Theatre
’ , i» . V]. 3.” i. .‘~ .. j . t I l by} iff‘: A N r .: 4:47, -’ 1. - i' , » : I ‘ ' H ‘ ‘ ".. " ' ‘ Arches. Glasgow. run ended ' O...
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[Mi .1: o'l‘rtrt ,tlltt tit't‘tri'l I'lir the trunk, bowls of the Art‘hen by our VIN)” and the drserilbodled .or. w ill .l worrtrln wreaking nr‘h rrrllrnr; tr'lut‘. e'rter spar {fir prevroutsly unmr rrerl ix, theatre ,ludrentery where rank xrnellu and trruntrntj sounds ternt‘, rrll' trantl
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Around oil ~.olunteer:, uh. r mim- ‘.‘.'rth a trurrlrt, that}; a rretllt l.ii()lt't)t)ltijrilt'i Ar Seed nuke ut~ the bulk ot the r .l‘l. and .vrth their blornl. eye noekeltr. the only (tellllltlrln ln othermne err.pty tar en. they plead tor redernptron as, hurr‘, by lherr rrurnbert. alone are rrrrnply overwhelrnrng (Blrnrpxer. ot groaning trgures, rn ‘Jarrouz, Iexel-r r »t personal torture eaught through deor‘. lett open at; rt by (leerdent give the rfxtlt'llt'lltt' the nrghtrnarrtrh duality ot wandering
of improbable places. Meantime, we encounter a host the torgotten wards ol a turn ot litr- of the condemned and innocent of the city’s landscape, eentury psyrlrratnr Institution Hy throwing up perils and suffering in a recognisable form literally being kept on our toer,
:fiegk'gget Station. Giasgow. Um” Sat 15 Apr ... for anyone living in a metropolis. Sheesy pop and-live throughout. we're denied the (halite musrc accompanies the event, utrlrsrng an extensrve to berorne lully at ea..e wrth the
It seems that journeys through Hell of one kind or company of actors, artists and musicians in creating surroundings At trrnez, there':. a lliilt-
another are very much the thing in Scottish theatre at images of atomised urban life. too rnueh to take Ill, however, and
the moment. If you‘re in a purgatorial state of mind, you Sandy Thomson’s production, backed by the NTS, what's, already a drsengagrng
might wish to add this piece to the Arches‘ version of revolves around a series of gobsmacking set pieces, voreeover I“, loreed out of the
Dante‘s Inferno. Poorboy’s piece about Hell and from the waiting room in which we are given various eonsuous by the the writhing rnas‘. ol
redemption emerges as a very contemporary version of psychological self-help texts, among them the Bible, to desperate souls lhat aside. this; an
the underworld as it proceeds, shunting us from one the Glasgow underground, where an erotic minuet is exhrlaratrng expertenr:e_ but not one
familiar urban site to another, from Queen Street played out across platforms between our Lucifer and tor the larnthearted, riddle lhorntonj
Station, through a pub, on to the underground, and three sirens whose attire suggests Nicholas Roeg’s
after a hair raising journey in the back of a darkened Don ’t Look Now. The finale, performed through a
transit, to that very epitome of the dark side, the temple of Mammon of glass and concrete is both
modern glass tower workplace. intimate and spectacular by turns, and worth the
Through it all, we are accompanied by a belligerent piece‘s long journey alone. All the same, it is a long but ceaselessly insecure Lucifer (Brian Alexander), journey, and perhaps the story, enriched with ancient
haunted by angelic hoodies and visions of beauty. Most myth as it is, is a little too simple for the ambition of all, his fascination with a woman (Carmen Pieraccini) attested to by piece’s length and frequent formidable
he meets in the symbolic gatekeeper‘s lair of a railway demonstrations of visual power. For all that, Alexander lost property office drives him through the city, and we shows some real strength as a close-up actor. A good witness his projected erotic fantasies in a succession night of theatre, if 20 minutestoo long. (Steve Cramer)
seol llSll l’lii Mli Hi PERFECT PIE North Edinburgh Arts Centre, Tue 4—Wed 5 Apr, then touring COO.
lhere a genre ol girl bonding plays; rn the 80?, whreh explored the (,ornplex relatrorruhrpt, between ~.‘./ornen and ended Wlill an unpleasant sexual assault as surely as. tootball rnatr;he'e end wrth a whistle If thrf; was the only errtena by whreh we eould judge (janadran author Judith lhorrrp‘son'i‘, play rt (,ould easily be ghetlorsed as a latter day preee of genre wrrtrng But rt the play treks rnany ot the boxes of this form of naming. rtr, rrr;h language. recurrent rrnages and delicate ernotronal nuaneef; tar 1:X(,U(:(t ttlrt,
ln rt. housewife Patsy (Mary Keeganl. now rnrddle aged and seemingly contented .‘.’Ilh her tarnrly lrte on a rernote tarrn. contacts her (,‘hrldhood friend Mane (Sarah (Lollrer r, now ealled Haneesea. a glarrrorous theatre aetress l'nerr reunion brings baek rnerrrorres of therr youth to the point that the ehrldhood Marie (Kirsty Woodland Patsy lLLl(,y luekl appear. and we trace a friendship that overeornes class and E)(:(,itllléill t ssurrrptrons trorn (LillldilOOd to teendorn An acerdent involvrng a train, and the sum“ rnrnded cornrnunrty rn whreh they live. separates thern.
Maureen Beatty's produetror‘. rn front of Jan Bee Brown's srrnple but effective larn rhouse kitelren, locker roorn set trrurnphs throogh Its sense of finely observed detail eapturrrrg ernotrorr rn esser‘ree through srrnple gestures. Thompson's language. full as rt rs; of rrnagery of broken parrrngs and single eyes. rs rendered With haunting sirl‘rplrelly' by the actors. Among these. it seems rr‘.vrdrous to pull out srngle pertorrr ranees from such a strong ensemble, but Collrer's glarnourpuss wrth a bleak seCret and Wood as her troubled. relentlessly awkward former self are both
4;, . ‘ outstanding An engrossing and very rrrovrng nrght of theatre. (Steve Cramer)
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