Written and Directed by John Binnie 

Musical Arrangements and Additional Music by Alyson Orr 

Poetry and Songs by Robert Burns 

Review by Dominic Corr

Pitlochry Festival Theatre

Scotland’s lothario extraordinaire, Robert Burns’ legacy is capable of surviving the truth that, for their talents, they were a colossal layabout, negligent father and lover, and all around bit of an arse. John Binnie’s clever script, infused with additional elements and musical arrangements from Alyson Orr (who also stars as Burns’ mother Agnes), charts an abridged journey through Burns’ accomplishments and failures via pieces of his songwriting and spoken word – culminating in an intelligently crafted, if cramped, production and triple tour-de-force from the lassies hosting the glorious studio space.

With bairn in arm, one of the untold number of Burns’ offspring, his mother Agnes is joined on the Scottish bard’s birthday by Jean Armour (Stephanie Cremona) – his recently widowed wife – who was hung out like the washing the pair met over. Completing the trifecta of key women in Burns’ life, Eden Barrie’s well-to-do Clarinda conjures a beautifully haunting, often clever round of spoken word and song that celebrates and necessarily lampoons Burns’ legacy.

A spectre, locked within the graveyard of their guilts and regrets, Chris Coxon’s presence as the musician (never named as Rabbie), is a notable inclusion – if a touch distracting. A production crafted as a means to champion the lassies of the laureate, the effective staging can feel cramped, particularly with movement sequences. Despite the occasional clever use of Coxon’s positioning and sorrow over their actions, the musical accompaniment is striking and well-balanced, infusing energy while representing and holding traditional folk; impressive and encouraging.

Jigging through the gravestones, Barrie, Cremona, and Orr champion Binnie’s piece as Orr delivers a noteworthy performance in Pitlochry’s season; their entire being is evidently within the piece. The counter-balancing is striking, efficient, and staves off a sense of playing down Burns’ achievements, while steadily drawing the spotlight to each of the women, particularly Armour, a fascinating figure of history. Cremona gets the most to work with and runs with it, holding attention throughout as they guide the story forward at a steady pace.

Far from ghoulish or gimmicky, where A Toast Fae the Lassies may have run foul of SIX: The Musical parallels, it remains its own historical piece – even deserving of an additional scene or so to further the interactions and development of the cast. Garbed in Natalie Fern’s costuming (some of the more impressive of this season), the cemetery set is brought to life (pun intended) by Adam Bowers’ lighting – both ominous, yet comforting.

Occasionally, on the nose with its choices in verse or song, there’s no denying the impact of the closing moments of the show – drawing the studio space together in solidarity for the women whose resting places will never bear the same intensity or notoriety of the man they cherished, shared (begrudgingly), and on occasion – hated. A statement on the lassies who shaped him, survived him, and stole the show; if Burns was the flame, they were the firewood—and this afternoon, Pitlochry burned bright. May the lassies never again be footnotes in a man’s verse.

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