Deadly song of the man-eater
He is one of the most brilliant poet-performers on the Fringe; but all the same, it’s a slightly subdued Luke Wright who takes the stage this year in his new monologue Frankie Vah. Like parts of his award-winning 2015 show What I Learned From Johnny Bevan, it’s set during the antithatcher creative surge of the 1980s, when organisations like Red Wedge toured the country offering music and words in support of threatened working class communities; it even seems to begin in the same university bar.
Here, though, Wright takes on the character of Simon, a vicar’s son from Suffolk who reinvents himself as Frankie, a mouthy stand-up poet on the radical circuit; and there’s something about the exceptionally close fit between Simon’s story and his own, two decades on, that seems to destabilise the drama and soften the language slightly, blurring the lines between fiction and autobiography in ways that seem more confusing than helpful.
In the end, there’s a slightly predictable story of love gone wrong, a sentimental tale of reconciliation between father and son, and a focus on the desperate quest for absolute belief, and what it does to the mind. The less told tale, though, is of what all this means to Wright’s generation; those who were children in the 1980s, and who appear here only in the guise of the schoolboy son of one of Frankie’s fans, mentioned for being strangely interested in the whole scene, although – at the time – he’s only ten years old.
26.2
Paradise in The Vault (Venue 29)
There’s a pleasant propulsive rhythm to this thankfully brief one-woman show performed on a treadmill by Lucy Mcconnell – but there’s little sense of drama.
It’s the story (if that’s not too strong a word) of Mcconnell’s efforts last year to lose weight and run the London Marathon. The dryly pragmatic script is merely functional but there’s decent use of an effective techno score while
Siren
Pleasance Dome (Venue 23)
They seduce men, lure them to their death, and chew on their blood-soaked bones: Greek mythology’s literal man-eaters. In comedian David Elms’ deliciously sadistic debut (musical) play, the Siren stops singing and starts speaking – and what a voice she has. Cynical, scheming, witty and wonderful, and played by the mesmerising Rosa Robson, she’s everything a slew of dippy sailors, with their dumb quips and desperate eyes, wish they were – aimlessly swept around in the sea, before she bites off their heads.
In a brilliantly surreal piece of staging, all of these men are played by Nicolas Master on roller blades (wearing a red “Beach Rescue” T-shirt), at the mercy of the waves as they try to appeal to the effortlessly seductive Siren, sitting poised on a rock in a swimsuit and hat. “You’re crazy,” the men repeatedly tell her, their attempts to
back projection counts down the miles. Mcconnell proves a likeable enough performer but it’s still possible to admire her stamina while finding her show curiously pointless.
Mission Abort
Gilded Balloon at Rose Theatre (Venue 76)
Performing portions of the show flat on her back on the medical couch in the middle of the stage is a bold call for actor Therese Ramstedt, but these are the moments which reveal the central concerns of this piece, and she handles them with the same sense of light-hearted dignity which she carries with her throughout the show.
It’s on the couch that she speculates on precisely which place and position was used when she became pregnant, and ultimately undergoes the abortion which she has decided upon after much soul-searching.
The play is listed under “true-life” on the Fringe site, although we remain unaware turn her into the cliché of a “kooky” female love interest undermined by the blood on her face.
It’s a play that delights in subverting such stereotypes. With the glee of a scheming psychopath, the Siren flits between parodying fauxfemininity and undermining it with razor sharp one-liners and a murderous glint in her eye.
Women are unlucky at sea, the sailors claim – which isn’t exactly disproved here. The femme fatale is, after all, another well-known trope, even though she often gets to have more fun. It also seems you can’t have a play with this much sexual chemistry without it turning into love story.
The Siren eventually gives up her powers to be with a silly man whose sea shanties are far inferior to her amusing songs.
“You’re crazy,” she says, their roles satisfyingly reversed, but her snark and spirit gone: a familiar ending for a piece that felt like it was setting sail for a more interesting destination. how much is fact and fiction. Ramstedt’s warmth and relatability as a performer, however, contribute to an honest and emotional journey which is necessarily bittersweet, but which reveals her eventual comfort with her own decisions.
It’s frank, it’s often tenderly amusing and it explores current discussions about opposition to abortion, and when Ramstedt isn’t on the couch, she bounds through the play with a lively energy, singing the Beatles (her voice is lovely), inviting an audience member to act the part of her boyfriend, and choosing to soundtrack the critical abortion scene with an empowering blast of Kate Bush.
Arab Arts Focus: Dance Double Bill
Summerhall (Venue 26)
It’s not actually possible to review the Dance Double Bill, because it doesn’t actually happen. The two performers due to deliver it aren’t in Edinburgh, they’re at home contemplating the British Home Office’s decision to refuse their visas (Nagham Saleh, a single, young female dancer is too big a flight risk, apparently). And so, in the spirit of “the show must go on,” both pieces are shown on video.
With Mayhkomsh, it’s barely a glimpse of what the piece has to offer; a twominute segment in which Saleh’s body judders on the brink of something… but what, we’ll never know.
Running Away is shown in its 17-minute entirety – nothing like the impact it would have live, but still an arresting piece. Created by Palestinianborn choreographer Yazan Iwidat, it finds dancer Hamza Damra attached to the wall by a large band. As he dances, we hear Iwidat’s poignant thoughts about home and the need to escape judgement.
In a bid to flesh out this diminished showcase, choreographer Shaymaa Shoukry enlisted dancer Mahmoud el Hadad at the last minute to perform her challenging work, The Resilience of the Body. Ten minutes of constant running in a circle peppered by powerful comments, it’s not an easy watch, but that is very much the point.
Scribble
Assembly Roxy (Venue 139)
If you suffer anxiety brought on by too much choice, you could find Scribble only adds to the stress. Actor Alan Mackenzie says Andy Edwards’s play has gone through 49 drafts and it would seem the evidence of a great many of them remains. Which one to choose?
There is the drama about the man who convinces himself he’s a paedophile; the first-person testimony about the stress of a long-distance relationship; the audience interaction and the eating of bran flakes; and the experimental production involving an actor who has never seen the script (a lucid Nicola Roy when I saw it).
Maybe the fidgety structure is a commentary on OCD – or maybe the material just needs tighter organisation.
Siri
Canada Hub @ King’s Hall association with Summerhall (Venue 73)
Domestic
thespace @ Surgeons Hall (Venue 53)
There’s a spark of interest in the confidently written opening to Tamsin Ormond’s new drama about police surveillance, that’s quickly smothered by a fatally unconvincing central relationship.
Ormond plays Mia, a political activist who embarks on a romantic relationship with an undercover policeman (Doug Allen) who just walks into a party at her house (yes, really).
If that sounds unlikely, the performances don’t help either as Ormond has Mia laughing after every other line while grinning broadly. It’s presumably meant to convey the giddiness of falling in love but merely makes her look unhinged.