Once musical at Pitlochry Festival Theatre – review

And so it begins. The announcement of Alan Cumming as the new artistic director of Pitlochry Festival Theatre is the biggest piece of news to have come out of Scottish theatre in several years, and Once is the first production he has overseen since taking up the job.

It’s a statement, of course, and hats off to him for choosing a show like this to launch his tenure. He could have picked a conventional musical or a well-worn crowd-pleaser, but instead Cumming chose a Scottish premiere of a musical that’s both familiar and strange, feelgood while also being strangely melancholic.

In some ways, the musical (based on the 2007 movie, and having won Tony Awards on Broadway in 2012) ticks so many boxes that it’s almost a stereotype – boy meets girl, they fall in love, boy tries to make it big in showbiz – and much of John Tiffany’s production leans into this. All of the cast of singing musicians are on stage throughout, performing what amounts to a choric role; Steven Hoggett’s choreography is ritualistic and ceremonial more than beautiful; and the two lead characters are known only as Guy and Girl, underlining the idea that there’s something close to archetypal going on.

Yet there’s tremendous humanity here, too. The Dublin setting unfolds within the frame of (where else?) a beautifully realistic pub, one where the audience can go onstage for a drink, if they like, and the cast are midway through playing a folk session as ticket holders file into the auditorium. Bob Crowley’s designs get this just right, down to the fogged glass on the mirrors, and the characters that inhabit the setting have foibles and traits that make them easy to engage with. I loved the shop owner whose Spanish heritage shines through at surprising moments, and the heavy metal drummer who joins the folk group, while it’s a lovely touch for the Czech immigrant who wants to assimilate to be wearing a Westlife t-shirt.

Yet none of this would count for much if it weren’t for the big-hearted performances. As the romantic leads Lydia White and Dylan Wood inhabit beautifully the role of awkward would-be lovers who struggle to find one another, the body language in their moments of dialogue always beautifully observed. Charlie West’s semi-Spanish shop owner is a hoot, as is Laurie Jamieson’s Bank Manager with his meticulously differentiated Cork accent, and the Czech family add wonderful colour, led by the formidable matriarch of Allison Harding.

This is a cast of gifted musicians who act, and that, thrown in with the pub setting, adds a real layer of authenticity to the whole show. Sometimes that’s a little overdone, such as in the way it takes ages for the show to start: there are a lot of scene-setting songs in the opening jam, and did we really need all four verses of “On Raglan Road”? Indeed, the show as a whole could do with some trimming. The songs by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová are marvellously wistful and very atmospheric, but each act could lose one and be no worse off.

Still, this is a big success with which to start Cumming’s regime in Pitlochry, and if it’s a sign of things to come then Scottish audiences are in for a treat.