"Christ. Shit. Fuck." *bangs head on desk*
An opening that gives a fair indication of what's to come, as funny meets frustration. Ivan is a successful writer, but he's got the dreaded writer's block, so instead of sitting at his desk he'll tell us a story. Of his mum who died ten years ago today, and her death from lung cancer. Of the gap that had opened up between them as he progressed from working class Govan to middle class Hyndland, and left his past behind.
It's about how we deal with death, and dying, and the knowledge that we can never know the mind of the person who's dealing with the end of their life. About how little we tend to recognise the real person underlying the persona we've grown to expect of a parent, the difficulty in seeing the young person they once were. Plus a bit of sibling rivalry thrown in.
There's a cracking, crackling script from Ian Pattison, consistently hilarious yet still able to peer into the fears and resentments and vexations that are a part of the people we become, and offering a moment of genuine pathos. Stephen Clyde's solo performance is superb, milking the laughs but still giving Ivan an irascible humanity, and well delineated impressions of Ivan's mother, aunt, brother and others.
A brilliant demonstration of what can be achieved with a fifty minute drama.
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