OK, I admit it. I may not be the person you'd want to be writing this review- too old, too jaded, too cynical. Because this show seemed a bit too familiar, courtesy of so many others over the years in which some southern posho takes our money to indulge in their own therapy. But I'm an audience member, not a counsellor.
I'm being unfair, I know, because there's a lot to like about Hannah Maxwell's solo show, despite a rather confusing timeline. She's a good actor, dances well enough, and has a surprising singing voice. There's a clever use of tech throughout (the the tech desk person deserves their own plaudits), both visual and aural. It's an autobiographical tale about how acted as primary carer to her bereaved grandmother, while developing an obsessive crush on a French Eurovision singer (who, when I Googled turned out to be entirely non-fictional), and went off into a wild life that, while Nan was doing just fine, resulted in the younger member of the family breaking down (this doesn't really constitute much of a spoiler, as the outcome is an easy spot from early on). It's fast paced, visually interesting and has a fair bit of audience member participation. There are plenty of good jokes, but the grab for real pathos only brushes it's fingertips.
If you like seeing someone play out their neuroses in front of you then this could be the show for you. But...
Me, Nan and Barbara Pravi is on at 17.15 at Summerhall until the 27th.
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