Written by Izzy Gray 

With Original Music by Quee MacArthur

Review by Dominic Corr

Scottish Storytelling Centre

The adage that the monster within us is the most dangerous of all is far from a unique concept, but to see it utilised with such empathy is strikingly fresh and encouraging in Izzy Gray’s new writing piece, Beastie, brought to the stage thanks to EPAD, Creative Scotland, and the Scottish Storytelling Centre.

There’s something about seeing another human in a solitary lifestyle choice which unsettles many of us. Hermits, loners, recluses – it’s always attributed with a negative connotation. And here, following art school, and failed attempts at life in the city, the Hermit of  Mòrar looks to return to the bothies and wayward wanderings he knew growing up with his grandfather. Retracing the steps of the stories told to him, as each bothy came with its own myth and legend. But what’s more terrifying, the ghoulies lurking in the bushes behind your tent, or the monster you’re running from – nipping at your heels from the shadows of guilt.

Any who has caught Gray’s previous work (Keepers of the Light) will know their adept talents in weaving the figurative with the literal in a barrier-melting formation of aethereal writing, offering shape to the formless. In this (very) dark comedy, where language is as much a critter of legend as any of the beasts which Fraser Sivewright manifests, Beastie spotlights raw storytelling through a theatrical means, its encouraging use of contemporary multimedia techniques a physical representation of the show itself: one where time, identity, and legacy give shape to the shadows of ourselves.

Captivating from the initial beats; comedy is a principal tool for Beastie’s storytelling of myth and legacy, built on the grounds of Scotland’s folklore, culture, and murkier elements of the past. A solo odyssey, Sivewright, there’s a powerhouse performance which entices and holds the audience, tightening an already engaging script. Utilising form and levels, Sivewright’s seventy-minute performance is one facilitated by Dawn Hartley’s movement direction – enhanced with Sivewright’s metamorphic performance – one which gradually ebbs from comedic to tragic, to chilling. Culminating in a split creature; neither man nor monster, but far from smoke and legend, fully realised.

Playing multiple roles throughout, the diverse range of accents provides levity, and occasionally a little chill of something more sinister. And it’s there where one of the only cracks in Beastie emerges; not strictly a horror, the threat elements could be heightened, particularly for a production which has a threaded ripple of subliminal and smart commentary, it’s ending a much needed sting of the reality of the tale – and the truth to the monsters lurking in the depths of us, rather than the lochs.  

Subtle, but occasionally blazing with a richness, Quee MacArthur’s original music is as integral a storytelling device as the writing, illustrations and video design, and Sivewright’s performance. The manipulation of tone is where it excels, conjuring dread and anticipation before whipping a revelation of sincerity. It’s enhanced further with Tom Sulat’s lighting, which, for the most part, plays a touch of second fiddle to other elements – a compliment rather than a feature. It’s similar for the projections displayed above, occasionally part of the storytelling, other times for additional set design or storytelling shortcuts: most often effective (the council workers as Midgies an inspired design), but other times feels underutilised.

In its final beats, whatever faults in Beastie’s structure are redeemed, as it doesn’t just ask audiences to confront the monsters of myth, but dares us to reckon with the ones we craft from shame and solitude. Gray’s writing, paired with Sivewright’s shape-shifting performance and a production team attuned to the nuances of tone and texture, delivers a piece that is as emotionally resonant as it is theatrically inventive. It’s a rare feat: a solo show that feels communal, a dark comedy that leaves a bruise, and a folkloric tale that refuses to stay in the past. Beastie lingers not because of its ghosts, but because of its humanity: in all of our raw, fractured, and achingly familiar sins.

---