The Seven Second Theory (TheSpace on North Bridge : Aug 8-10, 12-17: 12:30 : 1hr)

“A highly creative and well acted piece.”

Editorial Rating: 3 Stars Nae Bad 

Outside of automobile tragedies and prom night, there’s not a huge amount you can do in seven seconds. You can run until you’re nearby rather than right here, and if you’re fast you can even stretch it to just over there. You can half unbutton a coat, and, if you’re anything like me, you can get 1/75 of the way towards choosing which brand of soda to buy.

Or, if you’re rapidly leaving the breathing population, you can relive all the mistakes you’ve made. So that’s a comforting thought.

The Seven Second Theory is an interesting but fairly self-explanatory premise: a man named John Doe (Theo Antonov) is about to have his life support switched off, and goes on a journey through his own memories in the brief seven seconds before brain death. His memories include those of his best friends Aaron (Joe Davidson) the infuriatingly spelt Jenni (Megan Good), as well as the love of his life, Katherine (Sophie Hill).

The main cast are undoubtedly talented performers. Antonov makes the feat of being onstage for the show’s duration look (almost) effortless, and his machine-gun delivery adds a facet of charm and vitality to his John Doe. Good, pulling double duty as writer and actress, creates a highly empathetic and relatably charming stage presence as Jenni, layering a good heart with a layer of acid which is hard not to be charmed by. Sophie Hill, despite the occasional lull in physical engagement with the scene, does an excellent job at portraying the struggles of success, embodying the constantly-working Russel Group brainchild to a tee. My standout, however, is Davidson: constantly empathetic, always reacting in the background, and all-around a rippingly strong portrayal of a character who is stung by despair amidst joy.

Supporting characters rotated amongst a chorus (Sabrina Miller, Emma Rogerson and Charlie Graff), who were simply delightful. Despite a few quick character vignettes which, forgivably, seemed underdeveloped, they make a wonderful team. Many of the show’s best lines come from their corner of the acting ring, and their range is something to be respected.

With the above in mind, I remind you that The Seven Second Theory is a comedy. Blacker than black, but comedy nonetheless – and for the most part, the show quite handily succeeds in that regard. Most of the jokes are dropped with precise and well-rehearsed timing, with just enough punch behind them to punctuate the scene. The material isn’t particularly groundbreaking stuff as far as the general regrets of mortality are concerned, but it’s certainly enough keep you waiting for the next one liner. Antonov in particular is sharp as a pin, though every cast member shines.

As for the narrative, without giving too much away, it’s the same story as the above. The framing device is dramatically succinct, the banter and conversations sounds realistic and endearing, and each scene beat feels exactly in its place. However, don’t come in looking for surprises: much like its comedic material, the messages and narrative themes (whilst undoubtedly well executed and well conceived) remain fairly pedestrian. The Seven Second Theory has some really interesting stuff to say about the foibles of human want, but it’s nothing you wouldn’t expect to hear.

And whilst its separate components of comedy and tragedy work well enough on their own, The Seven Second Theory seems to have real difficulty in the switch-between. In trying to cram so many different emotional beats into what is a fairly modest runtime, what emerges is a kind of tonal soup. There is no spared moment to settle into the despair, to come down from the laughs. This is a show that would greatly benefit from slowing itself down, and learning not to fear silence.

The great tragedy of these tonal problems is that, coupled with an unfortunate case of “shouting means drama” syndrome, when emotional pay-off arrives it can come off as mawkish or forced. As a production that relies so much on the internal lives of its main characters, this seriously undercuts the comedy’s dramatic counterweight.

To end positively, though, a place where The Seven Second Theory shines (literally) is in its stage design. I am enamoured with it: dramatic, effective and imaginative. The use of lanterns both as a light source and guiding prop is inspired, and goes a long way in giving the minimalist set design a real feeling of boundary and weight. Their use and presentation in the show elevates the sense of magical-realism which is always gnawing at the sides of the narrative, and lends it an appropriately dream-like atmosphere.

The Seven Second Theory is a highly creative and well acted piece, held back by elements of its direction and themes. For better and for worse, it’s a show that leaves you wanting more. Is it worth your time? Entirely, but it won’t change your life. The process of staging new writing is constantly transformative, and this is no exception – with revisions, Megan Good’s work could be something truly special.

nae bad_blue

Star (blue)Star (blue)Star (blue)

Reviewer: Jacob Close (Seen 6 August)

ALL our +3 (festivals) coverage? Click here!

 

White (St Cecilia’s Hall: 23 – 25 Mar.’19)

Image may contain: 2 people, people standing

“An incredibly important production”

Editorial Rating: 3 Stars Outstanding

Ah, racial politics. Anxiety-studded star of a few hundred conversations in coffee shops and pubs. It’s not that the constant deluge of injustice and anger in the world is depressing, it’s that it’s utterly depressing. Talking about it at all, let alone making comedy out of it, is like trying to tapdance your way through a minefield. One false slip and you’re either offending, rehashing or – perhaps worst of all – inadvertently punching down. And even if the comedy’s coming from a true, honest voice, the risk of creating “zeitgeist-y” work with little staying power looms ever present. Needless to say, the prospect of reviewing James Ijames’ “White” filled me with tentative hope and cautious apprehension: what I got in return was a wonderfully slanted commentary on modern sociopolitics, and enough comedy to keep me from realizing I was learning until it was far too late to stop.

Based on a true series of events surrounding the 2014 Whitney Biennial Exhibition of Contemporary Art, White tells the story of white artist Gus (Levi Mattey), who hires African American actress Vanessa (Anna Phillips) to present his work as her own, thus defaming an exhibition he was unable to qualify for. From this fairly simple starting point comes a flurry of emotionally charged and often absurd vignettes, examining the morality of racial curation and the various chasms which still exist at the intersections of ethnicity, sexuality, gender and identity.

First and foremost is the skill and timeliness of Ijames’ writing. White, in many ways, is a clever sleight of hand: the charged subject of race never leaves the stage, and yet seems to disappear beneath illusory hand waves of wit and stinging turnaround. Before you know it, you’re considering your own place in the debate, unconsciously picking apart what is satire and what isn’t. It’s the kind of theatre that is sorely needed in a climate that often seems paralysed in the face of despair.

That illusory quality is helped vastly by the show’s comedic direction: energy is the word of the day, and Nathaniel Brimmer-Beller has packed it like gunpowder in an old rifle. Despite the open elliptical shape of  St Cecilia’s Hall, this production turned into bouts of verbal tennis, firing jokes so quickly across the room that distance seemed almost to help it. Of course, with a base of clear talent, it’s easily done: Mattey does an extremely laudable job at portraying a character who seems to flip between main antagonist and protagonist with every sentence, and yet still seem jaw-clenchingly consistent. In a similar vein, Phillips’ pulls triple-duty in a trio of roles (one a role within a role), rolling them out chameleon like: same silhouette, but vastly different vibes and patterns.

Supporting, we have Bradley Butler as Gus’ boyfriend Tanner, and Jess Butcher as museum curator Jane – though to relegate them to ensemble would do them injustice. The production would not be half as good without Butler’s caring, vibrant foil to Gus’ ironclad self-interest; and to say too much about Butcher’s portrayal of Jane would ruin some of the best scenes going – I can say only that themes of duality and hypocrisy are shiningly represented.

So, in such a shiny show, what didn’t go so smoothly? Unfortunately, a few stylistic kinks along the way are enough to turn what could be a smooth ride into something bumpier. Though the comedy seldom suffers from the almost breathless pace of the dialogue, there are times when certain lines, actions or even reactions could have done with more time to breathe. Especially in the third act, when things get heavier than ever, I found myself wanting to wait a little more in the questions before being whisked off to more one-liners.

And it’s that same breakneck paceyness which turns some of the show’s more surreal moments into missed opportunities. Without spoiling too much, part of the joy of this show is how left-field the ending is. But buoyed on its own wild momentum and without enough time to properly clock what was happening, genuinely interesting satire ended up feeling more muddled than biting. Without room for contrast, the energy seems to dip without ever getting lower, like getting used to the temperature of shower water.

And while scenes of sexual intimacy are intimate and very well done, the same cannot be said of the show’s flirtation with day-to-day romance. A very certain scene makes it abundantly clear that Mattey and Butler can play off each other wonderfully, but there seems to be an odd sterility to their interactions in the wider world of the play. The words are right but it lacks passion and force.

So what does this all add up to? And, maybe more importantly, how does this all play into a rating? Put shortly, this is an incredibly important production, marred by a few key flaws. Even if there are elements that could be improved on, White is a show that I wildly encourage everyone to see whilst it’s here – and to endeavour to seek out when it’s not.

The best theatre is the kind that leaves you fundamentally, and almost unwillingly, questioning yourself. By that metric, White certainly doesn’t disappoint.

outstanding

StarStarStar

Reviewer: Jacob Close (Seen 23 March)

Visit Edinburgh49 at Other venues.

 

Lost In Music (North Edinburgh Arts: 1-2 Mar.’19)

Emily Phillips, Claire Willoughby, Alex Neilson (obscured!) and Jill O’Sullivan.
Image from Neil Cooper’s review in the Glasgow Herald.

“Glorious, ‘Everything else just fades away ..’ “

Editorial Rating: 5 Stars: Outstanding

‘… and Orpheus raises his guitar’. As lines go that’s a cracker but not really a first as there’s Val, in his snakeskin jacket, in Tennessee Williams’ Orpheus Descending, ‘the tale – as Williams put it – of a wild-spirited boy who wanders into a conventional community of the South and creates the commotion of a fox in a chicken coop’. In the first scene Val picks up his guitar and starts to sing Williams’ Heavenly Grass but stops, ominously, in the middle of the song.

 

No clamour, no interruptions in Magnetic North’s Lost In Music and the snake coiled in the grass ain’t on no jacket. This is a one hour truly excellent self-styled ‘gig-theatre show’, with four musician / performers singing and talking of Orpheus and Eurydice, but in a totally different (youthful?) key, celebratory rather than savage or tragic. It is expressly about music and music-making and how that plays about our lives, particularly young lives, often to glorious effect.

 

Its theatre may be in the sound and the visuals – just admire the micro-cinema of clouding memory loss – but the narrative still compels attention, as you’d hope, given the pre-eminence of its story. Why does Orpheus look back? In this telling it’s because he is doubtful of the Gods’ word but also, unspoken, it has to be because he cannot bear the unaccompanied silence behind him.

 

And so back to the music and the soundscape to which the whole production is dedicated. Clustered instruments gleam under Simon Wilkinson’s lighting; microphone stands, rests, and props are festooned on Karen Tennent’s green, glowing, set. Costumes are colourful and free flowing. Jill O’Sullivan opens up on guitar and vocals and one by one the others play their parts: Emily Phillips (Clarinet / Orpheus); Claire Willoughby (Saxophone / Eurydice); and Alex Neilson (Percussion). Halfway, thereabouts, there is an important pause as each briefly explains what music means to them and at the close they are joined for a swelling finale by a further six players – from neighbouring Craigroyston Community High School.

 

Kim Moore and Nicholas Bone wrote and direct an inspiring show that has rightly attracted support from Creative Scotland, the City Council, the PRS Foundation and – for Orpheus was the hardy Argonaut who charmed the Sirens – the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo. If Lost In Music looks for a place in the Festival or on the Fringe, then it should be a shoo-in.

 

Find Lost In Music in Glasgow this week at

Platform
1000 Westerhouse Road, Glasgow G34 9JW
Wednesday 6 March, 7pm
Thursday 7 March, 1.30pm

outstanding

StarStarStarStarStar

Reviewer: Alan Brown (Seen 2 March)

Go to the Magnetic North

Scottish Ensemble (St. Cecilia’s Hall 9 Oct.’18)

St Cecilia’s Hall, University of Edinburgh.

“I kept returning to my notes and underlining the words “Rich tone.” It was an aural joy”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Nae Bad

 

What do Edinburgh’s New Club, Cameo Cinema, and Usher, Queen’s and St. Cecilia’s Halls all have in common? They are all hosts to the most glorious live music, and this most fortunate of music writers has had the privilege of attending five concerts within just six days in these various venues. My conclusion after living here for approaching four years? Edinburgh is a world class music city, with some world-class music being performed here. We are very lucky.

 

There aren’t many new concert halls being built these days, although there are plans for one in Edinburgh, so the inspirational redevelopment of St Cecilia’s as a museum of musical instruments (you simply must see their fantastic harpsichord collection, many still playing) and enchanting, bijou oval 200 seater auditorium with central chair and perimeter soft bench seating is a delight. Only problem with the venue? No bar. However, the instrument showcases make for an adequate non-alcoholic distraction.

 

Notwithstanding the building’s eighteenth century origins (built for the Edinburgh Music Society in 1762) the concert style was modern. Ipads instead of music, standing instead of sitting in the custom of Chris Warren-Green and the LCO (all bar the cello!) and sleek modern tieless black rather than evening dress.

 

Four members of the Ensemble were playing on the evening, Music Director and first violin Jonathan Morton, Cheryl Crockett on second, the fabulously lively Jane Atkins, principal violist of the Scottish Chamber Orchestra and Alison Lawrence on cello. Star soloist on clarinet was Matthew Hunt guesting from the Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie. The standard was remarkably high, and while it is a well-known adage that a string quartet can sound as loud as an orchestra, what struck me about tonight’s combo was not so much their volume but more their rich tone. Time again during the evening I kept returning to my notes and underlining the words “rich tone”. It was an aural joy.

 

We started with the Brahms Clarinet in B minor Op.115 (1891). Less easily accessible than the Mozart (being held back, one suspects, for a lollipop finish), the players brought a generosity of spirit and a refreshing lushness of tone, particularly in the second movement Adagio, to what is quite a dry, late Brahms work, making it one of the most enjoyable renditions that I have heard. The intensity of sound from the strings, with the clarinet (Clara Schumann described it as “wailing”) soaring above them in full, unforced tone. It never wavered.

 

After the interval we were treated to an extraordinary amuse-bouche, Mclaren Summit by contemporary composer John Luther Adams, written in Alaska some five years ago and played by the quartet alone. Entirely on open strings and harmonics it was a strangely melodious work that reminded me of near namesake John Adams.

 

The uber popular Mozart Clarinet Quintet in A Major, K.581 (1789), which one might have expected, because of its chronology, to be the concert opener, was held back until last, a bit like a rock star ending with their biggest hit. One felt almost a sense of reassurance by the familiar opening and the playing of first violin Jonathan Morton really came into its own. The second movement Larghetto, matched only perhaps by the Adagio from the Gran Partita as one of the most beautiful pieces of woodwind and string music ever written, more than met our expectations with a degree of perfection often found only on recordings, clarinet and first violin calling and answering each other with a breathtaking poignancy. The third and fourth movements took us on a joyous romp home. In the final movement I was surprised to be reminded of the final movement of Schubert’s Trout Quintet, the players almost teasing us with their phrasing, deliberate pauses, and changes of tempo.

All in all a delightful evening’s music. I have to confess it was the first time I have heard the Scottish Ensemble. I want to hear more.

nae bad_blue

Star (blue)Star (blue)Star (blue)Star (blue)

Reviewer: Charles Stokes (Seen 9 October)

Go to the Scottish Ensemble

EIFF: “Swimming With Men” (30 June ’18)

“Fun performances and sweet turns of narrative … Swimming With Men is a comedic success”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars

Imagine The Full Monty, in Speedos. That’s the long and short of Swimming With Men. But despite some predictable setups, Oliver Parker’s new film is charming, sweet, and genuinely quite funny, mostly due to a delightful-as-ever performance by Rob Brydon. It is not a rush-to-the-theatre type of film, but as a nice way to spend an hour and a half, it does not disappoint.

Brydon plays Eric Scott, a bit of a loser who finds himself out of step with his own life. His accounting job is a monotonous waste of his time and talent, and he is growing apart from his wife Heather (Jane Horrocks) due to his own jealousy at her success as a local politician. The only place he finds peace is in the local pool, where he meets a motley crew of men who have banded together as a synchronized swimming team. Led by the charming Luke (Rupert Graves), the men decide to incorporate Eric into their routine, and so begins a series of amusing training sessions and actually quite impressive swimming stunt work. Played by various British comedy talents such as Adeel Akhtar, Daniel Mays, Thomas Turgoose, and the excellent Jim Carter, the team is a fun group to watch, and their onscreen chemistry is a highlight.

The story is a classic one, where Eric finds not only his own worth in his connection to these men, but the worth of self-expression and all that; credit again to Brydon that he makes this simplistic path far more pleasant than predictable. Charlotte Riley is notably fun as Susan, a swimmer who is drawn into being the team’s coach, and gets them good enough to complete in the international men’s championships in Milan for a rousing, very fun finale. The film is quite sweet, but not without its conflicts, as old habits, lost loves, and personal differences come to derail some of the team’s momentum over and over. But overall, this is an agreeable and satisfying film with something to say about male friendship and trust, which is very well suited to Brydon’s charm and talent as an Everyman with real presence. One scene of his in an elevator late in the film is a particular standout; perhaps it’s a shame he does not get more to do over the course of the film.

Parker’s aesthetic choices are unexceptional, yet liven up when the men are in and around the pool, a clever reflection of the freeing possibilities of the team and their routines. Some sequences are filmed quite creatively, especially the hypnotic boredom of Eric’s office and certain dreamlike shots of the men twirling and floating around underwater.

(Outside of the film itself, it is an intriguing coincidence that this year’s 71st Cannes Film Festival featured a French film called Le grand bain [or Sink or Swim], directed by Gilles Lellouche and starring Mathieu Amalric, which seems to have the exact same plot. Perhaps synchronized men’s swimming has become the choice cinematic metaphor for rethinking the mechanics of team-based masculinities of today.)

For Brydon’s commendable turn in the lead role, plus some fun performances and sweet turns of the narrative, Swimming With Men is a comedic success, and well worth a rainy-day watch. (So, perfect for Scottish audiences.)

This enjoyable film brought the 72nd Edinburgh International Film Festival to a close, and my coverage ends with it. It has been a truly fun and informative time watching and waxing about all these films and seeing film history made-in-Edinburgh. I hope my writing has been useful and thank you for reading!

 

Star (blue)Star (blue)Star (blue)Star (blue)

Reviewer: Nathaniel Brimmer-Beller (Seen 30 June)

Go to Swimming with Men at the EIFF

 

EIFF: “Piercing” (30 June ’18)

“A trippy, entertaining, & masterfully nightmarish romp.”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Outstanding

For a completely bonkers, aesthetically anarchic, sonically and visually unnerving nightmare thrill ride, Piercing has a lot of humor, heart, and fabulous artistry beneath its hood. The film is directed by Nicolas Pesce, creator of well-liked arthouse horror The Eyes of My Mother, and based on a novel by Ryû Murakami, the mind behind some of Japanese cinema’s most twisted and depraved screenplays. This film is very much in the same vein, but swaps its Japanese influences for Italian Giallo and a charming 70s setting. While it is revoltingly violent and demented, somehow everything in Pesce’s film just works, and it is a truly outstanding genre film.

Piercing continues a pleasing trend in many of the films this year: performers who traditionally fill supporting roles getting a shot at the lead. Take, for example, Kelly Macdonald in Puzzle, Natalie Dormer in In Darkness, Nick Offerman in Hearts Beat Loud, Rob Brydon in Swimming With Men, Steven Ogg in Solis. And now, Christopher Abbott as Reed, the enigmatic, bizarre focus of Pesce’s surreal tale. Abbott has turned in fascinating, unsettling, always capable performances in films like Sweet Virginia and Tyrel, (plus his lead role in the small James White), and it is lovely to see him stretch out as the protagonist in a film so odd. He is joined by the always entertaining Mia Wasikowska, and the charming Laia Costa, all of whom get their share of fascinating chances to shine and bend the audience’s minds.

The film follows Reed as he decides to take some time away from his wife (Costa) and child, so he can indulge his twisted murderous fantasies. He meticulously plans to lure and dispatch an unsuspecting prostitute, and in true jet-black humor fashion, Pesce has the camera follow Reed around the room he has rented as he walks through the steps of exactly how he will administer the necessary sedatives, do the deed, and dispose of the body. The clincher is, Pesce includes all the implied sound effects of the execution, and as Reed mimes the sawing, hacking, and gruesome handling of the various parts and bits, the squelches and drips are heard in full. This is a stylistic highlight, yet Piercing features many more sequences of filmmaking just as delightfully twisted. 

Wasikowska plays Jackie, the prostitute he eventually lures into his plan, but needless to say it does not go according to plan. The story twists and turns with gleeful insanity, with Reed and Jackie taking it in turns to torment the other with horrifying weapons and substances. It all spirals into hallucinogenic madness, perfectly contrasted against remarkable production design and music. Delirious grotesqueries are frequently performed on and around plush 70s interior design, while stupendously odd themes from classic Giallo films play above them. The film intermittently cuts to an uncanny miniature set meant to evoke the heights and depths of the New York City skyline, evoking a maze or a puzzle akin to the disorienting content of Reed’s story. 

It’s a trippy, entertaining, masterfully nightmarish romp, with an unlikely balance of class and cruelty, harrowing scenes and hilarious horror, and a hellishly sadomasochistic partnership for the ages in Abbott and Wasikowska’s characters. If you enjoy stylish craftiness and chills down the spine, plus some captivating costume work and musical dexterity, pick Piercing, and have fun with it.

 

outstanding

StarStarStarStar

 

Reviewer: Nathaniel Brimmer-Beller (Seen 30 June)

Go to Piercing at the EIFF

 

EIFF: “In Darkness” (28 June ’18)

“A daringly twisty, commendably unpredictable erotic thriller with much more to it than meets the eye.”

Editorial Rating: 3 Stars: Nae Bad

If and when you watch In Darkness, you will think a lot of thoughts. Many of them might go something like “What just happened?” or “What am I watching?” or “Is this all the same movie?” but suffice it to say that this daringly twisty, commendably unpredictable erotic thriller has much, much more to it than meets the eye. That is not always a good thing, as the film spends most of its runtime running off the rails of its supposed ‘plot,’ but I would be lying if I said it wasn’t an entertaining trip.

The film was written by real-life partners Anthony Byrne and Natalie Dormer; Byrne directs, Dormer stars. If you are fan of Ms. Dormer’s, possibly from her star turns in Game of Thrones or the Hunger Games franchise, then you will enjoy this film. It is a star-vehicle through and through, with nearly every shot focusing on some part of Dormer, whether her striking face or nimble physicality. Notably, Dormer proves her mettle as a very capable lead actress, and this film makes a solid case for more female-led stories written by the actresses themselves; Dormer’s character, Sofia, is a well-rounded and trustworthy focal point of the story, flitting through classy and dangerous scenarios with grace and thrilling movement. 

If only the story was as well-rounded and trustworthy. Heavens, what a license Dormer and Byrne’s story takes with the audience’s suspension of disbelief! After a striking, standout title sequence (which sets the stage excellently for a slick, exciting thriller to come), we are introduced to Sofia, a blind musician who glides around London with remarkable street smarts and style. The first 20-25 minutes continue like this, with a rich aesthetic palette and a fun, knife-edge sense of building danger. Her upstairs neighbor Veronique (Emily Ratajkowski) is clearly wrapped up in some nasty business, and when she turns up dead on the pavement outside their building, the plot thickens with Hitchcockian craftiness. Who killed her and why are the setup for the rest of the film’s twists and turns, but without spoiling anything, let me forewarn you that Veronique quickly becomes old news in favor of a much scummier, more complicated spider’s web of crime and revenge. 

For the first leg of In Darkness, the film makes a truly riveting imitation of classic Hitchcock and Wait Until Dark-esque blind-character craftwork — especially in a tense, nail-biting scene where assassin Marc (Ed Skrein) intends to kill Sofia for what she has seen, but notices her blindness and decides to follow her around her apartment in silence. Scenes like these are so fun and well crafted that the later dramatic shifts in tone and focus are more unfortunate than thrilling — there is a notable shift from Hitchcock to Jason Bourne all of a sudden that undoes a great deal of the film’s accomplishments with head-scratching intensity. 

Ultimately, that is the central problem of In Darkness — it has so many fetching elements to it, from the compelling star to the vintage first chapter to the stupendous use of music (again, only up until the tone change), yet it keeps undoing all that commendable work with silly plot twists. Twists, plural, mind you — each of which edge the film closer to completely undoing itself. As a fan of twists myself, I commend Dormer and Byrne’s ballsiness in their final few reveals, but I came out of the theatre feeling played for a fool, rather than hoodwinked by a clever storyteller. 

In Darkness is amusing genre excitement, and has potential as a twist-film highlight among those who enjoy just being confused, but it will mostly remind you how much better a straight-shooting classic crime thriller treats its own plot. Credit belongs to Natalie Dormer, however, for rooting it all in a fascinating lead — I can honestly say I would watch whatever she writes and stars in next. 

nae bad_blue

Star (blue)Star (blue)Star (blue)

Reviewer: Nathaniel Brimmer-Beller (Seen 28 June)

Go to In Darkness at the EIFF