Adapted by David Harrower from the novel by Muriel Spark  

Directed by Vicky Featherstone 

Review by Dominic Corr

The Royal Lyceum Theatre

To weaponise beauty as an instrument of psychological subjugation requires a rare, chilling theatrical architecture – one that Vicky Featherstone’s monumental new production for The National Theatre of Scotland, debuting at The Royal Lyceum Theatre, captures with breathtaking, cinematic precision. David Harrower’s wrought adaptation of Muriel Spark’s 1960 masterpiece does not merely revisit the genteel, sunlit classrooms of 1930s Edinburgh; it strips them bare, laying raw the insidious mechanism through which charismatic pedagogy curdles imperceptibly into totalitarian dogma. It is not an immediate ensnarer, but to surrender to its cinematic nature, its performances, and brutality all reward those who surrender to the ‘set’.  

At the epicentre of this psychological battlefield stands Jean Brodie, an eccentric educator waging an uncompromising, idiosyncratic rebellion against the sterile, joyless orthodoxy framing her world, subtly moulding her select cohort of favoured pupils into devoted foot soldiers of her own design.

Visually, the staging operates with an operatic scale that occasionally threatens to eclipse the delicate psychological friction at its core. Chloe Lamford’s towering, tiered steps consciously evoke the intimidating, monumental architecture of 1930s European fascist arenas, dramatically illuminated by Lizzie Powell’s stark art-deco lighting and punctuated by Lewis den Hertog’s enormous video projections flashing historic art and totalitarian imagery; it all combines to give a weight not often seen from Scottish stages – and rightly puts the show on a level to stand toe-to-toe with, and elevate, those surrounding her. Yet, this monumental design is brilliantly anchored and elevated by Anna Orton’s costume design – unquestionably one of the production’s glories. Orton outfits Brodie in experimental 1930s silhouettes dialled up with a contemporary, poisoned-green chiffon academic gown cascading over a tight pink leather skirt, perfectly externalising her dangerous, seductive modernity. It then evolves into shoulders that can pierce the skies; dusted and greying, the bite clipped from Brodie; Claudia Winkleman and Alan Cumming wish they could have Orton in their wardrobe department.

More harrowing still is the seamless precision with which the production brings its central figure into sharp, tactile focus. Guided by Charlotte McLean’s rigorous movement direction, Gayle Rankin’s portrayal of Brodie is fiercely pointed—always razor-sharp, geometric, and calculated, never once stumbling, soft, or round in her spatial command. Rankin sidesteps crude villainy, weaving instead a toxic yet intoxicating tapestry of narcissism, magnetism, and quiet authoritarianism that proves far more chilling than any overt monster. Throughout the most densely scripted passages, the performance maintains an unwavering rhythm: Miss Brodie’s grandiose delusions and visionary eccentricities retain a sharp, almost aristocratic wit, while Rankin commands the stage through sheer intellectual gravity rather than aggression. It is a masterclass in psychological portraiture, capturing a protagonist who remains, quite brilliantly, her own antagonistic antiheroine.

This ideological battleground is fiercely populated by a supporting ensemble of exceptional calibre, even if the expansive pacing occasionally requires an audience’s steady endurance. Maureen Beattie brings a deliciously acidic, formidable gravity to the harassed headmistress Miss Mackay, serving as an essential institutional counterweight to Brodie’s unchecked reign. Brian Ferguson cuts a memorably pathetic, deeply devoted figure as Gordon Lowther, as Dyfan Dwfor injects a smoky, predatory complexity into the role of Teddy Lloyd. Crucially, the quintet playing the favoured girls deliver performances of staggering maturity and emotional precision. Bobby Rainsbury anchors the narrative with quiet vigilance as Sandy Stranger, flanked by Shreya Khaund Marshall as Jenny Gray, Tallulah Grieve as Monica Douglas, Liberty Black as Mary MacGregor, and Sophie Fortune as Joyce Emily Hammond, each charting the painful erosion of youthful innocence with heartbreaking clarity.

Woven through this psychological wreckage is Pippa Murphy’s sound design and composition, introducing an ominous, forward-looking rock pulse that undercuts the period setting with modern dread. Though the running time is substantial, the narrative momentum drives relentlessly toward a devastating reckoning where artistic romanticism curdles into political blindness. It is only through Sandy’s eventual, literary salvation that the debris of Brodie’s empire is catalogued and transformed. Ferocious, visually astonishing, and intellectually rigorous, this co-production with Pitlochry Festival Theatre proves that the shadows of fascism can take root just as easily in the sunlit classrooms of Auld Reekie as they do upon the world stage – leaving an icy, haunting aftertaste that lingers. An alluring nightmare, served with a side of sherry and vinegar, The Nation Theatre of Scotland’s most accomplished piece for the season holds an old head on young shoulders.

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