Book and Lyrics by Tom MacRae

From an idea by Jonathan Butterell

Directed by Matt Ryan from original direction by Jonathan Butterell

Tickets from £29.50

There’s a degree of similarity between Tim Burton’s Edward Scissorhands and the works of Matthew Bourne, besides the obvious. Taking established tales and modifying them with uniqueness and ambition, imparting an authorship and sense of purpose from the director’s vision Burton’s work offers a world for the freaks, outcasts, artists, and macabre – and now Edward Scissorhands find an equally ambitious and secure home with the legendary Matthew Bourne’s New Adventures, first premiering in 2005 before a revival of its own in 2014. And Bourne, the world-leading choreographer and storytelling director, offers a home for those who appreciate the majesty of ballet, but desire something a step to the left of what other producing companies may put out.

Framed with an unrivalled macabre energy, this gothic romance flickers of Frankenstein for new audiences, as a young artificially created boy finds himself unfinished after the premature death of his father. Edward, taken in by the kindly Boggs family, falls for their teenage daughter, struggles to adjust to suburban American hell life, and discovers a talent for topiary work, armed with a bundle of blades and scissors where his hands should be. With intricate choreography and storytelling, and set to a magnificently touching score, Edward Scissorhands spreads an appreciation for life and love to Edinburgh audiences at the Festival Theatre ahead of its Glasgow run at the Theatre Royal next week (May 21^st – 25^th).

Across twenty scenes, arranged to place humour and light-hearted exchanges with intimate solos and enormous full-company routines, Edward Scissorhands follows the screen incarnation of the tale but is distinct enough to have its form and life. Though the almost snap-shot nature of the Bourne’s (too) efficient storytelling as audiences whisk through the scenes occasionally hinders the pacing, stilting genuine emotion churned up from the previous scene as we catapult into the next scenario or farcical encounter with the new neighbours Edward comes to know.

Striking, the care from set and costume designers Lez Brotherston offers a pastiche of sorts to Burton’s vision for the original film (a difficult style to capture), where the iconic pastilles of mid-class America collide and thread so marvellously effectively with the bristling angles of the more gothic, quirky elements of Burton’s design. The intense colours, achieved with Howard Harrison’s lighting, work perfectly to propel Edward’s shape into the audience, the glisten of their blades, or the enormous sharp corners of the hair and costuming capturing each iconic angle of the character.

Embodying the role, in a performance which reaffirms Liam Mower’s considerable talents and shining as a star of their generation, Mower finds the precision within Bourne’s choreography with a delicacy which goes against the expectations of a character stitched together with enormous blades protruding from the hands. A Frankenstein-amalgam for contemporary crowds, to find such exposition and ability to express when limited in their movements and cumbersome attachments is inspiring, and breaths plenty of life into Edward, shifting from the unfamiliar, stiff-limbed beginnings into an elegant and impressive figure they emerge into.

Not only lacking in the lingering movements of the hand, but Mower also rises above the lack of dialogue, outside of the odd squeal or squeak for comedic impact, and it goes unmissed. Terry Davie’s new arrangements meld with the original score from Danny Elfman in a manner which compliments, standing out just enough to provide something new – and often touching – for audiences to appreciate. They do the lifting where words would fail, enabling a gentile beauty from Holly Saw’s Kim Boggs (Edward’s first real infatuation) to blossom with a tenderness, matched in their duets with Mower.

Individually each of the sequences are transformative and slivers of excellence, though when aligned it becomes more obvious to the lacking momentum for sequences outside of Edward’s arc. It doesn’t stop the dancers though, like Molly Shaw–Downie or Jamie Duncan–Campbell who bring a wealth of characterisation to their movements and expressions. None more so (outside of the leads) than Nicole Kabera’s Joyce Monroe, the flirtatious and determined neighbour who is far from put off by Edward.

Traversing the realms of celluloid and eighties-hairstyles, into a crispness with the odd up-to-date addition, Matthew Bourne’s Edwards Scissorhands is a cut above the rest, but far from the sharpest of Bourne’s repertoire. There will be tears for certain, for this gothic romance widens its reach and appreciative adoration for those in the world who feel out of place. They are all welcome here, with open arms, and a splendid demonstration of transitioning established stories into new mediums.

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