Traverse Breakfast Plays

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JOYCE MCMILLAN on TRAVERSE BREAKFAST PLAYS for Scotsman Festival magazine, 19.8.14.
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IT’S WELL BEFORE 9 a.m. in the Traverse bar, but the room is packed.  In the middle stands stands a table bearing rolls, bacon, scrambled egg, and big pots of tea and coffee; people sit at tables munching their rolls and getting to grips with the morning, or join the queue that has already begun to snake its way down into Traverse 2, where Traverse associate director Emma Callander welcomes us, ten minutes later, with a glad cry of “It’s nine o’clock on a Sunday morning, and we’re in the theatre!”

And although some of the audience may look as if they have never been to bed, there’s no denying the huge popularity of the Traverse Breakfast Plays, briefly-rehearsed script-in-hand readings of brand new work featuring a brilliant team of actors, and lasting just under an hour.  This year, there are six plays, rolled out for the first time from Tuesday to Sunday last week, repeated again this week; and each one has been written by a member of the Traverse 50, the group of completely new playwrights recruited by the Traverse last year to celebrate the theatre’s 50th anniversary.  And if this raft of work is any guide, the future of Scottish playwriting is in promising hands; not safe hands, though, as these plays – each with a strong Scottish voice – veer through various levels of fantasy and surrealism, in their effort to get to grips with times that are often frightening, and sometimews downright absurd.

So the week begins with Tim Primrose’s Broth, a play about the deadliy serious issue of domestic abuse, handled with a wild and fantastical humour that defies domestic miserabilism, and even conjures up a faint echo of Synge’s Playboy Of The Western World, with its image of a rowdy and violent old patriarch rising again, despite a fierce blow to the head.  Here, though, the assailants are three women, wife, daughter and grand-daughter of the roaring, bullying Jimmy, who sees himself as a genial chap, but whose horrible temper draws the women, over decades, into an increasingly powerful conspiracy of violence.  Primrose’s text rambles on a bit, before it comes to the point.  Yet its power to attract four terrific performances – from Jimmy Chisholm, Kay Gallie, Meg Fraser and Sally Reid – suggests a huge dramatic energy in its image of three generationso of women who have finally had enough.  There’s also a strong theme of domestic violence in Molly Innes’s Mother Ease, perhaps the most naturalistic play of the six, although here, too, there’s a sense that narratives can be unstable, and that none of the characters is fully revealed.  In a council flat, two single mothers face one another, each convinced that she needs no help, and that she is advising the other on how to cope.  Eventually, they join forces to trackle a real case of child abuse; but not before this slow-moving but disturbing play has raised key questions about whose assumptions dominate, and who patronises whom, in our increasingly judgmental national debate about “bad parenting”.

For sheer formal flair and accomplishment, though, it’s the two romantic comedies in this Traverse Breakfast season that really raise the stakes, and leave the audience breathless with laughter.  Alison Carr’s Fat Alice, already seen in short form during last autumn’s Write Here! festival, is a brilliant metaphorical drama about a troubled couple – he married, she his mistress for the last ten years – whose relationship reaches a crisis when the vastly fat woman in the flat above their love-nest begins to crash down through the ceiling.  The play asks a simple question – when is enough enough?  But the sparkle and swing of the writing is terrific, attracting superb performances from Keith Fleming and Meg Fraser; and there is something deep in Carr’s entreal metaphor, about a society ill with self-indulgence, and unable to kick the habit.

And Lachlan Philpott’s Walter is equally funny and assured , a hilarious fantasy-drama about a single woman called Gina, approaching her 40th birthday, and her sister Sandra’s relentless attempts to pair her off with a man called Walter who turns out to have some very strange interests.  There’s something here about the beast within, and about the sheer risk and messiness of letting another person into our lives, after we reach a certain age; but also a fabulous mix of poetry and well-turned, well-timed comic writing, including a single stage durection which – in the context of a rehearsed reading – gets the biggest laugh of the day.

If all four of these plays show social tensions mediated through domestic life, though, the remaining two take a more explicitly political view of issues arising in Scotland, and elsewhere.  Martin McCormick’s The Day The Pope Emptied Croy is set on the day in 1982 when Pope John Paul II visited Scotland, and what seemed like every Catholic in the country went to Bellahouston Park in Glasgow to hear him say Mass.  In a deserted church in the little Catholic village of Croy, on the easter edge of Glasgow, two lads are therefore plotting a raid on the communion chalice; Ranald is a Protestant, under pressure to display his loyalties within his own community, while young Finbar is a Cathplic who cares about nothing but his relationship with Ranald.  Their story soon takes a surreal turn, though, in a passionate work-in-progress of a play that tries out several different tones, before emerging as a straightforward call-to-arms for gay rights, in a world where coming out a generation ago could be extremely dangerous, and perhaps still is.

It’s Sylvia Dow’s Blinded By The Light, though, that perhaps produces the most enduring political and dramatic vision ofthe week, with is intertwined narratives about a miner’s sit-in in a ine in Bo’ness in that same year, 1982, and about the lives of a group of  human survivors who have gone underground into the same  old mine-workings to escape catastrophic climate change, a century later.  Blinded By The Light is not a wholly successful play yet; its structure is complex, the 1982 sequences a shade predictable.  Yet it demanded a range and reach of its acting company that suggests a bigger play to come.  And here as in all the other plays, the acting ensemble of Jimmy Chisholm, Any Clark, Keith Fleming, Emma Hartley-Miller and Scott Reid – joined elsewhere by Kay Gallie, Sally Reid, and Meg Fraser – offered a dazzling display of sheer professional skill and commitment, thinking on their feet, and delivering some of the finest, toughest and most thought-provoking entertainment on the Fringe.

ENDS ENDS

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