Church Hill Theatre
Four stars
The title of Greek auteur Mario Banushi’s devastating meditation on death, family and the baggage left behind comes from the Albanian restaurant his father ran, and which translates as Restaurant of Kindness. Kindness isn’t the first thing that comes to mind in the 70 minutes that follow, as Banushi lays bare the agony of a family’s grief in a series of set-pieces that become increasingly ritualistic.
On designer Sotiris Melanos’ tiled wall set, Banushi steps out of the shower having cleansed his sins for a funeral. Once suited and booted, he sits beside a row of grieving women. This is heightened by the remarkable singing voice of Savina Yannatou, whose improvised lament is a wracked howl that at points sounds drawn from the same guttural well as Greek/American virtuoso, Diamanda Galas.
A jacket torn from the earth where the body is buried hangs on the back of a chair. One of the women who has just attempted to feed another only to have it spat back at her attacks the jacket with a wet towel. Her ferocity suggests unfinished business. Another woman only wants to covet the jacket and the comfort it provides. Bodily functions become outbursts of raw emotion to fill the empty void ahead.
Banushi’s wordless construction at points feels like a natural heir to late Bosnian director Mladen Materic’s similarly dialogue free work, which served up something just as intense for Edinburgh audiences in the early 1990s with shows such as the kitchen set La Cuisine.
In Taverna Miresia, Katerina Kristo, Rita Lytou, Eftychia Stefanou and Yannatou navigate their woozy way through intimate acts of purging. These are pulsed by Jeph Vanger’s funereal music and wrapped in the sepia gloom of Eliza Alexandropoulou and Marietta Pavlaki’s lighting. Banushi watches over it all, either holding the restaurant sign aloft or else melting into the corner where he squats, as the fallout of the family’s loss play out.
It is as if a child caught in the crossfire of savage domestic unrest was paying wide-eyed witness to grown up stuff that only makes sense later. In this way, Banushi’s series of dramatised sense memories transcend their painful roots to create a visual poetry of loss that leaves a stark and unforgettable beauty in its wake.
The Herald, August 28, 2026
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