Book of Beasts, Catherine Wheels review

Published in Northings © Mark Fisher

The Book of Beasts

ONE LOOK at Gill Robertson's face and you know you're in for a feelgood time. Before the show has even begun, the actor and mainstay of Catherine Wheels theatre company seems to have caught everyone in the eye and made all of us her friend.

In this adaptation of a children's story by E Nesbit (of Railway Children fame), she steps in and out of character, one minute drawing us into the tale as a wide-eyed narrator, the next playing a genial nurse in charge of a boy who would be king.

Like all children of his age, Lionel occasionally has to step up from his playroom games to take on new challenges. His challenge, however, is more onerous than most. When Ian Cameron's prime minister calls by with the news that the king is dead, Lionel, being next in line to the throne, has to take his turn as head of state.

Played by Scott Turnbull with the charm of a boy always trying his best, Lionel finds his new role an exciting, if tiring, adventure, although it takes him time to adjust to his new responsibilities.

Recalling the myth of Adam and Eve, Nesbit's tale is about the difficulty of resisting temptation. Having disobeyed the prime minister's instructions not to open the mysterious Book of Beasts, Lionel must deal with the consequences. When a raft of wild animals, including a hungry dragon, escape from the pages, causing havoc among his people, he must sort out the problem and learn to become a fuller, more responsible human being in the process.

Although the detail of how he defeats the dragon is a little rushed, Jo Timmins' production has a delightfully fluid, let's-pretend quality, relying on simple means and the audience's imagination to create everything from butterflies to hippogryphs.

David Trouton's lively score is to the fore (mixed rather too loud on the day I saw it), setting a rhythm the actors follow with choreographed precision. It's a simple story that could do with greater emotional range, but it's one enjoyed by audiences aged five and considerably older in a performance of much charm.

(The Book of Beasts visits Strathpeffer Pavilion, 31 March; Mallaig and Morar Community Hall, 22 April; Macphail Centre, Ullapool, 23 April; Eden Court, Inverness, 24 April; Lonach Hall, Strathdon, 3 May; Lossiemouth Village Hall, 7 May; Perth Theatre 25 May. See webiste below for full tour details)

© Mark Fisher, 2009

Curse of the Starving Class, Royal Lyceum review

Published in The Guardian © Mark Fisher

Curse of the Starving Class, Royal Lyceum review

The fridge sits centre stage. In any other American play, it would be packed with produce, a domestic symbol of the land of plenty. But in Sam Shepard's alternative vision of the postwar boom years, the cupboard is bare. His family of hard-bitten misfits out in the "boonies" of California repeatedly open the fridge in the hope of finding it full. The best it brings forth is a bag of artichokes.

Even in the most socially conscious Arthur Miller drama, life never looked so threadbare. Shepard's vision is altogether more bleak. The radio jingles that introduce each scene in Mark Thomson's production sing a hymn to consumerism, but this family, bound together less by affection than by violence, can scarcely make it from one meal to the next.

With a grim echo of our own credit crunch, they are living beyond their means, ever vulnerable to the coyote-like profiteers circling the house ready to take their prey. Their hopes for a better life are desperate and delusional.

There is much to commend in the production. Carla Mendonça is brilliantly unnerving as a mother made emotionally numb by brutal circumstance. As her alcoholic husband, Christopher Fairbank is scarily plausible, at once pathetic and dangerous. And Alice Haig is excellent as the droll daughter, her intelligence showing up the lumbering brawn of Christopher Brandon as the son.

Together they create moments of startling theatricality, whether it's Brandon urinating on his sister's homework, carrying a live lamb on to the stage or walking naked across the room. But it also comes across as an uneven piece of writing, compelling one minute, drifting the next. The overly naturalistic presentation diminishes the play's political and dramatic sense of purpose.

© Mark Fisher, 2009