Written by Raymond Friel

Directed by Jordanna O’Neill

Everyone has a Lizzy,

Some in their life, not necessarily a sister or cousin, who ‘gets life’. Is better than them in most ways and make life a touch intolerable with just how sparkling they are. But you’d never want them out of your life. My Liz is called Danielle. A fair few years older. Disgustingly kind-hearted and a person it took far too many years before you recognise how pivotal they are in your life.

But we’re not here to talk about Liz, we’re here for a tour. A tour from one of Scotland’s best guides. Our guide, Mary Fraser, proud historian and Shetlander, combines her talents of character improvisation, storytelling, complaining about her sister, and knowing everything about Mary, Queen of Scots distinctly (and in no way is it factually accurate).

From award-winning writer Raymond Friel, this historical romp through history and Mary’s mind is a collision of Ghosts meets Horrible Histories through a peculiar and delightfully Shetland twist. Crammed to bursting with gender politics, family feuds, mayhem, murder, affairs out the wazoo, and plenty of intrigue, the life of Queen Mary is just as engaging as it is relevant. Armed with only a gilded frame and an absolute BELTER of a jumper, Marjolein Robertson takes this one-woman show and shifts from proving their sterling as a storyteller and comedian to making a mark as one of Scotland’s canniest and continually rising performers.

If you’re still unfamiliar with the name Marjolein Robertson, then you best commit it to memory now: Robertson is blaze and frost, witty and clownish, an upper and a steadier – the perfect choice for Friel’s new writing. Writing that is bombastically charged, clean and classic storytelling yet original and fresh in delivery under Jordanna O’Neill’s direction.

From dialect shifts to a full-blown existential crisis, Robertson’s manic pacing streaks through hundreds of years of Tudor to contemporary history. Already named Scots speaker of 2022, they possess a unique and raw sense of humour. Robertson’s personality and captivating presence sell the entire show – though they certainly have some help from Friels writing. Even the gags which might not work yet on paper (give it time), land with a penetrating thud with Robertson’s commitment and delivery.

And if anything, there needs a deeper infusion of more chaos – a reins-off approach to fully embrace the mad character-based clownery of it all, Robertson is more than capable of blossoming the absurdity without losing the narrative or character. The beauty of the script, and the direction, is the recognition that even under Robertson’s sharp comedic presence, they’re power as a storyteller is put to tremendously poignant use as the production shifts from the light of life to the darker areas of family and self-worth.

Gradually, Friel and O’Neill turn down the lights on the show’s comedy, making way for a powerful monologue from Robertson – pitched perfectly with John Kielty’s composition, and makes for a harrowing and appreciative finale.

With Robertson at the helm: riotously funny, fresh, and spirited, Me, Myself, and Mary (Queen of Scots) even makes you learn stuff: how rude. While there are fewer beheadings (onstage anyway) Friel’s script possesses the necessary sting to drawback from the hilarity: Robertson doesn’t skip the beat, channelling the exaggeration of the comedic, and channels it directly into the profound and familial – they’re not only an exceptional storyteller, but they’re an incredible performer and presence. An absolute treasure of stage and comedy ready to burst forth.