg, and paying homage to the many young climate activists around the world who are fighting for the future of their – of our! – world.  Lola has woken up to the climate emergency: she feels she simply can’t go to school any more, but must make her protest, alone if need be.  She encounters opposition both from her family, who don’t take her concerns seriously, and from her schoolmates, who mock and deride her.  It takes guts to stand alone…

Over the course of the opera, others slowly realise the importance of what she’s trying to say, and a swelling tide of protest grows from people of all ages who begin to realise This is our time/ this is happening now/ and if we don’t stand up/ answer this call/ then who will?  No-one is coming to save us/ but us…  Her sister is the first to support her, then her father, who is full of admiration for his daughter’s strength of conviction.  Her mother is put in charge of a massive construction project – ‘improving’ a road by demolishing acres of forest: convinced that ‘progress’ must be achieved, that ‘more’ is best, and truly believing that this is all for the good of her family.  Various adults try to persuade or bully Lola into backing down, but she stands firm.

The forest is destroyed, there is nothing to hold back the surge of water which sweeps away everything in its path, leaving a desert denuded of flora and fauna.  But “this is progress”, says Lola’s mum –“don’t spoil my triumph” while others lament the deaths of the trees and the disappearance of all the birds.

Uprising is the vehicle for an outstanding performance from the RSNO Youth and Changed Voices choruses, without whom much of the drama could not have been so powerfully conveyed.  They sing as a chorus, take individual roles as part of the narrative, and throughout it represent the forest, the birds and other creatures that live in it, and the inexorable power of the tumbling, surging waters that destroy everything in their path once the forest is not there to restrain them.  Simple hand and arm movements have stunning effect: and goodness me how on earth did they manage not only to learn and perform from memory a very long and complex musical score but combine with this brilliantly simple choreography for hands, arms and bodies??  Massive credit to their directors, Patrick Barrett and Frikki Walker!

The RSNO chorus and Chorus Academy also play a major part in the action – again, not just singing, but becoming objectors, supporters, construction workers and a police squad.  The RSNO orchestra, for once not in penguin suits, was magnificent, filling the Usher Hall with a rich and melodious tapestry of sound, creating a magically shifting atmosphere in which all the action takes place.  Holding this all together was conductor Ellie Slorach – watching her incredibly dynamic conducting style made me think that singing or playing under her baton must be such FUN!

Riding on this sea of glorious music are the soloists. Rhys Batt as the creepy doctor wanting to use electric shock treatment to ‘cure’ Lola and Edwin Kaye as the peacocking Mayor who regards Lola’s protest as ‘a blight on our lovely town’ make the most of their roles.  Edwin Kaye returns as Quercus, the mighty oak tree which presides over the forest whose inhabitants try in turn to show Lola’s mum how essential each of them is to the health and survival of the forest.

And then there’s the Green family… Mum Angela is brilliantly played by Madeleine Shaw – it’s really hard to like her at all, as her beliefs and attitudes are so diametrically opposed to mine – but she’s magnificent in her self-absorption and conviction that she’s doing the best for her family, even in the face of the disasters unleashed by the destruction of the forest.  Judith Lozano Rolong was slightly overshadowed by her overbearing mother, but gave a good performance as the older sister, initially hostile and jealous of her ‘attention-seeking’ sister, but slowly changing her views and siding strongly with Lola. 

Marcus Farnsworth’s subservience to his wife’s strength of conviction, his pride in her success, are slowly replaced by a growing admiration for his younger daughter’s courage and determination.  At first convinced that Lola will soon see sense if the family are nice nice nice to her, he is very uncomfortable with the proposed electric shock treatment; he is amazed at the way Lola’s schoolmates begin to listen to her and join in her passionate protest; at the end, he is really sorry for what he and humanity have done to the world.

And then there’s Ffion Edwards.  There really aren’t enough superlatives to describe her performance as Lola – the anguish which drives her to protest in the first place; the courage with which she continues in the face of determined opposition; the depression which hits her when she feels so alone and getting nowhere; the energy with which she responds to those people who begin to support her; the flaming passion with which she encourages those supporters and leads them to emulate young people like Greta Thunberg and the other young climate activists who are brought before us by members of the young choruses – all this pours out from her clear bright soprano which soars over the rest of the cast and inspires us to believe in her and hope that she, and others like her, will succeed in making humanity see sense and work to save, rather than destroy, the planet on which we live.

Uprising is a breathtakingly brilliant piece.  It would be so easy to write a piece of gloom and doom, and leave us all thoroughly depressed – but Jonathan Dove and librettist April De Angelis offer us the hopeful prospect of rewilding, regrowth, if humans stand back and let nature repopulate the areas devastated by a blind and uncaring human race.  I wish that all world leaders and heads of multinational corporations would have to attend a performance…

We want our dream – Nature first.  You can join us or you can leave.  Which will you choose?

Jonathan Dove, Uprising,Royal Scottish National Orchestra, Usher Hall, Edinburgh – Run Ended

***** (5 stars)

“Stupendous!  Stunning! Simply not to be missed”

I’ve not seen the film on which this musical is based – which meant the full force of the drama, the emotions, and the music hit me full force and left me virtually breathless and grasping for superlatives with which to describe this tour de force which had the entire audience on its feet at the end, stamping, shouting, cheering, and applauding so wildly it’s a wonder people’s hands didn’t drop off…

In essence, the story is simple: Rose-Lynn Harlan is a young Glaswegian woman whose passion is for country music.  She dreams of going to Nashville, Tennessee, and singing her heart out: her reality is somewhat different.  A first drug-related offence has landed her a year’s prison sentence, meaning her mum has to look after Rose-Lynn’s two children, Wynona and Lyle.  Released from prison, she finds that the world has moved on, and it doesn’t seem as if there’s a place for her in it.  Her place at Glasgow’s Grand Ole Opry has been filled by a long-haired, fairly talentless man (“but at least he’s reliable”); she hasn’t a home or a job; and her children really don’t want to know her – they used to be close, have fun together, but now they just want to stay with Gran.  She is desperate to sing – but is she prepared to give up everything else in her life in order to do this?

Wild Rose is a fabulous ensemble piece, with a large cast enthusiastically providing the ever-changing and challenging world in which Rose finds herself.  Clever use of backdrops rapidly establishes the scene; furniture and props are part of a complex ballet of scene-changes, and Rose’s frequently-changing outfits are brought to and taken from her with impressively understated but brilliantly worked-out choreography.  The ensemble players turn themselves from prisoners to Opry-goers to travellers on public transport; briefly step into the spotlight to play a brilliantly-observed individual and step back to take yet another part in the kaleidoscope of humanity in which Rose struggles to find herself and her family.

The story is a vehicle for a virtually unending stream of country songs, with the exceptionally talented band of eight musicians led by Ali Roocroft at the rear of the stage providing a powerhouse of music and backing vocals throughout the night.  Everyone in the cast is extremely good – but oh my goodness what an exceptionally powerful performance comes from Dawn Sievewright as Rose-Lynn.   Her voice is the most wonderful instrument with which she expresses every nuance of the bottled-up and conflicting emotions struggling for release: her acting is incomparable – she simply is Rose-Lynn, driven to sing and at the same time shredded by her need for the love that only her family can provide.

The energy crackling and bubbling throughout Wild Rose reminds me of Glasgow Girls – another celebration of Glaswegians’ indomitable spirit.  A feisty people who will not be squashed but speak out loudly, fearlessly, and without any attempt to soften or sanitise their utterances – here they are again, lovingly portrayed on stage: and the most outspoken, gallus, wonderful one of them all is Rose-Lynn Harlan, whose closing song finally pours out everything she’s been trying to say all her life.

I could spend many hundreds, or even thousands, more words trying to capture the magic of Wild Rose.  I’ll spare you, and just say this is one of the best things I’ve seen on stage in a very long while, and you’d be extremely foolish to miss it.  Go and get your ticket now!

Wild Rose, Royal Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh, Runs until Saturday 19^th April for more information and tickets go to: Wild Rose | Royal Lyceum Theatre Edinburgh