Variant (A Play, a Pie and a Pint), Traverse

 A man, a woman.  Clad in shades of grey.  Sat in the circle thy will never leave, she writing in a notebook, he reading a paperback.  He speaks, she responds.  But not as expected, and the conversation escalates, as a seemingly innocent enquiry from him spirals into doubt and uncertainty. 

This a play about uncertainty, about the problems we have in never really being able to understand our fellow humans.  Is the woman a doctor?  Policewoman?  Have the met before or not?  Is he criminal or patient or passive bystander embroiled in a situation he doesn't understand? 

What is apparent is how thin are the borders surrounding amnesia, dementia, being a subject of psychological torture, and the simple confusion of déjà vu. This à drama to provoke thought, without dictating answers. 

Compelling performances, other verbal and physical from Megan Tyler and Simon Donaldson, and a script, by Peter Arnott, that twisted and turned and circled back through questions and doubts , made for a fast paced fifty minutes, and left me wanting more. There's a lot to be gained from having questions posed to which you have to figure out your own answers. A fascinating addition to the Play, Pie, Pint canon. 

But I also recognise this is a very marmite experience.  Very obviously loved it.  Others might well feel alienated by the lack of any clear plot or resolution. But if you can retain an open mind, and enjoy having your horizons challenged, Variant is a must-see. 

Write-off (A Play, a Pie and a Pint), Traverse

 Freddie (Richard Conlon) is the fifty-something author of several gritty psychological thrillers.  They sell well, he has a following, but his last novel attracted a lot of criticism for it's insensitive treatment of violence against women.  Criticism from young people. 

Enter Ben (Bailey Newsome), a 24 year old postgrad student of literature.  He's been recommended to Freddie by an old friend, who's also Ben's tutor.  And he's just what Freddie's publisher thinks Freddie needs - someone to be his 'sensitivity reader', and defuse those critics before there's anything to get offended by. Ben also thinks he's exactly what Freddie needs, because doesn't every dinosaur need to be brought into the new age? 

The ensuing culture clash, across the generations, brings forth secrets, ulterior motives, misunderstandings and some search for common ground.  There's no right or wrong here, and if Freddie seems like the bad guy to begin with then Ben quickly matches him.  But they have a different appreciation of the world.  The old have memories the young can't fully understand.  And while the old have been young, it wasn't in this new reality of social media and openness.  Both characters are gay, which becomes an essential element of the plot, but it's not their defining characteristic, however much Ben thinks it should be.  As Freddie says, "being gay doesn't make you interesting".  

This is writer Aodhan Gallagher's first staged production, but you wouldn't know it.  The script is top class, with laughs aplenty and surprising depth, taking on an issue that regularly attracts much partisan comment.  When the comedy gives way to tragedy there's genuine pathos, and a moment where the two characters come together and you, as an audience member, can't avoid feeling moved.  

Conlon is superb as the grumpy author, full of sharp sarcasm and disdain for the new mores, his facial expressions a constant joy to watch.  Newsome is great too, intense and well meaning, until he reveals his true motives.  There is genuine chemistry here.

It's rare that an offering from the Play, Pie, Pint series is a duffer.  This is a rarity at the opposite end of the scale, a shining gem of a piece, that is everything you could ask for from a 50 minute comedy drama.  And a little bit more.

Babs (A Play, a Pie and a Pint), Traverse

 Lisa's an Aberdonian quine whose life centres on her annual holidays in the sun with her oldest friend Shelley.  Until said friend announces that this year she's heading off to Ibiza with her boyfriend, the creepy Gareth. And what, who, is Lisa without her holiday and her bestie? 

In song and storytelling Lisa (Bethany Tennick) takes us through her life from who she thought she was, to the person that emerges from the other end. She resonds to an advert for a retreat, a chance to get away and have a bit of pampering.  But the reality isn't all saunas and massage, but a strange forest hideaway presided over by the enigmatic Babs and, for all that it doesn't look anything like she expected, Lisa will never be the same again. 

Based loosely on the East European myths of the ambiguous Baba Yaga (a name perhaps best known in this part of the world, from Mussorgsy and ELP), Morna Young's script is fast paced and very funny, mixing Scots reality with Slavic legend and magic. .  While the resolution may ring a bit of New Age simplicity, there's an underlying message that we don't get to say where we came from, and sometimes that can make it hard to know who we really are. 

Tennick is excellent as the dimly Doric Lisa going from confusion to realisation, and throws in a further half dozen characters along the way.  She's got great comic timing, a decent singing voice rth and guitar skills, and brings forth all the fun from the full fifty five minutes.  

There might be a touch of fay hippydom about it, but Babs is wonderfully entertaining and memorable. 

Heidi Talbot, Brunton Theatre

For this tour the Irish songstress has support from a superbly talented musical trio.  The eccentrically humourous Ian Carr on guitar and backing vocals, quietly effective Toby Shaer on fiddle and whistles, and the sensitive keyboard accompaniment of Jenn Austin.  Heidi now has an extensive solo back catalogue to draw on, and the two sets mixed up older material with songs from her most recent album, traditional, contemporary and self penned.  Smart arrangements, that beautifully sweet and husky voice, audience singalongs, and plenty of laughs in the introductions.  Plus the bonus of Talbot generously removing herself from the stage a couple of times to allow the others to more fully demonstrate their talents with some tunes.  An xceelent way to spend an evening.

Empire of Light

Hilary (Olivia Colman) is the duty manager in the Empire Cinema, on the Margate seafront in 1980.  She's effective enough in her job, but passionless about film.  Lives alone, her only intimacy is providing handjobs for her slimy, bullying boss (Colin Firth).  And, it gradually emerges, she has a history of serious mental health issues.

Into her life comes new member of staff Stephen (Micheal Ward), who hopes to be able to go to college to become an architect.  Despite the considerable age difference, they begin an affair that brings some light and excitement into Hilary's humdrum routine.  But this is Thatcher's Britain, where a callous government is effectively saying racism is OK, and Stephen is black.  When trouble comes it affects much more than just the obvious victim.  But tories gotta tory.

The film is beautifully and evocatively shot, with plenty of period detail and a clear love for film.  And in the bigotry of the times, and showing the lack of understanding of mental health at the time, it goes after some worthy targets.  So it's a shame the script can be a bit clunky at times.  Stephen is almost too good to be true.  Hilary's illness is used to manipulate our emotions.  It's always enjoyable, but with a sense that it could be that bit better.

Fortunately it's saved by the performances, and especially from the always brilliant Colman.  She gives Hilary a depth that transcends what's on the page, and makes her ordinariness a virtue.  And for that alone it's worth seeing.

Burning Bright (A Play, a Pie and a Pint), Traverse

 The stars in an Artic sky.  An out of control bush fire.  Blake's tiger come in from the forest.  All burning bright, and each one the starting point for a separate monologue, each on the theme of climate change and the negative impact humans are having on their planet.  

Mo (Hannah Jarrett-Scott) is in a dinghy, looking at the stars, taking a brief respite from the eco-cruise ship she should have been running with her now dead partner.  But her immediate worries must focus on a trapped whale, a hungry polar bear and a Trump supporting wannabe hunter.  

Ash (Adam Buksh) is a boy from India who once had to fear the tiger at the door and the drought in the river, but now, in Scotland, it's racists and floods that are the problem.  

Alex (Suzanne Magowan) is the on-the-scene TV reporter at a wild fire (maybe in Australia, maybe the US, it's never made clear), caught up in a danger that consumes all in it's path.

Set against a backwall of plastic detritus, the three performers' monologues intertwine, around one another, but never interlink.  The performances are strong (Magowan is particularly impressive), fast paced, the direction excellent, and there's both humour and pathos in the script.  But that lack of connection is an issue, giving us three separate performances with a common theme of climate change, and human stupidity, but no real connection.  It feels more like three strands shoehorned together rather than a coherent whole, providing a sense of expectation that is never fulfilled.  Which is a shame, because it's a worthy and important subject to tackle, but which could be far better presented.  Enjoyable, but ultimately unsatisfying.

Until It's Gone (A Play, a Pie and a Pint), Traverse

 Suspend disbelief and dive in.  The circumstances which have given rise to the strange world portrayed are never explained, but this is a short drama, not a novel, and it's the situation itself that matters most.  And the two characters who find themselves meeting because of it.

A young man (Sean Connor) waits on a broken park bench, uncertain, impatient.  An older man (Billy Mack) fleetingly appears, and disappears.  Eventually they meet, and go through the motions prescribed by the government pamphlet and app that brought these strangers together.  They've been told they have to make contact, to try and bond, but how can they do that when their shared experiences are so different?  When expressing emotion is not what men have been brought up to do?

This dark comedy explores how men might try to make real friendships in a world without women, one man pining for the life he knew, the other for the one he missed out on.  Each one wary, making hard work of questions and answers.  It's a big subject for fifty minutes, but Alison Carr's script still manages to deliver an emotional punch amid the laughs and the lows, and touches on the problems of male friendships.  Two strong performances as well, notably from Mack who develops his taciturn character into a creature of hurt and yearning.  Definitely worth a watch.