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Festival Theatre
Sub Rosa is a typically immersive piece of theatre from Leddy, and, while the building itself effortlessly provides its own stair-creaking atmosphere, every effort has been made to transport the audience back in time, from the pungent lavender balm in strongman Svaty Václav’s dressing room, to the rows of costumes and hair-pieces in wig master Angus MacNeil’s workroom. The tight space allows the audience to appreciate the compelling detail and nuances of the performances. If it all feels somewhat rarefied Leddy’s pure form of theatre is to be welcomed in a climate dominated by variable verbatim pieces gleaned from news cuttings. (Allan Radcliffe) ■ Hill Street Theatre, 226 6522, until 30 Aug (not 17, 24), every 20 mins from 10.20–11.20pm & midnight–12.40am, £10–£15.
SEX IDIOT Enjoyably loopy journey through Bryony Kimmings’ past loves ●●●●●
THE NOT SO FATAL DEATH OF GRANDPA FREDO Frenetically-paced Vox Motus show lets fly with the satirical dartboards ●●●●● The notion of faith – whether intractable or questioning – is a motif that gradually makes itself known as this amusing and rambunctious ragbag of a show proceeds through its tricksy, playful paces to its conclusion. Along the way there are gleeful satirical potshots taken in all directions. A backwoods American town, which is declared ‘shit’ in the first of many faux Country and Western songs, suffers the unique disadvantages of a recreational fishing town with no fish. This is due in no small part to a polluted river, courtesy of a Sarah Palin- like mayor who has an eye for the news camera (Imogen Toner). Local café owner and secret survivalist (Simon Donaldson) registers his concerns, while the sheriff (Harry Ward) fears for his job. The solution to the town’s problems lies with a utopian Norwegian oddball
(Ewan Donald), who has cryogenically preserved his dead granddad. A snapshot of these characters gives you an idea of the satirical dartboards.
None of this, though, delivers a sense of the wild and freewheeling style of this Vox Motus production, which exists at a frenetic pace; jigging between bizarre sight gags, multimedia, puppetry and song, the piece fairly wedgies and gooses its audience through the twisted corridors of its story. Amidst its well-delivered sweary ditties emerges the
theme of how the media creates forms of seemingly unshakeable beliefs on the turn of a coin. Now if other satirical targets are so disparate they fail to fully come into focus – the energy of the piece largely overwhelms this flaw. In front of an ingenious multi-purpose shed, the ensemble is splendid, to the point where it would be invidious to pick out any individual. Put it on your festival ‘to-dos’. (Steve Cramer) ■ Traverse Theatre, 228 1404, until 29 Aug (not 16, 23), times vary, £19–£17 (£12–£13).
pub, as the bartender wipes glasses. For Mehrdad Seyf (representing Iran), football is intertwined with politics. For his counterpart Chris (representing Poland; he’s Essex-born but his dad’s Polish), it’s something to obsess over. For both, the relationship between Iran and Poland has affected their family history.
The resulting I-go-you-go slideshow oscillates between the fascinating, the revealing, the confessional and the merely mildly interesting; and there are some lo-res clips of the match in question, as well. While both men are engaging speakers, and the venue encourages intimacy, the show’s demands on its audience are chiefly intellectual: to take in facts and trivia, and only to respond emotionally at infrequent moments (the tale of Mehrdad’s uncle, in particular). The highly emotive closing image therefore
leaves us wondering whether we’ve missed something vital. (Matt Boothman) ■ Thistle Street Bar, 556 6550, until 28 Aug (not 16, 23), 5pm, £9–£10 (£7.50–£8.50).
SUB ROSA Atmospheric, immersive Victorian promenade horror story ●●●●● David Leddy’s Sub Rosa was originally created for the dark nooks and crawlspaces of Glasgow’s Citizens Theatre. But its new home, the symbol-festooned Masonic Lodge in the heart of Edinburgh’s New Town, is such a perfect fit for the Victorian gothic promenade piece, you feel Leddy could have written the show with this space in mind. It’s a veritable TARDIS of a building that gradually opens out into bigger, even more impressive rooms as a series of larger-
than-life theatrical ghosts gradually unburden themselves of the horrific tale of chorus girl Flora McIvor.
You could probably fit Bryony Kimmings’ inhibitions into a matchbox. Frank, confident, and more than a little bit unhinged, this show is her reaction to the discovery earlier this year that she’d contracted an STI. In a fashion similar to the Jim Jarmusch film Broken Flowers, the 29-year-old decides to revisit all her past lovers, and assess the drunken sex, broken hearts and infidelities that went on along the way.
Part performance art, part dance and part spoken word, with some livid keytar love songs thrown in for good measure, Kimmings’ ‘wonky DIY’ approach is a pleasure to watch, even if some of the material is occasionally uncomfortably loopy to listen to. Her lo-tech set is sprinkled with feathers, garlands, paper chains and battered suitcases, which she dips into through the show, pulling out a spectacular array of glitter matador trousers, Native American headdresses and see-through crochet frocks. (Prepare for gratuitous flashing of both T and A, which Kimmings is a big fan of.) Original and entertaining, Kimmings might be an idiot, but she does it with plenty charm. (Claire Sawers) ■ Zoo Roxy, 662 6892, until 30 Aug, 8.20pm, £7.
12–19 Aug 2010 THE LIST 81