Fringe theatre reviews: The Pitch | Landsfrau | Boy in a Box | SpinQueen™

The Pitch | Image: contributed

THEATRE

The Pitch ★★★★

Pleasance Courtyard (Venue 33) until 31 August

Landsfrau ★★★

Summerhall (Venue 26) until 31 August

THE QUESTION of who controls a piece of land, and who is allowed to claim it as their own, lies at the root of most of the world’s conflicts. In Philip Catherwood’s powerful play The Pitch, presented at the Courtyard as part of the Pleasance’s Edinburgh National Partnership programme, the land in question is a football pitch in a near-future East Belfast, where sports-mad local lad Robbie has always played and practised, and where his late mother - herself no mean footballer - taught him the game.

It’s therefore hardly surprising that Robbie is both furious and grief-stricken when he hears - via a young man from a neighbouring area whom he meets at the football park - that his pitch is likely to be taken over soon, for GAA or Gaelic football rather than soccer. And in the run-up to a Border Referendum in which Northern Ireland’s future - British or Irish - may be decided once and for all, we see Robbie, his live-wire younger sister Melissa, and their new friend (or foe) Deren, trying to find their own way though this historic transition.

Catherwood’s play handles this material with a powerful and sometimes electrifying mix of fast-talking comedy - much of it carried by Dión Di Maio’s irrepressibly upbeat Melissa - and profound seriousness, as Deren comes to understand the extent to which Robbie is caught between the promise of a new and more harmonious future, and his father’s old time anti-Irish Unionist.

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And Catherwood’s play reminds us, too, of how young people can be driven to challenge old divisions by the sheer force of their curiosity, and their friendships and attractions; as James Grimm’s Robbie, and Jake Douglas’s Deren, movingly work their way past moments of political fury and sexual misunderstanding, to become potential friends and team-mates, at last.

There’s no literal piece of land at stake in German-Afghan theatre maker Mariann Yar’s show Landsfrau (Countrywoman) at Summerhall. Yet all the same, Yar’s solo performance about her life as a young Afghan woman growing up in Germany raises some vital questions about who can lay claim to German identity and heritage, in an age when many of those being raised to know and love Germany’s language and literature are not originally of German origin.

In her 60-minute show - co -created with director Leonard Dick, of the Doris Crea Collective - Mariann Yar dances, acts out scenes of “othering” from her schooldays (“Is your father Osama Bin Laden?” comes the inevitable question), hands out Afghan tea to audience members gathered convivially on stage, and generally tries to do too much, in a scatter-gun show that often lacks focus.

The force of Yar’s personality is memorable, though, as she confronts the audience with challenging questions about whether she can ever really “belong” in western Europe; and also with vivid glimpses of Afghan life and culture as women there once knew and transmitted it, before the Taliban sought once again to silence them completely, leaving their daughters and granddaughters elsewhere to speak for them, to the wider world. Joyce McMillan

THEATRE

Boy in a Box ★★★

Gilded Balloon Patter Hoose (Venue 24) until 30 August

“This might not go down well,” says Paul Coates, the writer and performer of this odd little monologue directed by Thomas Zoeschg. He goes on to explain he adopted a child 16 years ago. He built a wooden box in which the child lived, fed him through a slot in the door, took him for walks after dark but never let him off the leash. Now, he says, the kid wants out. He stands aside so we can see a live feed to the box in his basement: there is pounding from the inside. “Are you going to call the police?” he asks.

The situation appears to be a metaphor for the systemic racism in the United States; the speaker is a cancelled history professor giving the lecture his college wouldn’t allow. Coates is so committed to the character that he hurries away at the end, not waiting for applause. It’s a daring show, in one sense, a rambling, provocative lecture peppered with phrases which could be thought-provoking but might be deeply offensive. There’s little reasoned argument, no tidy conclusion. Given that we don’t really need to be told that racism is bad, I’m not clear what he’s trying to achieve. Susan Mansfield

THEATRE

SpinQueen™ ★★★★

Jade Studio at Greenside @ George Street (Venue 236) until 29 August

Megan Tomei cycles full speed on an exercise bike into an unrelenting 50 minutes of theatre in SpinQueen™. This is her spin class, and we are the participants. In a tour de force performance, Tomei characterises Meg, who at once parodies fitness-obsessed girls intent on ‘getting stronger without getting fatter’ and carefully exposes their vulnerability. Boldly original, brave and satirical, yet consistently grounded in truth, SpinQueen™ will likely have you laughing until you’re trembling.

From Tomei's initial full-spirited entrance, she rides full throttle on the bike, cycling right up to the curtain call. It is an impressive physical feat to achieve every day throughout August, but it makes the show. Bringing pace, rhythm, and enabling Tomei to access the psychology of her obsessive character, its repetitive action becomes the beat to the nightmare that is unfolding before us.

To this beat, Tomei invigorates her often jaw-dropping script, littered with hints that reveal Meg is not as carefree as she wants to seem. She holds her audience in the palm of her hand, wholeheartedly responsible for the thrilling pace of the performance. Maintaining focus, Tomei subjects us to the erratic pressures she describes in monologue, all to the pace of her pedal, as a clever allegory prevents her from unclipping from the bike that is enabling her mental distress.

It is disappointing to cut this laboured-for intensity short for an opposing naturalistic monologue, as Tomei outlines Meg’s experience of domestic abuse. It feels forced into her farcical world that is already believable, and in which Tomei has more astutely implied that Meg is suffering.

Yet this discrepancy is soon redeemed, as the show enters a new realm altogether, utilising horror to finally expose Meg at her most broken. It is a courageous shift that sticks, and it is here that Meg counteractively finally unmasks her humanity. Róisin McMullan

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