Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh
4 stars
A dieing bird flapping after dear life on a domestic balcony is the starting point for Linda McLean’s new play, which puts at its centre May, a woman coming to terms with her secret past while attempting to build a brighter future. Over the course of five liaisons with the men in her life, a forensically dissected portrait emerges of May’s attempts to heal herself through various relationships, some already strained to breaking point. Throughout each, be they with husband, father, internet lover, brother or social worker, there’s a quiet desperation to connect, to feel something, even, and sometimes because, it hurts.
Understatedly reticent to begin with, strangers, babies’ emotional gear-shifts are cranked up when you least expect them in Philip Howard’s lean, stripped-back production. Each playlet is invested with a pulsing, itchy intensity made all the more powerful by their matter-of-factness. As May changes clothes between scenes, it’s as if she’s shedding skins before trying on her latest disguise.
McLean taps into one of the great taboos of the age, where, for May, every room feels like a cell. Only outdoors, where she meets brother Denis, devastatingly played by Iain Robertson, do both parties embrace the space enough to finally let rip. Gillian Kearney is suitably sparrow-like as May, gradually settling into herself and wisely avoiding the temptation for show-boating hysterics. The scene between May and her internet date is quietly shocking, and any laughs there are become a palpable release. It’s when a baby cries, though, that the hairs on the back of your neck stand up with the alarm of knowing what’s already occurred.
March 1st 2007
ends
4 stars
A dieing bird flapping after dear life on a domestic balcony is the starting point for Linda McLean’s new play, which puts at its centre May, a woman coming to terms with her secret past while attempting to build a brighter future. Over the course of five liaisons with the men in her life, a forensically dissected portrait emerges of May’s attempts to heal herself through various relationships, some already strained to breaking point. Throughout each, be they with husband, father, internet lover, brother or social worker, there’s a quiet desperation to connect, to feel something, even, and sometimes because, it hurts.
Understatedly reticent to begin with, strangers, babies’ emotional gear-shifts are cranked up when you least expect them in Philip Howard’s lean, stripped-back production. Each playlet is invested with a pulsing, itchy intensity made all the more powerful by their matter-of-factness. As May changes clothes between scenes, it’s as if she’s shedding skins before trying on her latest disguise.
McLean taps into one of the great taboos of the age, where, for May, every room feels like a cell. Only outdoors, where she meets brother Denis, devastatingly played by Iain Robertson, do both parties embrace the space enough to finally let rip. Gillian Kearney is suitably sparrow-like as May, gradually settling into herself and wisely avoiding the temptation for show-boating hysterics. The scene between May and her internet date is quietly shocking, and any laughs there are become a palpable release. It’s when a baby cries, though, that the hairs on the back of your neck stand up with the alarm of knowing what’s already occurred.
March 1st 2007
ends
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