“Commendable artistry.”

Editorial Rating: 3 Stars

Edinburgh-based company Nevermore Theatre has crafted a varied, conceptually rich take on three haunting stories with EH16: Pyre. The stories are brutal and unsettling examples of institutional cruelty towards women, made all the more horrifying given that they are all true. Yes, Agnes Samson was immolated in a witch trial; Jessie King was indeed involved in a tragic infanticide business and hanged for it; Violet Foster was devastatingly treated and denied assistance to the point she was murdered by her ex-boyfriend. The performances are deft, the subject matter is affecting, and the show certainly lives up to Nevermore’s description of it as a “post-modern, feminist horror.”

Maegan Hearons, Gillian Bain, and Megan Travers — respectively playing Samson, King, and Foster — deliver solid turns as each haunted woman. They all utilise their physicalities intriguingly, and display some commendable artistry as they move about in carefully choreographed ways to create scenes and visuals to assist the stories being told. Haerons particularly delivers an arresting performance as the chronologically oldest subject Agnes Samson, whose only crime was performing abortions for young North Berwick girls who had no other way of carrying on. The desperation and calamity evoked in Haerons’ performance stands out in the intentionally uncomfortable approach of the production.

Bain and Travers turn in commendable performances as well — Bain’s facial expressions are certainly arresting as she describes her horrifying practice, and the fragility of Turner’s performance is heartbreaking as she embodies Foster’s tragic demise — yet overall, the production is let down by constant interruptions of its own high-quality elements. The beginning of the show is a questionable rendition of Destiny’s Child’s ‘Survivor,’ which comes across as hokey rather than haunting, and is accompanied by an overlong dance sequence that seems misplaced for the ultimate tone of the rest of the show. In fact, though a lot of the choreography is graceful, too often the movements become tediously wiggly and over-produced, resulting in numerous dances that would benefit from some cutting down. During the third or fourth musical interlude one begins to wonder why EH16: Pyre spends so little time on the women’s actual stories, which are certainly fascinating, yet unfortunately under-discussed in this play dedicated to them.

This show is an interesting one, with a solid idea and commendable performances all around, yet unfortunately not quite enough structure to leave a deep impact. With some editing, however, Nevermore could have a deeply intriguing production on their hands, and haunt viewers deeply. The talent is there – it just needs a few more steps for the haunting to really stick.

Reviewer: Nathaniel Brimmer-Beller (Seen 9 August)

“A pleasant, informative escape into a stylish world with an intriguing guide.”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars

“You know I’m dead?” begins Michelle Yim, as she finishes her opening number. This new one-woman show from Grist to the Mill Productions continues in this vein of playful, entertaining documentary-theatre with a light touch and a pleasant appreciation for Old Hollywood charm. And there is plenty of this charm in this show: a tribute to and revitalisation of the story of Anna May Wong, Hollywood’s first (and essentially only) Chinese-American actress of the silent era. The show is calm and straightforward, with dashes of the glamorous here and there and a sweet sense of humour, which provides a pleasant, informative escape into a stylish world with an intriguing guide. 

Yim plays Wong with talent, vivacity, and an exceedingly agreeable lightness, which is at times somewhat repetitive, but with a story this unique it does not really detract. The narrative, scripted by Ross Ericson, is interesting, but not quite enthralling, although the marriage of visuals and clips that augment the history on a slideshow in the background is a very good choice. The moments when Yim refers to a film or a play Wong performed in are much more gripping when there is a visual of the piece in question, and in the moments where there is none, it feels a bit distant and undercooked as a presentation.

However, for the most part, the narrative features some thought-provoking questions about race and success in America, such as whether a star like Wong let herself be distanced from her culture, or intentionally decided to craft her life her own way. The best moments of this show come when these heavier questions are asked, or when Hollywood politics are prodded at directly, such as the Motion Picture Code’s racial laws forbidding cross-racial kisses, or the possibilities of foreign landscapes such as Berlin and London offering diverse performers chances to succeed in new, more creative ways.

There are also tragic elements to Wong’s story that land well, such as her relegation to repetitively uninteresting roles or her uneven relationship with her family. Other aspects of her personality, however, such as her possible bisexuality and burgeoning self-centeredness are only hinted at in passing, without enough depth to make either of these crucial elements of Wong’s character seem important to Ericson’s view of her. This omission feels somewhat cheap and misguided, but thankfully Yim embodies Wong with enough verve that there is not much room to dislike what An Evening With Miss Wong puts forward. 

The most arresting element of this production is its recreation of Wong’s musical talent. Pearl Yim’s arrangements of a few Old Hollywood songs are all lovely, though again somewhat light and brisk; that is, until the finale of the show, a soulful, heartening rendition of “These Foolish Things,” a gorgeous classic actually written about Miss Wong herself, that deserves ovation all by itself. Between this finale, Yim’s charming Old Hollywood personification, and the noble approach in general of reminding modern audiences of this long-gone legend, An Evening With Miss Wong is a Fringe project well worthy of your time.

Reviewer: Nathaniel Brimmer-Beller (Seen 9 August)

“Features two of the most hypnotically talented performances of this kind of theatre that one can imagine.”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars

There might not be a more dynamic duo performing a play this year than Michael Ajao and Valentine Olukoga. As Nigerian brothers Ben and Obembe, these two gifted actors weave a complicated and enthralling yarn over 70 minutes, so intricate and poetic that it comes as no surprise the story is adapted from a Man Booker-nominated novel. The Fishermen follows the beats of many a heavy narrative, with foreshadowing, doomed individuals, unreliable narrators and a circular, multi-layered structure — despite an occasional sense of the melodramatic, this play is a seriously impressive offering. 

The plot, adapted by Gbolahan Obisesan from the book by Chigozie Obioma, is ostensibly about a Nigerian family who endure devastating tragedies and possibly supernatural intervention, but through the eyes of the two youngest sons looking back on their childhoods. Ben and Obembe are two of four brothers; meeting again after an initially unspecified time apart, they take delight in comparing their impersonations of their siblings and parents, which eventually smooths out into a full retelling of the story of their family’s disintegration. As Ajao and Olukoga swap impressions and voices, they also don various physicalities of the myriad characters, resulting in some dazzlingly nimble portrayals of multiple characters. The choreography of all these personalities is constantly stunning, as is the pleasantly simplistic set, consisting only of a few sandbags and metal poles which are brandished, tossed, hid behind, run through, and smacked to drive home a point or two. 

The entire production, in fact, relies on the multifaceted usability of various miscellanea, from the poles to the colours and intensities of lighting to the sometimes captivating sometimes haunting musical score, to the performers themselves. It is no understatement to say The Fishermen features two of the most hypnotically talented performances of this kind of theatre that one can imagine — Ajao and Olukoga are capable of jumping from character to character with such passion and specificity you will believe there is an entire ensemble onstage. They traverse ages, one second a young boy, the next an old maid; they flip personalities, from a maddened mother to a corrupt policeman and back again in a flash; once or twice even across species, as the fishermen suddenly embody the fish. 

The production’s breakneck speed is both deeply impressive for its performers’ dexterity and quite disturbing, for its surprisingly horrifying subject matter. One particularly intriguing element of this frenetic multi-roling is the eventual shift from playful impersonation to darker realms verging on the schizophrenic or untethered — though endlessly impressive, this device becomes somewhat overplayed from time to time. The surreal is introduced about halfway through, in a device both haunting and seemingly out of another production altogether; Ajao must be given credit for his disarming portrayal of a possibly possessed madman, which is one of the more viscerally affecting visual moments of the show. Moments like this, however, result in a disorienting effect: though not necessarily a negative aspect, the fact that Ajao plays both the madman and the youngest brother who is so terrified by the madman’s words, and the forlorn mother, and about a hundred other souls is an exhausting experience, and comes to feel at odds with the depth and dourness of the narrative.

Ultimately, however, this novelistic piece of theatre is one of the more mature and compelling shows at Fringe, and well worthy of a large and engaged audience. The story is book-ended quite affectingly with a reunion, which is a splendid choice for such an otherwise complex, frenetic story. The show may be sad, but the central performers will wow you, without a doubt. 

Reviewer: Nathaniel Brimmer-Beller (Seen 8 August)