Choreography and Cor-Created by Sophie Laplane

Directed and Co-Created by James Bonas

Score by Mikael Karlsson & Michael P Atkinson

The Festival Theatre

Two of the most influential threads in British history. One, the champion of a ‘golden era’, the other, one of Scottish histories’ most notable figures. Scottish Ballet’s Mary, Queen of Scots, choreographed by Sophie Laplane and co-created with director James Bonas, is a feverish, visually arresting retelling of two queens bound by blood and undone by power. Told through the fragmented memories of a dying Elizabeth I, the ballet is a bold blend of historical drama and punk-infused surrealism, anchored by compelling performances and striking design.

At the heart of the ballet is the dynamic interplay between Mary (Roseanna Leney) and Elizabeth, portrayed in dual forms: the older, haunted monarch danced with aching vulnerability by Charlotta Öfverholm, and her younger, masculine-coded self embodied by Harvey Littlefield. The use of levels—Elizabeth often elevated, watching or grasping at Mary from above—evokes both surveillance and longing. Their duets, particularly a haunting pas de deux atop a blood-soaked podium, are emotionally charged and physically daring, with Laplane’s choreography shifting from courtly elegance to raw, grounded intensity.

The production is notable for its casting and use of storytelling through body and expectation. Littlefield’s Elizabeth challenges associations with ballet norms, while paying tribute to many of the art form’s (and theatres) roots. It enriches the narrative’s exploration of power and identity. The show’s stylised violence and abstract metaphors may be intense for younger audiences, but its visual storytelling and emotional clarity make it broadly engaging for teens and adults alike. Soutra Gilmour’s costume design is a triumph, floating between Renaissance silhouettes and Vivienne Westwood-esque rebellion. Ruffs meet mohawks, corsets clash with punk tartan—each looks a statement of character and era. Bonnie Beecher’s lighting design is equally evocative, from stark shafts of snow-lit solitude to warm candlelit court scenes, often doing the heavy lifting in minimalist sets.

The original score by Mikael Karlsson and Michael P Atkinson is a textured blend of Scottish folk motifs, Elizabethan jigs, and electro-acoustic drama. It underscores the ballet’s emotional shifts with precision, though at times the sonic layering competes with the choreography’s clarity – all matched with gusto and brilliance by the accomponying live orchestrals.

Yet, the production isn’t without flaws. Act I, clocking in at over 70 minutes, suffers from pacing issues—ensemble scenes occasionally drag, diluting narrative momentum. While Laplane’s choreography is theatrically rich, it lacks moments of true physical innovation. The ballet also wrestles with tonal balance: is it a psychological portrait of Elizabeth’s guilt or a linear retelling of Mary’s life? The result is a collage that, while visually and emotionally resonant, can feel thematically scattered.

Daring, Mary, Queen of Scots is a memorable addition to Scottish Ballet’s repertoire. It reclaims historical narrative through a feminist, genre-bending lens, offering audiences not just a story of queens, but a meditation on legacy, identity, and the cost of power. For all its imperfections, it’s a production that lingers—like a letter never sent, or a crown never worn.

---