A perfectly executed exploration of so-called imperfect Scots.
Undeterred from interruptions by storm Amy raging outside the Studio Theatre on Friday night, Olivia Caw delivered one of the most animated, genuinely hilarious, and deeply moving performances I have ever had the pleasure of reviewing. The word ‘authentic’ is often used quite liberally, but here it is completely appropriate. The Creative team of Caw alongside writer and director Fraser Scott has crafted a beautifully authentic piece navigating the tangible and fraught social, political, and personal tensions tied to language; specifically, how Scots is experienced across time, place, and culture.
Following the anecdotal life of Bonnie (Caw), the audience is invited to question individuals’ connections to language and the way in which it informs our identity and relationships. Encircling microphones on the edges of the tartan clad stage remind us of both the confinement and opportunity our words can afford us, set design from Mela Adela reflects the play’s messages well. Similarly lighting design from Benny Goodman guides the audience through character and location shifts in a simple but by no means dull fashion. From the moment the lights came up on Bonnie – clad in trackies and trainers, surrounded by neon tartan – to the moment the ovation ended, every aspect of the production felt intentional. Caw’s effortless and embodied characterisation brings a handful of new characters into the narrative, illustrating relationships with comedy, for sure, but also a real sense of tenderness, again reflecting the piece’s central themes of nuance and complexity.
It isn’t that the message of the show is a particularly unique one, but the combination of audience address, poetry – occasionally a bit slam-night-esque – and impassioned spoken word tackles it from several angles within those 70 minutes. Scott’s script allows for self-interrogation from Bonnie and insists the audience does the same. Maybe to some a spontaneous rendition of Auld Lang Syne would seem cheesy or forced, but the moment you look back to Caw’s face, full of pride and appreciation that feels real and natural, those suppositions cease. Indeed, no instance of audience participation felt forced or awkward. There were moments towards the end of the performance that seemed to build towards a conclusion before Caw carried on again, but I found this to work quite poetically, again refusing to allow the audience to slip from engagement and illustrating the passionate conversation Common Tongue is contributing to, not introducing. Traversing primary school, first boyfriends, university, travel, and family, Bonnie’s story expresses the challenges of being defined by words; what we say, how we say it, how we reinvent ourselves in different circles, elicit different reactions and temper ourselves for others. Caw and Scott approach this with a characteristic charm and mirth, but never shy away from the disorienting reality of experiencing these things as a Scottish person in an increasingly Anglicised environment. Common Tongue actively engages with stereotypes, prejudice, and the reality of language hierarchies and classism with confidence, biting humour, and an undeniable passion.