Written by Denise Mina

Adapted by Linda McLean

Directed by Dominic Hill

Review by Dominic Corr

The Citizens Theatre

You could bottle the scent of this show; whisky, tobacco, and brick-dust. Denise Mina’s grimly compelling narrative finds a striking theatrical life in The Last Drop, adapted by Linda McLean and directed by Dominic Hill, anchoring itself firmly in the grit and shadow of 1950s Glasgow, with the exposed walls of  The Citizen’s Theatre holding the memories of The Gorbals, here coaxed out for a thrilling, depraved, performance which channels the city in a magnificent way. This is a production that understands atmosphere as more than aesthetic dressing—it becomes the central force shaping everything that unfolds onstage. What an ending to a sensational opening season for the venue, following its re-opening.

From its initial moments, Hill establishes a sense of unease that never quite loosens its grip. The story, rooted in the infamous Burnside murders, positions the audience in a world of half-truths, blurred loyalties and quiet menace. At its core lies the charged encounter between William Watt and Peter Manuel, portrayed here by Keith Fleming and Brian Vernel, respectively—two men locked in a psychological, almost aethereal stand-off that feels as volatile as it is inevitable.

Fleming’s Watt is a vent of poorly controlled pressure, a man navigating grief, suspicion, a hangover and fear with an intensity that never spills too far into theatrics. For as controlled as Fleming’s performance is, Watt is anything but. Opposite him, Vernel brings something far less predictable. His Manuel is unsettling not through overt aggression, but through an unnerving unpredictability – moments of charisma and gallus are undercut by flashes of something much darker. Together, they create a dynamic that drives the production, giving the central narrative both its shape and its tension.

What elevates The Last Drop beyond a straightforward crime retelling is its sense of place. This is not a backdrop but a living presence thanks to Jen McGinlet’s set. The Glasgow of the period—industrial, soot-stained, and socially stratified—filters through every element of the production. Accents, rhythms of speech, and character detail combine to form a vivid portrait of a city defined as much by its contradictions as its history.

The ensemble—Mary Gapinski, Andy Clark, Martin Donaghy, George Drennan and Robert Jack—operate with impressive fluidity, shifting between roles with minimal transformation yet complete clarity. It’s an approach that keeps the narrative agile, allowing scenes to move quickly without sacrificing coherence. Gapinski and Jack, in particular, bring a layered emotional weight to their roles, with Gapinski ensuring the female voices within the story cut through the predominantly male landscape with force and nuance.

Technically, the production is finely tuned. McGinley’s set design allows locations to emerge and dissolve with seamless precision, creating a fluid sense of movement through pubs, streets and courtrooms without interrupting the narrative flow. Lighting cuts sharply through the space, sculpting moments of interrogation and introspection with equal clarity, while the sound design underpins everything with an almost physical sense of tension—low, constant, and inescapable.

If there is a slight imbalance, it emerges in the latter stages of the play. The carefully cultivated ambiguity of the first half begins to consolidate too quickly, shifting from uncertainty into a more defined resolution that feels stylistically at odds with what has come before. The narrative loses a measure of its earlier intrigue, trading complexity for clarity in a way that slightly diminishes its impact. 

Yet even in those moments, the production’s strengths remain firmly intact. The character work is compelling, the staging confident, and the sense of time and place unwavering. What emerges is a play that may not sustain its initial ambiguity throughout but never loses sight of its purpose. The Last Drop is a precise in its chaos, atmospheric and sharply executed piece of theatre – one that leans into its darkness without losing its grip on human detail. A powerful reminder of storytelling rooted in place, and in the people shaped by it.

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