Citizens Theatre, Glasgow
Five stars
The vintage microphone that hangs down centre stage may be designed for old school crooners in Linda McLean’s adaptation of Denise Mina’s true crime novel, but as it swings between those confessing not quite all, those behind it tell a far darker story.
It is 1958, and in a world where gangsterism and civic entrepreneurism rub shoulders in spit and sawdust bars and after-hours members clubs, William Watt has been released from prison after being tried for the murder of his wife, daughter and sister-in-law. Determined to clear his name, the Lanarkshire businessman ends up on a twelve-hour bender with Peter Manuel, who will later be convicted and hanged for these and other killings.
Over two intense hours, Mina’s story flits between the trial and a speculative dramatisation of what may or may not have happened during Watt and Manuel’s epic session. The result in Dominic Hill’s main stage production is a slow burning noir that starts off like some Runyonesque caper, but ends up as a collective nervous breakdown. As it contemplates rough justice, even the stab of a solitary piano note from Nikola Kodjabashia’s live score played by the cast sounds like a threat. Just wait until the drums start.
Jen McGinley’s wood lined set conjures up a sickly looking brown coloured world as it doubles up as courtroom and bar, both starkly illuminated by Stuart Jenkins’ lights. This becomes the deadly backdrop to Watt and Manuel’s fatal partnership, brought to life with pop-eyed intensity by Brian Vernel as Manuel and Keith Fleming as Watt in an unholy alliance between self made man and misfit. As the pair skirt their way around the court, the underworld and each other in a network of dives that existed on the Citz’s doorstep, at points it is as if Manuel is researching his own story to see how it ends.
There is able support from Andy Clark, Martin Donaghy, George Drennan, Mary Gapinski and Robert Jack, who flit between playing bewigged judiciary and seemingly upright citizens on the make. The sense of menace that pervades throughout Hill’s production is leavened by an underlying gallows humour. As the microphone swings silently for the final time, it is with deadly intent in a brilliantly realised rendering of a tightly wound post war world that simmers with secrets.
The Herald, June 12th 2026
ends
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