Glory on Earth

At one point during Glory on Earth, its two main characters—stage right, the young, romantic Mary, Queen of Scots; stage left, the firebrand Protestant preacher John Knox—are each writing letters to the English Queen, Elizabeth. Hers is full of hopeful friendliness and optimism; his, strident warnings of the dangers from a Catholic revival in Scotland. His letter is folded and sealed with burning wax; she instead uses a modern-day self-sealing envelope.

Much of this play’s energy comes from the constant interaction between Morison as Mary and her girl-band chorus of six, who play the Queen’s retinue

That one short scene epitomises much about both Linda McLean’s script and Royal Lyceum Artist Director David Greig’s choices in bringing it to “his” stage. McLean follows many notable writers in reimagining Mary, with an opening that all-but name-check’s Liz Lochhead’s iconic 1987 play Mary Queen of Scots Got Her Head Chopped Off. But while Lochhead looked at the complicated relationship between Mary and her cousin Elizabeth, McLean instead focuses on the conflict between Mary and Knox: Catholic Queen versus Reformation Protestant; fun-loving youth versus dull-old middle-age; pragmatic compromiser versus religious fundamentalist; woman versus man.

Admittedly, basing her play around this binary conflict isn’t without problems, given that McLean essentially criticises Knox for having “no greys” in just such a world view. As it is, Jamie Sives provides a suitably austere, condemning Knox (although his voice never quite fills the space as you feel it should), but—one moment of anguish about his dead wife notwithstanding—he has little emotional room in which to manoeuvre. Rona Morison, as the Queen, is obviously provided with more opportunities to gain our sympathies, but again there’s something in the portrayal that means we never entirely warm to her.

Greig’s staging is clean and simple, the beautiful suggestions of arches from Karen Tennent matched by the bold, painterly lighting by Simon Wilkinson. Composer Michael John McCarthy also successfully emphasises the differences between Mary and Knox; he, associated with 16th century psalm-singing, she with a somewhat more diverse—and up-to-date—playlist. Sound is just one tool that Greig uses to highlight the continuing relevancies of Mary’s story; not least her stated intent to maintain Scotland’s links with Europe. That rings particularly true in the Scottish capital, where three quarters of voters wanted to remain in the EU.

Much of this play’s energy comes from the constant interaction between Morison as Mary and her girl-band chorus of six, who play the Queen’s retinue, members of her Privy Council, and other characters when required. And yet dramatically the most effective scene remains the one-on-one meeting between Mary and Knox, without any witnesses; a reminder of how dialogue and acting alone can still hit the spot without need for other theatrical tricks.

Reviews by Paul F Cockburn

Multiple Venues


Dundee Rep Theatre / Macrobert Arts Centre

The Yellow on the Broom

Underbelly, Bristo Square

Tom Neenan: It's Always Infinity

Assembly George Square Studios

Police Cops in Space

Gilded Balloon Rose Theatre

Rik Carranza: Still a Fan

Gilded Balloon Rose Theatre





The Blurb

“Whom shall I believe? And who shall be judge?”

Tuesday, 19 August, 1561, 9am. Through the fog a ship arrives in Leith docks, Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots steps ashore. She is 18 and on her young shoulders rest the hopes of the Catholic establishment of Europe.

The Nation that receives her has just outlawed her church and its practices. Its leader is the radical cleric and protestant reformer, John Knox. Both believe themselves ordained by God. Both believe themselves beloved by their people. Both were exiled and returned home, but only one can make Scotland their own.