Tron Theatre, Glasgow
3 stars
If anyone presumed the result of the Tron’s Herald-sponsored Open.Stage playwriting competition would be a sentimental sop for those who voted for it, think again. Because while the World War One subject matter of Abigail Docherty’s winning entry might on paper give the appearance of something heart-warmingly old-fashioned, such expectations are dashed within the first few minutes and it feels like a bomb going off in your face.
Millicent, Ailsa and Lily have headed to the front-line as well-drilled volunteers for the Scottish Women’s Hospital, the initiative founded by Edinburgh heroine Elsie Inglis. The initial social divides between Millicent and Laura McMonagle’s Ailsa made clear on the boat to France hint at life-affirming stuff of the Land Girls variety. The appearance of Carmen Pieraccini’s fierce and embittered Lily suggests something deeper than clinical efficiency and a good bedside manner, however, and before long all are knee-deep in the blood and guts of war. John and Thomas, the tellingly named soldiers around the women are similarly clinging onto dear life, and some extreme alliances are formed out of sheer human need. All are damaged and looking to change, even if it kills them.
The dead body dummies may be unconvincing, but there’s little shelter from the blast otherwise in Andy Arnold’s production. Yellow flashes punctuate a succession of staccato speeches that lay bare the wounds behind the nurses’ presumed angelic image. At times there’s an almost mediaeval feel, particularly during the increasingly desperate exchanges between Mairi Phillips’ Millicent and Paul Riley’s Thomas. Remembering the dead is one thing, Docherty suggests, but it’s the survivors who matter most.
the Herald, October 14th 2010
ends
3 stars
If anyone presumed the result of the Tron’s Herald-sponsored Open.Stage playwriting competition would be a sentimental sop for those who voted for it, think again. Because while the World War One subject matter of Abigail Docherty’s winning entry might on paper give the appearance of something heart-warmingly old-fashioned, such expectations are dashed within the first few minutes and it feels like a bomb going off in your face.
Millicent, Ailsa and Lily have headed to the front-line as well-drilled volunteers for the Scottish Women’s Hospital, the initiative founded by Edinburgh heroine Elsie Inglis. The initial social divides between Millicent and Laura McMonagle’s Ailsa made clear on the boat to France hint at life-affirming stuff of the Land Girls variety. The appearance of Carmen Pieraccini’s fierce and embittered Lily suggests something deeper than clinical efficiency and a good bedside manner, however, and before long all are knee-deep in the blood and guts of war. John and Thomas, the tellingly named soldiers around the women are similarly clinging onto dear life, and some extreme alliances are formed out of sheer human need. All are damaged and looking to change, even if it kills them.
The dead body dummies may be unconvincing, but there’s little shelter from the blast otherwise in Andy Arnold’s production. Yellow flashes punctuate a succession of staccato speeches that lay bare the wounds behind the nurses’ presumed angelic image. At times there’s an almost mediaeval feel, particularly during the increasingly desperate exchanges between Mairi Phillips’ Millicent and Paul Riley’s Thomas. Remembering the dead is one thing, Docherty suggests, but it’s the survivors who matter most.
the Herald, October 14th 2010
ends
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