Written by Uma Nada-Rajah

Directed by Jemima Levick

Invading and destructive. Coming over on boats and taking up the spaces, homes, and opportunities of those who have lived here for generations.

We’re talking about the American Bull Frog, but you knew that, right? Then again, you’d never invite the frog over for drinks, would you?

Well, that’s precisely what happens to Fi, though she certainly didn’t mean for it. Interrupting her new-age breathing exercises and impending retirement is estranged daughter Lu, frog in tow, having captured the invasive Amphibian.

The niceties observed are quick to fade, an obvious root of familial love present but strained with the pair’s unknown (but suspicions over Lu’s sexuality arise) fall-out. Jemima Levick’s direction is all too recognisable and richly authentic in maintaining flow without dipping into melodrama, with both Macdougall and Hannah Donaldson bringing out well-measured performances.

The news that Lu and her partner’s intentions to have a child interrupts the tea, seaweed thins and breathing exercises, as Fi is both delighted but unsure when she realises that the baby’s sperm donor may be from different ‘stock’. So she does what any normal human would invite them for wine.

Shrewdly, Nada-Rajah’s remarkably clever and layered writing draws as much an observation with Lu as it does lampoon Fi’s responses. The communication present in the script isn’t as left-leaningly saccharine as it could have been. In this case, Lu is just as bull-headed and, on occasion, rude as the expected antagonist for this narrative: her more conservative mother. Donaldson gives a terrific performance, capturing a sense of understanding but distance from the others. There’s such an ease for those of us who think ourselves very liberal (and we’ve been guilty of it) to meet a less open mindset (to us) with hostility, smarm, and superiority. And look at where it gets us.

And if anything, Macdougall’s terrific performance demonstrates the human behind the alarmist headlines. There’s no venom in Fi, even when her reactionary comments rouse great laughter and sucking-through-teeth embarrassment from the Pitlochry crowds. This is someone we recognise and likely someone we’ve loved.

This falsehood notion of the titular Great Replacement: a white nationalist fear-mongering fabricated theory stirring antisemitism, islamophobia, and repugnantly persistent generalised racism towards ‘replacing’ white Europeans through non-white migration. But for Fi, this off-the-cuff theory represents a deeper issue with a population: just how easy it is to fan the flames of a culture war, of othering, and of feeling put out – not by migrants, but with ageing, economic choices, and a persistently ill-caring government.

Running away with the charisma and spirit of it all, Adam Buksh’s Kal, Lu’s best friend, potential sperm donor, and pursuer of unrequited love, is an absolute joy to watch as Kal runs rings around Fi and Lu, with a much tighter grasp of the situation than they claim to have. As Kal mischievously stokes Fi into furthering their chats about ethnicity and conspiracy, he guides her to confront her biases and bizarre conspiracies without aggression, something her daughter seems incapable of doing. It’s absolute brilliance from both Levick and Nada-Rajah.

The Great Replacement achieves what Nada-Rajah’s previous Fringe piece, Exodus, came close to grasping before it slipped through over-ambitious fingers. It captures the fragility of those coming to terms with the changing world and their resistance. Furthering the family of the Play, Pie, and Pint by including the tremendously brilliant Pitlochry Festival Theatre, The Great Replacement is an ideal piece of quality theatre – an excellent and worthy representative for the group’s first Pitlochry show. We’ll raise a pint to that any day.