Alan Cumming is a tour de force as ever. Thunder, lightning and driving rain on stage meet the audience as they enter and this sets the mood for what will be the highs and very much the lows of Burns’ life and a melodramatic performance. Creator, Steven Hoggett has opted to give the full warts and all Burns, not the tartan biscuit tin sentimentality but the mood swings, now recognised as bi-polar.
Billed as dance. the real enjoyment of the show is Cumming’s acting
Billed as dance, with only the occasional Highland Fling, this is more of a recitation, illustrated more by physical movement than dance and nothing wrong with that. As Burns said ‘I dare’ and so does Cumming. No dancer, and well past the age where that would be possible, it is still a pleasure to see an older body moving, punching the air, jogging and jigging around with the added bonus of Cumming’s expressive face that of a well lived life – just as Burns lived and above all, his strong, distinctive voice because the real enjoyment of the show is Cumming’s acting skills.
Quoting from Burns’ letters, aided by headings on a backdrop we learn of his womanising and mistreatment of his wife, Jean, the narrow escape from getting a job in the slave trade – shocking news to some maybe – but saved by the fame and revenue gained by his first poetry collection. Later the need to support his many children by taking a job as an excise man involved hundreds of miles riding around the country and prevented his writing, the poverty and ill health at the time of his death. At times, it is moving. At other times, more of a history lesson. However, humour punctuates the show like the 18th century ladies’ shoes which descend on strings from the flies to represent the many women in his life.
The video effects by Andrzej Goulding are stunning, particularly the animation of a white horse (suggesting the poem Tam o’Shanter?) and especially Cumming in great coat viewing a panoramic backdrop of Highland mountains and lochs in a stance reminiscent of Caspar David Friedrich, except that Cumming turns and gives a knowing look to the audience.
Unfortunately the background electronic sound at times threatens to drown out Cumming's words and the overall effect is exhausting. If you like to hear Burns’ poetry in Scots then there is scant opportunity in this show except for one recitation of a verse from everyone's favourite poem To a Mouse, that 'wee sleekit beastie', and the highlight of the production, Cumming’s appearance at the curtain call when he comes out, sits on the stage floor and recites Auld Lang Syne toasting the audience with a a wee dram, of course. A pity that there was not more of Cumming's voice without intrusive background noise throughout. He can well carry the show on his own.
