Home For Christmas: Edinburgh Panto’s Past, Present And (The King’s Theatre) Future

As Edinburgh prepares for the long‑awaited return of its panto to the King’s Theatre, Dominic Corr sat down with Allan Stewart, Grant Stott and Jordan Young to reflect on a tradition that has shaped their careers and captivated generations. From the Festival Theatre’s grand, temporary scale to the King’s cherished intimacy, the trio speak candidly about craft, loyalty, rising expectations and the enduring magic of a Scottish audience. Their stories trace the artform’s evolution while affirming what has never changed: panto’s irresistible invitation to come in, join in, and shout back.

---

There is a particular kind of excitement in Edinburgh when the nights draw in and the posters go up. It is not just Christmas that is approaching, but pantomime season – that uniquely Scottish mixture of tradition, spectacle, knowing winks and unapologetic daftness. This year’s Festival Theatre panto comes with an added layer of significance: it is both a celebration of what has been achieved in this vast temporary home, and a fond glance back towards the King’s Theatre, where Edinburgh panto will soon return.

Speak to anyone involved and the word that comes up again and again is “lucky”. Lucky to have had the Festival Theatre while the King’s underwent its long-awaited refurbishment; lucky to have been able to scale the shows up to meet the demands of one of Scotland’s biggest stages; and lucky, above all, to be part of an artform that continues to thrive, adapt and refuse to be written off as merely nostalgic.

For Allan Stewart, pantomime is not just a job but a lifetime’s relationship. He made his panto debut in 1975, at the Pavilion, in an era that now feels almost prehistoric by modern standards. “No radio mics, one microphone centre stage,” he recalls. “It was a rush to get to the middle to make sure you were heard.” The band consisted of an organist and a drummer, there were no click tracks, no one in the wings calling cues, and lighting was, in Stewart’s words, essentially “on or off”. And yet, he insists, the audiences were as loud, as generous and as game as they are today.

That generosity of spirit, he believes, is something peculiarly Scottish. Stewart has worked extensively in England, including a stint at Wimbledon, which he describes as “the hardest” audience he ever played. “They’re not used to the type of comedy we do,” he says. The challenge, though, was part of the appeal, and the reward came in the form of one of the best reviews of his career. Still, he is clear where his heart lies. Scottish audiences arrive ready to play their part, ready to shout, sing, boo and cheer, and crucially, ready to forgive if something goes slightly awry.

What has undeniably changed is scale. Stewart remembers cardboard sets and painted flats from his early years, a far cry from today’s towering beanstalks, flying scenery and creatures that loom out over the stalls. “If you’ve got an idea that panto is something thrown together just for children, then you’re wrong,” he says. “This is really well rehearsed, really well put together, and the production values are West End.” At the same time, he is keen to stress that bigger does not automatically mean better. There is room, he argues, for the huge commercial spectaculars and for smaller, funnier, more character-driven shows. “I always think of myself as a woman, not a drag-performer,” he jokes, neatly summing up his approach to damehood.

That balance between spectacle and intimacy is something Grant Stott has felt acutely during the Festival Theatre years. Standing on one of the largest stages in Scotland, backed by Crossroads’ willingness to match scale with ambition, has been a genuine thrill. He vividly remembers sitting in the auditorium after a show, ready for the infamous Front-of-House pantomime the staff perform; nursing a drink, and seeing the set from the audience’s perspective for the first time. “It was only partially lit,” he says, “and I just thought: my God, that looks absolutely phenomenal.” On stage, surrounded by noise and movement, you rarely get the chance to appreciate that kind of visual impact.

And yet, for all the Festival Theatre’s vastness, Stott speaks warmly about what will be regained with the return to the King’s. “There’s a lot to be said about the intimacy of the King’s Theatre,” he reflects. A smaller audience, a more enclosed space, and longer runs allow performers to settle into an old rhythm, one forged over decades. Edinburgh is fortunate, he notes, to have had such a prestigious home during the King’s closure. “Other cities might not have had that facility standing by,” he says. “We were so lucky it was the Festival Theatre.”

Jordan Young, meanwhile, is fascinated by the assumptions people make about pantomime. Each year, he encounters adults – not children, but grown adults – attending their very first panto. Many arrive wary, uncertain about the etiquette, unsure whether they are ‘allowed’ to shout at the stage. “People come to a play and think, I’ve paid my money, entertain me,” he says. “With panto, they come in already onside. It’s part of their tradition.” For many families, he notes, Christmas does not properly begin until they have been to the panto, often across multiple generations.

That collective understanding, however, cannot be taken for granted. Young recounts explaining the form to people unfamiliar with it, including those for whom English is not a first language. “It can feel like an assault on the senses,” he laughs. “You might not know exactly what happened, but you come away having enjoyed it.” A good pantomime, in his view, must cater to everyone from toddlers to nonagenarians, and justify its ticket price by ensuring no one feels short-changed.

Cost is never far from the conversation. Young is frank about the pressure that comes with rising prices and tightening household budgets. “We know it can run into a fortune,” he says. That knowledge brings an obligation to deliver value in visible, tangible ways. He wants audiences to see things they cannot do themselves: singers at full belt, dancers in perfect unison, effects that prompt an audible gasp. “I don’t want folk going, ‘my wee pal could’ve done that’,” he says. Effort, above all, is non-negotiable.

Stott places that effort within a broader historical context. He believes Scottish pantomime is currently as strong as it has ever been, precisely because of the relationships built over time between casts and audiences. In earlier decades, performers moved from city to city, with little continuity. Gradually, casts settled, and loyalty followed. Audiences now return not just to a theatre, but to a familiar group of performers. “It’s almost like a football team,” Stott suggests. “That’s my panto. That’s where I go.”

That sense of continuity has not meant stagnation. Modern pantomime, all three agree, is more inclusive, more reflective of contemporary society, and more willing to make space for new talent alongside established names. Familiar faces remain part of the appeal, but they are no longer the whole story. New performers, new voices and new perspectives are actively welcomed, ensuring the form continues to renew itself.

As this year’s Jack and the Beanstalk readies to takes its bow on the Festival Stage for the last time, it does so as both a culmination and a transition. It celebrates what has been possible on a grand scale, while gently steering Edinburgh panto back towards its spiritual home. When the curtain rises again at the King’s Theatre, it will do so carrying decades of shared history, a renewed building, and the same old invitation Scottish pantomime has always offered: come in, join in, and don’t be afraid to shout back.

---

---