Written by Frances Poet

Music and Lyrics by Ricky Ross 

Directed by Dominic Hill

Review by Dominic Corr

The Citizens Theatre

Returning home after seven years of redevelopment, The Citizens Theatre reopens with Small Acts of Love, a production as ambitious as the building it now inhabits. The newly revitalised Gorbals venue is a marvel as its Victorian bones so lovingly preserved, now with its refreshed additions gleam with promise at a renewed powerhouse for Scottish theatre. And fittingly, this inaugural show mirrors that architectural duality: past and present entwined, grief and grace held in delicate tension. Similarly fractured, the principal storytelling mechanics is the lace and overlay the lives, accounts, and fallout from the families, victims, and those living in Lockerbie before, during, and following the attack.

This new entry into the many pushes for a ‘new’ Scottish musical, written by Frances Poet and directed by Dominic Hill, Small Acts of Love explores the aftermath of the 1988 Lockerbie disaster through the lens of community, compassion, and the quiet heroism of ordinary people. It’s a story built not on spectacle, but on intimacy; on the women who laundered victims’ clothes; Christmas presents purchased the days before; on the bonds forged between Scottish locals and American families, and on the small gestures that ripple through time to this day.

The ensemble is formidable: a compendium of the best working in the industry. Blythe Duff brings their expectant gravitas and warmth in numerous roles, her presence anchoring the production with quiet authority as Ewan Donald and Robert Jack offer textured performances, shifting between roles with clarity and emotional nuance as two of the more central roles as the first officer on the scene, and the area’s local priest.

They’re met with additional support, not only vocally, but in performance from Barrie Hunter, Naomi Stirrat, with Hilary Maclean and Jane McKenna shining in moments of reflection and resilience, their portrayals grounded and deeply human; McKenna’s moment involving a character’s coat slipping through their fingers – a much-needed sting of emotion. The cast of fourteen actor-singers navigate the decades-spanning narrative with skill, though some transitions feel hurried, and the emotional weight occasionally diluted.

Musically, Ricky Ross’s score, performed live by a five-piece roots band, is evocative and well-integrated. Folk-inflected melodies underscore scenes with tenderness, though the musical interludes sometimes soften the dramatic tension rather than heighten it. There’s a sense that the production is wary of lingering too long in sorrow, opting instead for humour and tonal shifts that, while understandable, can feel like evasions. Poised at the rear, often struck with the lighting or fluttered in additional streamers or cascading elements to offer scene changes, Tom Piper’s set design is a triumph. Echoing the theatre’s own transformation, the stage evokes both domestic intimacy and institutional memory. Laundry lines stretch across scenes like connective tissue, and the use of projection and silhouette, enhanced by Bruno Poet’s lighting, creates moments of haunting beauty. The building itself seems to breathe through the production; its history and renewal are reflected in the show’s thematic core.

Far from two-dimensional of stilted, the movement direction by Emily Jane Boyle adds a layer of choreographic storytelling that helps bridge the episodic structure. Characters drift, collide, and circle each other in ways that suggest memory, trauma, and the passage of time. It’s a subtle but effective device, grounding the narrative in physicality.

Yet for all its strengths, Small Acts of Love doesn’t land with the emotional force it promises. The subject matter is undeniably powerful, and the production is brave in its refusal to sensationalise. But the frequent use of humour, character asides, and narrative detours prevents the grief from settling. The pain is acknowledged but rarely allowed to linger. There’s a tension between the show’s desire to honour resilience and its reluctance to confront devastation head-on.

That said, the production’s heart is undeniable. It’s a compassionate, well-crafted piece that speaks to the strength of community and the endurance of love. As a reopening statement, it’s fittingly celebratory, reflective, and rooted in Scottish identity. And while it may not hit as hard as it could, it leaves behind something quietly profound: a reminder that healing often begins with the smallest of gestures. A gentle welcome home for the Citizens Theatre, Small Acts of Love doesn’t roar, but it resonates. And in a space reborn from its own history, that feels just right.

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