Book by Enda Walsh

Music & Lyrics by Glen Hansard & Markéta Irglová 

Directed by John Tiffany

Review by Dominic Corr

Pitlochry Festival Theatre

With all the humdrum, the fanfare, the anxieties, and the dismissal of Alan Cumming’s inaugural season as the Artistic Director of Pitlochry Festival season; there was one question which took precedent; what the hell will open it?

For all the speak of a whirlwind to the theatre, of the warnings and neigh sayers, Tony award-winning Once is precisely what audiences can expect this season, quality. Pure quality, and a showcase of talent. And if this is anything to go by, this will be one of the theatre’s most remarkable seasons to date.

A statement of intent, a reminder that intimacy, craft and emotional truth can be just as electrifying as spectacle; this revival listens deeply and shatters hearts with disarming precision for a show which does not announce with firework, but with authenticity in this charming story of missed opportunities, and the doodles with can, and cannot, undo. Following the usual trajectory of star-studded and big-hitting musicals these days; Once first opened in 2011 (2012 on Broadway), a musical based on John Carney’s 2007 film, adapted by Enda Walsh and directed by the legendary John Tiffany (returning to direct Pitlochry’s Scottish premiere). So, the show has a lot going for it.  

Walking intot he auditorium; it’s Dublin. The rolling hills of Perthshire are no more, and we find the theatre space transformed into a live, usable, bar where a disillusioned musician has decided he has nothing left to sing about. His guitar is abandoned, his confidence evaporated, his songs gathering dust. Into this slump bursts a young Czech woman with the kind of energy that can rearrange a room. Upon hearing the music, he has stopped believing in, and in the space between them something begins to shift. What follows is a week in which two strangers, bound by circumstance and bruised by their pasts, find themselves creating something neither could manage alone. It isn’t a story which will alter history or challenge the world’s woes. But sometimes, our most powerful stories are intimate, small-scale, and slip us by – that is the strength of Once.

The beauty of this production lies in how lightly it holds that story. The humour is unforced, the sentiment never syrupy, the romance tender without ever tipping into fantasy. It is a musical about connection rather than destiny, about the small acts of courage required to keep going when life has worn you thin. The adapted script by Walsh remains a marvel of restraint, allowing silence to speak as loudly as melody; though does push much more elements of the comedy and light-heartedness, and strips back much of the film’s grittier nature. It’s a beast in its own right, and neither detracts nor robs spotlight from it’s exceptionally crafted origins.

The performances are engaging across the board. The central pairing is magnetic, their chemistry immediate yet never overstated. A principal draw, Dylan Wood gives Guy a raw, aching sincerity, his voice carrying the weight of someone who has loved deeply and lost painfully. His musicality is effortless, but it is the emotional transparency beneath it that makes the performance so compelling. A performance which initiates as distracted and guarded, ebbs into a spritely thing, the genuine glee on the stage lifting the theatre. Opposite, Lydia White brings fire, wit and a luminous stillness to Girl, her determination to pull him back into the world both moving and sharply funny. White’s command of the stage is remarkable, her presence grounding the production even in its most delicate moments. A two-hander which defines the show – gives it a soul, as the design gives the show it’s form. Together; this is a living production.

Around them, the ensemble of actor‑musicians create a world that feels lived‑in and warm and retain Pitlochry’s actor-musician lineage (with an appearance from Connor Going keeping the flickers of the theatre’s repertoire somewhat alive). Their transitions between characters, instruments and scenes are fluid, almost ritualistic, giving the production a communal heartbeat. The big musical numbers swell with joy, while the quieter moments feel like confessions whispered across a table; seen in the likes of Allison Harding and Sean McLevy’s roles as Barushka and Da, the lead’s parents. Comedy aplenty, there’s opportunities for Laurie Jamieson and Charlie West to make the multiple roles they play their own, but Jos Slovick brings a balance of comedy and heartfelt in a way which steps more directly into the audience: for the ensemble, this isn’t just their stage; it’s their home.

For as whimsically carefree and natural as the show may mean; it is orchestrated contrivances in theatre’s most engaging and well-crafted way. What continues to be the production’s greatest assets has always been the design work; still striking. Bob Crowley’s set, a cosy Irish pub lined with slowly misting mirrors, becomes a character in its own right as it lets slip the pain and actions of the characters when the audience can’t see. The reflections multiply the action, creating a sense of depth and memory, as though the characters are surrounded by the ghosts of their own choices. The onstage bar, open to the audience before the show, blurs the line between performance and gathering, inviting spectators into the world rather than keeping them at arm’s length; it’s a gimmick which is starting to thread the line of overused, but this show certainly pushed it to the forefront, if it didn’t originate it.

Musically, the production is exquisite. As expected, “Falling Slowly” lands with the force of a held breath finally released, but the entire score is handled with care, each song emerging organically from the story rather than interrupting it. Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová ‘s lyrics and arrangements are rich without being indulgent, allowing the emotional core of the music to shine and are carried through Pitlochry Festival Theatre with impact. And while some songs may hit a little different than their film counter-parts (notably “Broken Hearted Hoover Fixer Sucker Guy”) their importance to the story remains.

What makes this Once so special is its refusal to rush. It encourages us to feel the ache, to recognise the beauty in two people meeting at the exact moment they need each other. While Carney’s film channels its angst into the folk rock, here, Walsh and Tiffany manifest a meditation on hope, on the courage it takes to begin again, and on the strange, fragile magic of human connection. It speaks with grace; for as whimsically carefree and natural as the show may seem; it is a creation of orchestrated contrivances in theatre’s most engaging and well-crafted way. Emotionally captivating; Once speaks to you, and staggers with its simple and clean approach; the event show of the season, in a year so filled with promise and excitment.

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