Armour: A Herstory of the Scottish Bard

Book, Music & Lyrics: Shonagh Murray

Featuring works by Robert Burns

Girls sent away from their Fathers, widows sitting in the shadows of their husbands and a mistress hiding her adoration, knowing to reveal her history would ruin her – there is little wonder women fashion themselves an armour. Rabbie Burns, epitome of lyrical writing, was known to enjoy the odd lady or two. How much do you know of him outside of your school days? Better still, how much do you know about his wife Jean, and the time she sat with his Mistress Nancy for tea.

Taken from the account of Robert Burn’s granddaughter Sarah, Armour sheds light on the effects of his life after his passing. Shonagh Murray’s script captures a tremendously warming essence of Scottish history. The script adds an air of distinguished elegance to the piece while the musical numbers are poetic and memorable. There are no cop-outs with pastiche tunes, each one is originally engaging, capturing the tone of the production strikingly.

Placing trust in their sentimentality, without reliance in pander, the all-female production craft a beautifully poetic musical, underscoring a staunch feminist message. The impact of these women, crucial characters in the lives of talented men, is a story seldom told. The story of Jean Armour, the bards wife, a woman he would return to no matter the affairs, liaisons and letters to others, does not disappoint.

These roses, as delicate as their period dress may convey, are thorny in temperament. All of the cast carry their multiple parts to fruition, in particular Burn’s wife. Armour bares their flesh, opening up the soft, quivering underbelly of uncertainty and struggles of the times.

Instead of; behind every man, there is a great woman”, perhaps “behind every man, are a few tremendous women”. If that be the case, this production is a cauldron of potential, ringing of cultural splendour and hearth. Slip on your soft, dancing shoes and bask in the glory of these women, who loved, respected and tolerated ‘the bastard’ Burns.

Myra Dubois: Dead Funny – Underbelly Bristo Square

Myra DuBois – the quadruple threat star of film, television and stage – is dead. Thank god. The world just wasn’t ready for this talent, incapable of holding itself to the high calibre Myra would expect. And so, we gather in the presence of friends, fans and total strangers to pay our respects as DuBois conducts her own funeral. Who else could do her justice?

At any Fringe show you will hear one sentence above all else: ‘Fill from the front please‘. That’s the danger zone, especially for a drag act, but Dubois’ AdMyras scramble in for their masochistic fix. With dignity, cruelty, an ounce of contempt and a restraining order, Myra can handle her crowd.

Dubois’ control, timing, and snap judgements as to who will play along are exquisite. This is someone who knows their craft, understands precisely what they can and cannot pull off, and when to dial the level up a few notches. Returning to the Fringe, she may be inside a shipping container, but this is easily her most well-constructed show to date. Song, dance, wit and a few dark moments come together. It seems there is nothing this woman cannot do, except die gracefully, or hit every note…

Diana was the people’s Princess; well, Myra is the people’s Queen. Dubois, a triumphant example of British Drag, balances the old-school grit of the artform while injecting it with rejuvenated venom.

Review originally published for The Skinny: https://www.theskinny.co.uk/festivals/edinburgh-fringe/theatre/myra-dubois-dead-funny

Photo Credit – Holly Revell

Crocodile Fever – Traverse Theatre

Written by Meghan Tyler

Directed by Gareth Nicholls

To be blunt, Crocodile Fever is a smack in the face in all of the best ways possible. Dark, hilarious, violent, gruesome, wholesome and a clusterfuck of religious iconography and blasphemy – and you have to get behind every second. It’s a story of sisterhood; a portrayal of a timeless bond that has stood tremendously difficult trials. It has themes of female and Irish oppression and also addresses sexual abuse.  

Sisters Fianna and Alannah (Lisa Dwyer Hogg and Lucianne McEvoy) are entirely relatable. Rebellious Fianna returns home after hearing of her father’s passing; meanwhile Alannah, a mousey cleanliness freak, is tending to the house. The paralyzing anxiety McEvoy conveys, contrasting Dwyer Hogg’s fiery outbursts, is exquisite.

Tyler wanted to write something that would excite 17-year olds. Well – she has (as assuredly as a man in his twenties can say). They’ll also find it touching, disturbing, and hopefully, beyond the laughs, they see a well-crafted narrative of sisterhood, patriarchy and the ill effects of giving up on someone ‘troubled’.

Rife with imagery, Grace Smart’s set design and Rachael Canning’s puppet creation are exceptional. They perfectly capture the slow, reptilian weight of archaic patriarchy from simple physical movements to the show’s finale.

Holding no punches, Crocodile Fever takes every left-turn imaginable. It doesn’t so much throw you down the rabbit hole as toss you into the gaping maw of a hungry beast. Crocodile Fever will put people off, and it bloody well should. If it didn’t have that streak of rebellious, finger-flipping attitude, it wouldn’t work nearly as well as it does.

Photos by Lara Cappelli