Written by Mhairi McCall and Cal Ferguson

Review by Marina Funcasta

In true Fringe Fashion, having walked into this show blind, it must be said that I had no idea what to expect from Mhairi McCall and Cal Ferguson’s ‘Salamander’. The title cannot be said to give much away, and indeed, between the singing, spoken word, acoustic guitar, and ensemble breakages of the fourth wall, the show seems to have lost its way a tad. However, what was lacking in structural integrity, was more than made up for by the gorgeous poignancy of this rather simple story.

Taking place in the aftermath of sex worker Sheila Anderson’s murder in Leith in the 1980s – as was made viscerally clear by the myriad of fluorescent outfits – the play traces the, albeit fictional, relationships between four sex workers, a policewoman, and a pious volunteer, Joan, as they congregate in an attempt to improve the conditions they are subjected to by the “transgressive” and “taboo” nature of their work. 

Indeed, as shown through Joan’s scenes of prayers at Church, played with a sincerity which couldn’t help but evoke reverberations of laughter among the audience, public attitudes were scathing to these women: treated as either victims or uncivilised ‘creatures of the night’, they were barely ever afforded the visibility and respect they deserved. 

That is, at least, before Salamander came to Assembly Roxy.

In a freshness which was reminiscent of plays like Delahney’s ‘A Taste of Honey’, or more recently, Bioh’s ‘School Girls; or, The African Mean Girls Play’, the relationships between the sex workers kept the four chambers of the play’s emotional heart beating; the comedy, as brilliantly portrayed by Sarah Dingwall’s heedless Candy, fused with the defiance of maternalistic V and alertness of Roxy, and underpinned by the profound solemnity of McCall’s performance of Tiff. 

It is McCall’s character that the narrative follows, and while her story is tragic, the brilliance of the play hinges on the trust and sense of familial bond that is established, almost immediately, by the four characters. Glued together by the solidity of V’s matriarchal presence, the scenes lacking Chelsea Grace are often the weakest. 

Despite the somewhat jarring and ‘juggled’ effect of the music and spoken word, the quality of the songs themselves was high; with allusions to 80s hits like Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide, a sense of nostalgia was certainly palpable. In an almost angelic final choral rendition, the word ‘Persevere’ is repeated, both to music and accapella, leaving every audience member with no doubt in their mind as to the strength of these women and their stories – loud, funny, vibrant, and unashamed, like salamanders in classical mythology, these women seemed to glow in the darkest of nights, and indeed, the darkest of histories.