Put bluntly, the Scottish accent (or specifically Beattie’s Scottish accent) makes her character seem an awful lot warmer than I imagine the default English characterisation would. The unnamed woman has moved to a village in the country, outside the city.
From the model of her architect-designed house, perched on a stool as part of John Byrne’s evocative set, we infer that she is well-to-do. Her own children’s pictures are drawn on “clean white paper” and “collected in clearly labelled see-through boxes”. She frets about fingerprints on her shiny black piano. We can all imagine this sort of cold-blooded, Hampstead-dwelling, enemy of the people. It feels a bit weird when she’s personable, quite passionate and alive and Scottish.
Tremblay’s tale, though set in the 21st century, feels uncannily gothic – a tale of death foreseen, and deep shadows in dark woods – all the while surrounded by the almost banal day-to-day details of everyday life. It’s an intriguing piece of writing, perhaps recalling the modern fairy tales of Angela Carter, well-served by a vivid performance from Beattie. That said, it feels almost too resolutely self-contained, and yet not really explaining itself. I’m not sure if this presentation on the Fringe has necessitated cuts in the original, but it feels as if there’s a lot more story that needs to be told for The List to be truly satisfying.
– Andrew Haydon
The List continues at Summerhall until 25 August 2013
