least some of its audience, it’s enough that
strong performances from an excellently choreographed ensemble
Veterinary Sophia lives on the farm with her 12 year old granddaughter Autumn and farmer “Aunt” Violet. The former is seriously ill with kidney failure; with her body having already rejected two previous transplants, Autumn’s only hope is that the father she’s never met—Sophie’s son Isaac—is willing to donate one of his own kidneys. Isaac, however, has been in prison for all Autumn’s life; when he does arrive at the farm on compassionate leave—albeit under Burt’s constant supervision—it’s really her last chance.
Drummond dramatises the ethical problems well, not just in terms of the characters but also the wider culture in which they exist. Orla O’Loughlin’s direction is tight, ably supported by Simon Wilkinson’s emotive shadow-friendly lighting, a hauntingly distorted orchestral score and sound design from Michael John McCarthy and the contrast with Fred Meller’s solid but unadorned set.
Duffy and Michie are the anchors of Grain in the Blood, full of subtle tiredness and determination; if Frances Thorburn (Violet) and Andrew Rothney (Isaac) have less emotional room in which to manoeuvre, they nevertheless feel real and convincing. However, it’s Sarah Miele (last seen in Edinburgh in Thon Man Moliere at the Royal Lyceum) who really lingers in the memory. Autumn is a mature-beyond-her-years child; one who swears like a trouper, knows when she’s being led up the garden path, and yet is still innocent enough to ignore the potential risks in a game of Truth or Dare.
Grain in the Blood does, sadly, have one significant failing; a rushed conclusion which, while every element had been dutifully flagged up earlier on, nevertheless feels like an unearned authorial imposition—reliant too much on straight-to-audience tell-not-show. Nevertheless, strong performances from an excellently choreographed ensemble ensure that this is genuinely a production worth seeing.