Co-curated and Directed by Cora Bissett and Hannah Lavery

Review by Dominic Corr

An international beacon; Scotland’s writing, talent, music, and movement is a world-leader. So too is its sense of justice and inclusive nature. But even so; the swell of the Right is nothing which can be ignored. The National Theatre of Scotland’s rapid‑response project arrives with the urgency of a warning siren, gathering artists who refuse to let political despair calcify into silence. Co‑curated and directed by Cora Bissett and Hannah Lavery, the production confronts Scotland’s fractured present with a blend of fury, humour and unvarnished honesty. This is not theatre designed to soothe, but a collection of art determined to speak plainly, loudly and with the full force of collective imagination.

A showcase of charged responses to the mess, and indeed hope, of the work surrounding us; May Day’s structure is deceptively simple. A series of short works, each tackling a fracture in Scotland’s social and political landscape, from state violence to climate collapse to the slow erosion of community. What binds them is not uniformity but a shared insistence that art must speak plainly when the world refuses to listen. And what initially has the tinkling of communal hall vibe; of WI and tea and cake, is quickly shattered by Declan Welsh crackling through the space with Nazi Boys to strike at the bloated gut of the white-national cries. Indeed, music is this evening’s tour-de-force, the house band, with leading guitar from Djana Gabrielle, whose performance of Dala is extraordinarily powerful.

Though largely a smorgasbord of spoken word, song, instrumentals and dance, there’s a vein of theatre throughout (understandable given the wealth of performing talent on stage). Kicked off with a pair of the nation’s utter treasures in Leah Byrne, and Sanjeev Kohli, the newly writing pieces continue throughout, some more effective than others, with a highlight in the evening’s comedic tone is set by Charlene Boyd, Adam Buksh and Tyler Collins (written by Uma Nada-Rajah). But one of the more integral, and terrifying realistic, is Apphia Campbell’s The Correct Version; performed with lacerating humour and precision from Lola Aluko and Samuela Noumtchuet, with support from Simon Donaldson. Aluko and Noumtchet stride into the piece with the kind of command that makes the hall feel smaller, more intimate. The growing performances blend fury with theatrical precision, a portrait of a woman who has run out of patience with systems designed to grind people down, set in a reality of America which is no longer a future warning, but a grim shadow knocking at the door.

Then comes Reuben Joseph, whose presence ignites a unique energy. A rendition of Robert Burns’ A Man’s A Man, For A’That, is threaded with musicality and a wry sense of self‑awareness. Joseph’s charisma is undeniable, but it is the quiet moments, the pauses where the music takes control, that reveal the depth. It’s another reminder of the production’s command of music; MJ McCarthy’s musical direction a keynote of talent here. Outside of the musical sequences, the likes of the iconic Janice Parker, working with the Women Against the Far Right, manifesting their fight in a physical form, utilise the soundscape and span of the venue to full effect; though it is Kathryn Joseph with Scottish Dance Theatre (choreographed by Joan Cleville and performed stunningly by Kassi Olen-Jameson) which leaves significant impact for its movement.

Elsewhere, Sanjeev Kohli provides a welcome shift in tone, using humour to interrogate cultural identity without diluting the seriousness beneath the jokes. His segment is one of the few that leans openly into comedy, and the audience responds with relief, though the laughter is edged with recognition, as Scotland’s most beloved shop-keeper, Navid Harrid of Still Game, returns for a night. But the reality, that even in the comfort of humour, of the reverse – the injustices on our doorsteps, is located in Kitti’s Chasing The Crowds, or the magnificent Dawn Sievewright, delivering a performance that bristles with frustration, her voice carrying the weight of the children in our communities left behind by political bargaining through No a Wean’s Choice by Bissett for Glasgow Girls.

As a functional demonstration of new writing, May Day excels in offering slivers of pieces which have a firm footing in this world; and are primed to make a difference. It’s witnessed primarily in the bands, and spoken word – Michael Mullen and Shasta Hanif Ali especially. But then there’s Becoming Tia. Glasgow-Arabian trans storyteller Tia Rey, takes to the central plinth, and briefly shuts out the darkness outside with an embrace of chaos, colour, and identity. It’s a charismatic and striking outing, and any who are familiar with the areas Rey discusses (or have even taken a breath in Scotland) know the accuracy in her humour, and the poignancy in her words.

Bissett and Lavery’s direction keeps the evening cohesive without smoothing its edges. The pacing is brisk, and surprisingly clean for a production which hasn’t had an enormous rehearsal process, and the staging makes smart use of Central Hall’s cavernous space. Not every piece lands with equal force, but the unevenness feels honest rather than careless. This is art built in the heat of the moment, and its roughness is part of its integrity. What emerges is a showcase that refuses to apologise for its anger or its hope. At Central Hall, May Day becomes a gathering rather than a performance, a reminder that art can still, and *needs* t0, provoke, console and galvanise when the world feels unsteady. It is a vivid, necessary evening, crafted with intelligence and heart, and it leaves the audience with the unmistakable sense that silence is no longer an option.

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