Written by D. C. Jackson
Directed by Johnny McKnight
Review by Dominic Corr
Love is exhausting. Even stories, songs, or poems about romance can bleed hearts and turn stomachs just as effectively as any real-life situationship. D.C. Jackson’s My Romantic History feels instantly recognisable for anyone who has walked the dark, grim path of an office romance; sharp, self-aware, and quietly cynical about the mechanics of modern relationships. In this revival at the Tron Theatre, Johnny McKnight leans into that unease with confidence, presenting a romance that is less about falling in love and more about trying to understand why we keep getting it wrong, and why we keep spiralling into a slum of one-night stands, mistakes, prosecco stains on the carpet and someone else’s undies on the floor.
At the centre are Tom and Amy, played by Lewie Watson and Rebecca Wilkie, whose relationship unfolds in fragments, contradictions and retrospective commentary. The structure – built on dual narration – places the audience inside their competing versions of events, creating a constantly shifting perspective that blurs certainty. At one point, you’ll have a favourite, and a preferred side. But in an instant, you’ll see the shifted perspective. What one remembers as tenderness, the other reframes as frustration. It’s a useful device, allowing the production to interrogate not just the relationship itself, but the act of remembering it.
McKnight’s direction keeps the pace brisk in the opening stretch, the show firing out of the gate quickly (look, it happens to the best of us lads) drawing out the humour in awkward office dynamics and the fragile optimism of new relationships. There’s an immediacy to these early scenes: a sense of two people stumbling into something neither fully understands. The comedy lands cleanly, initially driven by Watson and Wilkie’s natural bombastic chemistry and their ability to pivot between affection and irritation without losing credibility. And while it seems, initially, that Rebecca Wilkie is playing the ‘straight’ comedic role; they just have to wait for their peak moments (as you might expect for a heteronormative office romance)
Yet the strength of the structure also becomes its limitation. As the piece progresses, the repetition of perspective—replaying moments, reframing them, circling back—begins to lose its edge, particularly when the show blows a lot of its comedic and frantic energy early. What initially feels insightfully unconventional gradually edges toward familiarity, with the narrative returning to emotional beats it has already covered. The result is a second half that struggles to build momentum, instead hovering in a loop of self-analysis that doesn’t always translate into progression.
Even so, the performances remain consistently engaging. Watson captures Tom’s blend of insecurity and misplaced confidence with a careful balance, while Wilkie gives Amy a grounded, sterling sharpness that prevents the character from slipping into cliché. It’s a strong performance which straddles both comedy and drama with a tightness that Wilkie pushes for, rounding out the character in a way the writing doesn’t enable Watson. Both manage the dual roles within the script – switching between their central characters and alter-ego counterparts – with clarity, ensuring the shifting dynamics remain legible.
Dialling the silly factor to eleven (and snapping the knob) Julie Wilson Nimmo proves to be a vital presence throughout, moving between supporting roles with ease and precision. Her performance introduces a different comedic rhythm – broader, more elastic – that complements the central pairing without overpowering it. Each appearance feels distinct, adding texture to the world without disrupting its cohesion.
Visually, Kenny Miller’s design offers a clean, adaptable framework, with a stylised backdrop that supports the shifts in time and perspective via a number of lights – it’s a simple set-up, arguably a touch too simple for the production. The aesthetic remains understated but effective, allowing the focus to remain on the performers and the language of the script. Costume choices, particularly the use of a consistent palette, subtly reinforce the play’s underlying themes around trust and perception, even as the characters themselves remain unreliable narrators.
What My Romantic History ultimately presents is not a romance in the traditional sense, but a dissection of one – messy, contradictory and often unresolved. It’s a piece that understands the humour in disconnection, but also its quiet frustration. When it allows moments of stillness to surface beneath the dialogue, it hints at something more emotionally resonant than its structure always permits.
McKnight’s My Romantic History is a bit more than a one-night stand, but it doesn’t quite reach wedding bell levels of allure. There is much to admire here: a strong cast, and a script that begins with real clarity of purpose. But while it starts with sharp observation, it doesn’t quite evolve beyond it, settling instead into repetition where it might have pushed further, and showcasing its comedic strengths early in. A witty and well-performed exploration of modern relationships; compelling in parts, but ultimately circling its own ideas a little too tightly.
Witty and Well-Performed
My Romantic History runs at The Tron Theatre until June 13th
Running time: One hour and thirty minutes without interval
Photo credit:
Review by Dominic Corr (contact@corrblimey.uk)
Editor of Corr Blimey, and a freelance critic for Scottish publications, Dominic has been writing freelance for several established and respected publications such as BBC Radio Scotland, The List, The Scotsman, Edinburgh Festival Magazine, The Reviews Hub, In Their Own League, The Wee Review and Edinburgh Guide. As of 2023, he is a member of the Critic’s Award for Theatre Scotland (CATS) and a member of the UK Film Critics.
