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Michael Cox reviews Thief, The Lieutenant of Inishmore and Trainspotting.Tucked away from much of the Fringe madness is the Hill Street theatre space. Part of Universal Arts programme, the space makes nice use of the Masonic lodge and is home to an impressive bill.
This includes Thief (***), a well-played homage to Jean Genet. Following the exploits of a criminal who goes by the name Sailor, the play is an hour-long walk down the dark path of prostitution and violence.
The production is solid, and it’s nicely directed by its writer, Liam Rudden. The pace never lets up, and the story that unfolds is consistently interesting. Sailor’s trek from cocksure hustler to desperation makes for some riveting moments, even if the final few minutes go down a rather predictable path that fails in delivering anything as remotely shocking or moving as anything covered in the first half.
The production’s masterstroke, however, is in performer Matt Robertson, who paints a compelling portrait as antihero Sailor. Robertson makes you side with a pretty deplorable character, one who commits questionable acts and demands little sympathy—despite occasionally winning it.
Scottish-based In Your Face Theatre has taken a rather ambitious challenge this Fringe: perform two 75-minute productions three times a day. Stamina is enough to impress here, let alone their treatment of both productions.
First is The Lieutenant of Inishmore (****), Martin McDonagh’s black comedy of revenge, double-crosses (and triple-crosses) and cats. The play follows a number of people stuck in the crossfires of IRA politics and retribution. It’s bleak material that has its tongue so firmly in the cheek that it could rupture—which, for this production, might actually be fitting.
Convention has been thrown out the window here. The audience are marched into a small space straight out of a snuff film: covered in bin liner bags that are splattered. The ponchos and plastic bags that are handed out are for the audience’s protection, for this is a production that has a habit of literally spilling out onto the audience—the bodies pile up and the blood gets thrown around.
It’s a director’s choice that could have been gimmicky, but here it actually works. The violence in McDonagh’s play usually is played as a living comic book and gets outrageous; here it leaves a mark while still being funny. In a way, it makes the audience a bit more complicit in the violence that ensues.
As for the production itself, it works far more than not. The company form a great ensemble, with standout performances from Kenny MacLeod and Christie Russell-Brown. The comedy and tension is well-balanced, though some audience members spent much of the time buried in their ponchos in fearful anticipation of getting whacked.
If there is a flaw, it could be found in the trimming of the script. McDonagh’s play makes perfect sense and gives equal time to its characters, though in this condensed version some characters feel a bit short-changed, meaning some don’t get as much emotional investment as they should for the final showdown to have its dramatic punch.
But this is still a very good production: equally cringe-worthy and hilarious with a brave aura about it.
Perhaps surpassing Inishmore in ambition is the rave-set Trainspotting (****), a flawed promenade production that nonetheless manages to astonish in its sheer boldness and give-a-damn attitude. The story is similar to the film: a collection of Edinburgh wasters get up to bad behaviour via sex and drugs. Those expecting the film will certainly be confused: gone is the much-loved Spud and Sick Boy takes a back seat, but Tommy is far more prevalent.
In the centre of things is Gavin Ross’ rather excellent Renton. No ghost of Ewan McGregor here: Ross is electric from start to finish, running around the entire space and using the audience with ease. It is a striking performance from beginning to end that’s worth the price of admission alone. Equally impressive is Greg Esplin’s doomed Tommy, a character that is both sympathetic and unnerving.
There are many brilliant ideas at play here: a club setting, a chorus with skull masks (harking back to the novel’s original cover), hand held lights that create an occasionally freaky atmosphere, shifting walls and blocking that weaves throughout the space and audience. Sadly, not all of the ambition pays off. Some chorus members are weak links, and much of the movement between scenes just doesn’t work. The staging is difficult to access at times with walls and low vantage points preventing some audience members from seeing clearly.
And yet, with all of that in mind, the experience is so brazen and willing to go out on a limb that it’s easy to forgive its hiccups. There is much to appreciate here, and the blatant ambition and energy from its more-than-game company make this a journey worth taking, even if there is the gnawing notion that a better production is buried within.
All productions have ended their runs.
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