Mrs Harris Goes to Paris

 Based on a Paul Gallico novel, the plot is simple enough.  Ada Harris (Lesley Manville) is a cleaning lady in the grey London of the 1950s, traipsing round the houses of the rich and clueless to earn her keep, meekly putting up with employers who treat her like one of their most anonymous pierces of furniture.  She's (probably) lost her husband in the war, and what little entertainment she gets comes through her exuberant fellow cleaner Vi (Ellen Thomas) and twinkling Irish bookie Archie (Jason Isaacs).  But it's not much of a life.

In the home of Lady Dant (Anna Chancellor) Ada comes across a dress that takes her breath away, a Christian Dior that, her ladyship superciliously informs her, cost £500.  An impossible sum for a cleaner, but that won't stop dreaming and scheming.  After scraping and scrimping and working extra hours, and the benefit of a few ludicrous coincidences, Mrs H, as the title implies, is Paris bound.  She arrives in a city which, despite evidence of an ongoing strike by bin workers, is like a Hollywood creation.  A place of magic and dreams and romance.  Where she becomes a part of those dreams, and also sees what underlies them.  After various complications, she returns home with a dress, and back to reality, whatever that is.  I won't give away any more, but of course there's a happy ending, what else did you expect? 

If that all sounds like I'm going to suggest you give this one a miss then you'd be wrong.  Because, like the abovementioned Archibald Leach, what this movie delivers abundantly is charm.  Yes, the plot is often preposterous, and predictable, and cheesy.   But it's also whimsical, amusing, and, at the centre of the action, Manville is being as wonderful as ever.  Her Mrs H is put upon, resilient, warm, lonely, fanciful, practical. There's romance, conflict, friendship, heart break and heartwarming, individuality and solidarity.  Workers rights and the iniquitous class system.  Dreams and reality.  Even a spark of inspiration.  Don't look for depth, because that isn't what this film is about.  But it does deliver hope.  Is there anything we need more of right now?

Go along, suspend disbelief, and let yourself be charmed.

Made in China (A Play, a Pie and a Pint), Traverse

Janet (Jo Freer) is at home in Wishaw.  Hui Ting (Amber Lin) is on the other side of the world, in one of a hundred factories in a hundred cities in China, and a long way away from her home village.  Janet is trying, against the odds of teenage angst, to make her daughter's sixteenth birthday party as perfect as possible.  Ting is trying, against the odds of a strict workplace regime, to earn enough of a bonus, start up her own restaurant, and get her fifteen year old daughter to return from the village.  Janet is buying all kinds of stuff that she's being told are essential, like dangling sparkly aubergines.  Ting spends long hours every day packing sparkly aubergines into boxes.  One box from Ting ends up on Janet's kitchen table.  But this one contains a scribbled note from the packer, and unleashes Janet's inner sleuth, taking her down an unexpected path.

A contrast between the consumer West and producer East, and what others suffer for the rubbish we all buy and don't need.  The expectations of the two teenagers couldn't be more different, but the women have more in common that just a note, trapped in a life that dictates to them, but in very different ways.

The action alternates between the pair, with the two intercutting more and more frequently as the plot unfolds.  While the underlying themes are serious, there's plenty of laughs, especially from Freer who displays great comic timing.  Lin is equally good, but there are times when her lines feel a bit too didactic, labouring the point being made.  Despite that this was very enjoyable, and makes the point well enough.  But what does a happy ending look like to two such different characters?

Another solid addition to the Play, Pie, Pint canon.

James IV : Queen of the Fight, Festival Theatre

 Two young Moorish women find themselves unexpectedly becoming 'guests' of the court of King James.  They hadn't been coming to Scotland, but piracy is commonplace in the early 16th century, and Scotland is where they will now live their lives.  The Lady Anne (Laura Lovemore) is to be the queen's companion, her servant Ellen (Danielle Jam) is to become an entertainer.  They are fortunate that there is already a black face in a prominent role at court, who can translate for them until they learn Scots, and makes them feel welcomed.  Peter (Thierry Mabonga) is one of the King's closest advisers, and ensures the women have the protection of James (Daniel Cahill).  Both Anne and Ellen become influential figures in their own right, but are also acutely aware of how vulnerable their position in this society really is, their combination of gender and skin colour making them easy meat to fall upon when the wind changes.

Through their interactions with others we see plots and policies of the time, and how personal relationships are governed by realpolitik - James is married to Margaret Tudor (Sarita Gabony), and any heir she produces could potentially become monarch of both Scotland and England (as a later descendant does, a century on).  The loneliness of kingship, the constant undercurrent of racism, the precarious nature of living in a court where whims can change, all show up in a maelstrom of a plot that moves along at a barnstorming pace and leaves the audience wondering how an hor has passed by already.

It's exciting, with some brilliantly choreographed fight sequences.  It's hilarious funny at times, with the best lines going to the obsequious Makar, Dunbar (Keith Fleming), and Dame Phemy (Blythe Duff), with Duff clearly relishing the chance to explout arch-bitch mode.  Her comic timing is impeccable.

Ellen begins and closes the play with a monologue, tying in he reality of our time with that of the characters.  Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. But in the closing minutes of the drama there is one line resonates above all others.  "Scotland - remember who you are."

Superb theatre, an entertainment as well as a serious drama, and a great achievement.

He Who Opens The Door (A Play, a Pie and a Pint), Traverse

 Vera (Louise Stewart) likes her job, down in Morgue No.5.  The 'patients' don't make a fuss, don't talk back, and certainly don't walk about.  Until Vika (Yolanda Mitchell) turns up.  It's hard to say which of them gets the bigger fright.  But once they waken up to the reaity of their situation there are a lot of questions to be asked, and a lot of scenarios to be imagined.  Is Vika dead or alive?  Is Vera? And beyond those all-of-a-sudden locked doors, who or what is waiting?  Why are they making cryptic phone calls to these to uncertain women?  And how do you face danger with only a stranger for support?

Set in contemporary Ukraine (and written by leading Ukrainian playwright Neda Nehzdana), where taking political sides is a serious business, this is a reminder of the confusion and unpredictability of a war zone, and how our minds swiftly move towards the worst possible option if given little information to work with.  There's plenty of (black) humour, tension and mystery, even a bit of song and dance.  Strong performances from the cast, excellent technical support and a sense of familiarity from so many war reports, make for a gripping fifty minutes.  And, as in real life, it leaves the viewer with many unresolved issues to ponder.  

Well worth a look and deserves bigger audiences than we saw there today.

Break My Windows (A Play, a Pie and a Pint), Traverse

 At the office of Uber-alike Bring My Wheels, Brandon (Ross Baxter) is getting annoyed with Eric (Tom McGovern) for trying to tell him how to do his job.  But arguing with Eric isn't easy, because he's not only Brandon's boss, but his dad as well.  To complicate things Brandon wants to introduce his father to Sam (Jamie McKillop), both as a potential employee of the firm, and as Eric's prospective son-in-law.  And he knows just how Dad is going to react...

Things start badly, and only get worse, with Eric and Sam becoming more and more opposed to one another.  Brandon is stuck in the middle, but where do his loyalties lie, especially when the issues are as much political and legal as they are personal?

Dave Gerow's script is smart and funny, with plenty of little call-backs and contemporary references.  On one level it's comedy about relationships and loyalties, on another it's a satire about the increasing polarisation of our political scene.  Three excellent performances help serve up the laughs and nuances, with perfect timing and pace.  Hugely enjoyable and well worth grabbing a ticket if you can.

A perfect example of how clever these fifty minute plays can be.

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

 A one-woman show based on the character of Cabaret's Sally Bowles has gone viral when the actor playing the character, also called Sally (Sally Reid), starts ad-libbing and insulting her audience.  So viral that a big name producer has signed her up for the Festival Theatre. And then?  Who knows?  London's West End and New York's Broadway beckon...

So the producer sends in Tyler (Sam Stopford) to be Sally's PA.  Because every big star big star needs a PA, right?  Juliette Binoche loved Tyler, didn't she?  Sally isn't convinced.  So it's Tyler's job to do the convincing, to turn a small town mentality into a big stage ego.  And Sally is fertile territory, and prey to conspiracy theories. But what else is the ambivalent Tyler there to do?

This show wears it's anti-fascist credentials proudly on it's sleeve.  Resulting in a script that feels like a wallop to the head too often.  It foghorns political references to the increasingly sinister tory policies we're seeing, and squeezes in bucket loads of 'names' (mostly 'celebrities' or extreme right wingers like Dorries and Trump, but there's a neat joke about the First Minister too), all of which gives a clunky, heavy handed feel to the script.  But with some good laughs along the way.  And it does manage to deliver something of a twist in the end, and it's always good to have reminder of what a powerful anti-fascist message the 1972 film delivered.  

The cast do a good job with what they've been given.  Reid's Sally is living up to her new celebrity status, but still clinging to her socialist principles, and that conflict comes across well.  Stopford's Tyler is camp, creepy and sinister, increasingly the latter, and is impossible to warm to.

Far from the best I've ever seen in the A Play, a Pie and a Pint series, but Sally has it's heart in the right place and enough comedy (and artificial flowers!) to be worth a watch.  And the pies are better than last time...

Luke Wright: The Remains of Logan Dankworth, Pleasance Courtyard, Edinburgh Festival Fringe

Logan Dankworth is about to make it. His career as a stand up wasn't really going anywhere, but now he's writing a well paid column for a big newspaper. Make it funny, make it controversial, make it large.  But when you make a living from bating public opinon, and lose your own sense of what you really do believe in, what's left?

Set against the background of the UK political scene over the past decade, it's a strong reflection of the amorality that appears to dominate so much of public discourse, and the damage that does to society and individuals.    A storming performance from Wright, with not just a play for our times, but a lyrical treat, his poetic impulses shining through in sudden couplets and shifts of rhythm and mood.  

Excellent.