Conceived, Written and Performed by Paul Ready
Directed by Caroline Steinbeis
Review by Dominic Corr
At first, it seems we’re in the wrong place. But, in time, Little Animals has us precisely where we should be, in a desperately needed wake-up call and breath of required air.
It demands a performer of extraordinary, unadorned charm to transform a makeshift eulogy into one of the most compelling hours across the festival, yet Paul Ready accomplishes precisely that with Little Animals. Marking his scriptwriting debut in tandem with eco-centric outfit Fern Culture and Pentabus, Ready constructs an exquisitely understated, intensely clever monologue that interrogates our collective indifference toward environmental collapse without ever collapsing into sanctimonious lecturing.
Mounted completely in the round beneath – stripped of scenic design, lighting shifts, or audio cues (outside of the gentle hum of The Lyceum Studio vents, which oddly work to enhance) the staging rests entirely upon Ready’s magnetic, delightfully flustered stage presence we’ve come to know from their television appearances. Conceptually, the crowd is positioned as unexpected guests at an impromptu memorial service. The departed soul is Richard, our new friend’s companion from youth: a fiercely dedicated, uncompromising climate campaigner whose untimely drowning leaves his surviving mate grappling with intense sorrow and unsettling introspection.
What renders the piece so astutely is its hesitation to cast its central speaker, the most apologetic man in existence, in it’s subject (Richard) as anything other than human. Instead, Ready offers a thoroughly recognisable, comfortable suburbanite – a person who sorts his rubbish, adores his household, earns a substantial income, and rationalises his small concessions when weighed against his deceased partner’s unyielding principles. As he continuously paces the floor, timidly soliciting approval from those gathered, the drama reveals the subtle mental acrobatics we daily execute to excuse remaining comfortable upon a warming globe.
Guided by Caroline Steinbeis’ seamless direction, the delivery appears wholly improvised, as though these raw admissions and existential queries are surfacing in real time. The narrative moves effortlessly across the seating area, dissolving the boundary separating spectator from player until the audience functions as an integral partner in this soft questioning of contemporary ethics.
If a slight imperfection exists, it resides in the text’s intentional refusal to provide definitive conclusions or a traditional climax, allowing the tale to glide quietly into unresolved, contemplative waters as time expires. But, as a touching exploration of kinship, remembrance, and ecological dread, Little Animals proves a triumphant achievement. Smart, intellectually sharp, and disarmingly compassionate, it issues a subtle summons to consciousness that resonates with far greater impact than any stern ideological sermon.
Disarmingly Compassionate
Little Animals runs at The Lyceum Studio
Running time – Seventy minutes without interval
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.
