Written by Beth Henley

Directed by Alex Card 

Review by Dominic Corr

Family reunions are rarely tidy affairs, but Crimes of the Heart at The Assembly Roxy proves that chaos can be wildly entertaining when handled with affection, precision and a generous helping of Southern eccentricity. Strawmoddie Theatre Company brings Beth Henley’s Pulitzer Prize winning black-tragicomedy to Edinburgh audiences with a production that revels in the contradictions of the Magrath sisters, offering a night that is both heartfelt and hilariously fraught.

The story unfolds concerning the three Magrath sisters as they gather in their grandfather’s worn-out kitchen as he lies in hospital. Think of it as Little Women by way of Mississippi; Lenny, the eldest, is holding the household together with fraying patience – marvellously carried by Strawmoddie regular, Alice Pelan. The antithesis, Meg, the prodigal middle sister, returns from California with a smile that hides more than it reveals while Babe, the youngest, has just shot her husband and insists it was because she “didn’t like his looks anymore”. And if that doesn’t hook the audience – you might want to check their pulse.

Surrounding them; their cousin Chick flutters in with judgement disguised as concern, and Babe’s young lawyer Barnette arrives with a mixture of nerves and devotion – while an old flame for Meg, in the form of Nicholas Thorne’s Doc Porter exudes more than neighbourly charm. The plot spirals through confessions, confrontations and unexpected tenderness, all anchored in the messy love that binds the sisters despite themselves.

The production’s humour lands early, but it is the emotional undercurrent that gives the evening its shape; thanks to director Alex Card who leans into the contradictions of Henley’s writing, allowing each performer and character to speak over one another, collide, retreat and circle back with the kind of realism that feels both chaotic and deeply human; what could have been messy, instead becomes genuine. The kitchen set, co-created by Card, Pelan, and Grace Gilbert is assembled with pieces sourced from the company’s own families, has a lived in authenticity that supports the play’s themes of inheritance and memory. The chipped counters and mismatched furniture become a fourth sister of sorts, holding the history the Magraths cannot quite escape – even the radio, used to cover the traditional ‘please turn off your phones’ speeches, is an integral cog in the machine, rather than a pointless gimmick.

The performances are where the production truly sings; and usually Strawmoddie’s biggest asset which covers some of the rougher edging. There is a particular pleasure in watching a cast embrace the absurdity of a situation while never losing sight of its emotional stakes. Carrying much weight if Pelan’s Lenny, capturing the character’s desperation and unexpected resilience, her attempts to keep the household afloat delivered with a humour that softens the ache beneath. They’re a catalyst for Norliza Matheson’s Meg’s; played with a buoyant charm that masks her inner turmoil, the performance shifting effortlessly between bravado and vulnerability – but reaching a brilliantly nuanced fever pitch. But for many, its Babe’s storyline, the most outwardly dramatic, which could have been fumbled. Instead, Amelie Berry handles it with a delicacy that allows the comedy to coexist with genuine heartbreak, especially in her scenes with Gregor Dickie’s Barnette, whose earnest devotion provides some of the production’s most touching moments.

The supporting roles add texture and momentum; Card enables the surrounding characters to have focus but not dilute the primary trio of the sisters; Gilbert’s Chick’s has a necessary priggish energy which injects with a delightful tension, while Dickie shines outwardly with Barnette’s awkward sincerity to offer a counterbalance to the sisters’ volatility. The ensemble’s chemistry is evident in every shared glance and overlapping line, creating a sense of family that feels both dysfunctional and deeply rooted.

While Beatrice Nicol’s lighting often hits the mark for the transitions, it does break the tension in moments – conjuring up the occasional false-ending or scene change. Additionally, there are moments when the melodrama edges toward excess, and a few scenes stretch their emotional beats longer than necessary, but these imperfections feel almost intentional, mirroring the characters’ inability to tidy their own lives. The production’s heart lies in its willingness to embrace the mess, trusting the audience to find the truth within the chaos. And while Beatrice Nicol’s lighting often hits the mark for the transitions, it does break the tension in moments – conjuring up the occasional false-ending or scene change.

By the time the final moments settle, Crimes of the Heart has offered a portrait of sisterhood that is as funny as it is fragile. Strawmoddie Theatre Company continues to deliver a spirited and emotionally generous staging that honours Henley’s script while carving out its own identity. It is a production that understands that love, in all its tangled forms, is rarely neat but always worth the trouble.

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