Fringe theatre reviews: The Bob Ross Effect | Apples in Winter | Turn The Cloth | Call Me Elizabeth | Rip Her to Shreds | An Echo in the Void

THEATRE

The Bob Ross Effect ★★★★

Assembly George Square Gardens (Venue 3) until 31 August

Those of us on this side of the Atlantic might need a brief introduction to Bob Ross, the softly spoken presenter of The Joy of Painting, which ran on American TV from 1982 until his death in 1995, becoming one of the most watched TV art shows of all time. Known for his Afro-style perm and his quiet assurance that everyone can paint, he is now something of a cult figure.

Actor, writer and cabaret performer Sarah-Louise Young makes him the central focus of her new show, despite the fact that the litigious owners of Bob Ross Inc will not allow his image or his voice to be used. Happily, his face is so recognisable it can be made from almost anything, as Young demonstrates, from broken biscuits to receipts from last year’s tax return.

Young dons the Ross wig and beard pretty effectively, if her take on his dulcet tones is occasionally a little hard to hear. She demonstrates a painting in his style, performs some excellent Ross-themed songs, co-written with Jordan Paul Clarke, and even gets the audience to do some drawing of their own (paper and crayons are provided).

It might all be a bit too saccharin (Bob Ross is said to have used the word “happy” 2800 times on his shows), had Young not also decided to weave in two other stories, of her friend comedian Lyn Ruth Miller - also a painter - who died aged 87 in 2022, and of her brother, the person who first introduced her to Bob Ross.

The result is that the bittersweet moments are present, but wrapped up in fun, creativity and self-care, and the spirit of Bob Ross lives on at the Fringe. Susan Mansfield

THEATRE

Apples in Winter ★★★★

Paradise in the Vault (Venue 29) until 30 August

If you detect the comforting aroma of home baking emanating from the backroom Annexe at Paradise in the Vault, that’ll be Miriam lovingly baking one of her famous apple pies, slicing the fruit, rolling the pastry, meticulously threading the lattice top. Since it’s winter, however, the apples she has are far from the best. But then you don’t get to decide when your only son gets executed.

Prison wardens have warned Miriam that her son may not have the appetite to stomach the final meal he’s specially requested. But, even in the unfamiliar surroundings of the prison kitchen, with its awkward security protocols, she feels it’s her duty to honour his wishes.

Jennifer Fawcett’s solo play from Surrey-based LynchPin Theatre Company is a quiet, meticulous, understated affair, but its sense of a woman’s life devastated by blame and guilt slowly mounts through episodes of avoidance, courage and, ultimately, resilience. It’s a slow-burn show, without doubt, but Edie Campbell’s careful, deeply sensitive performance unravels the woman’s trauma all the more vividly for its thoughtful pacing (and her American accent - no doubt with help from dialect coach Suzanne Parker - is uncannily convincing). There’s plenty here about motherhood and maternal obligation, about unbreakable bonds between parent and offspring, but it’s to writer Fawcett’s credit that she neither cushions the blow of the harrowing events she describes, nor stands in judgement over crime, blame or even the death penalty itself. Indeed, though Miriam’s clever on-stage cookery demonstration might seem like it’s there to convey motherly commitment, by the end it may have taken on a far darker significance.

Claire Parker’s direction is appropriately thoughtful and perceptive, and Elisabeth Tooms’s simple lighting design effectively traces the play’s gradually evolving moods. Apples in Winter stares guilt, grief and loss unflinchingly in the face, and for a modest offering, it delivers a considerable emotional blow. David Kettle

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THEATRE

Turn the Cloth ★★★

Gilded Balloon Teviot (Venue 14) until 31 August

A queer folk horror take on the legend of the kelpie, writer-director Eve Miller takes a big swing by playing this admirably seriously. Set in 1989 as a storm hits a small Scottish town there’s a nice sense of claustrophobia as four teenage girls shelter; rhythmically turning the cloth and singing traditional waulking songs while wearing wedding dresses to shield them from the attention of the kelpie. The characters are nicely sketched with Eilidh (Niamh Cox) and Kirsty (Emma Comfort) diligently working while Maura (Isla Rose Perkins) and Blythe (Greer Montgomery) — inspired by VHS horror movies and drink — yearn for a freer life, not bound by tradition.

Miller is quick to acknowledge the essential absurdity of the kelp myth; “a sexy man/horse monster” that preys on single women but the mystery of what happened to Maura’s missing sister hangs heavily in the air. The solemn cadence of the waulking songs, combined with the attendant wind and rain and some nifty John Carpenter-inspired synth music give this a steady mournful pulse. It’s less successful at evoking dread than it is longing but it’s well-played well-paced and benefits a great deal from an effective sound design. Rory Ford

THEATRE

Call Me Elizabeth: from Lassie to Cleopatra ★★★

Call Me Elizabeth: from Burton to Humanitarian ★★

Assembly George Square Studios (Venue 17) until 29, 30 August

A life in two parts; Kayla Boye strikes a convincingly glamorous figure as Hollywood icon Elizabeth Taylor in this gossipy double-bill of shows (performed on alternating days) thats starts brightly but does end up becoming disappointingly superficial stuff.

The first part is the stronger as it deals with Taylor’s early days in Hollywood and effectively whisks us through her formative years. Fresh from her — rather undeserved — Oscar win at the 1961 Academy Awards for Butterfield 8 (Taylor admits it was a sympathy vote due to her recent bout of pneumonia) she recounts a childhood spent on Hollywood backlots into a dictaphone as notes for a biography. This is fan fiction in perhaps the best sense of the term as you sense Boye’s portrait is an act of devotion — not just for Elizabeth but the golden age of movies.

There’s plenty of backstage anecdotes but what’s more interesting is how she deals with the appalling abuse at the hands of her first husband Conrad Nicky Hilton with the steely resolve of a woman forged by 5 A.M. wake-up calls and long punishing days on the set. At its breeziest, it’s like thumbing through a stack of vintage movie magazines but it’s careful to afford Taylor a —sometimes surprising — inner voice.

This sense of depth and shade is rather lost in the second part as Taylor meets Burton in 1962 on the set of Cleopatra. Now we’re 1985 and Elizabeth (she hated being called “Liz”) is back in the same hotel room after a stint in the Betty Ford clinic and two tempestuous marriages to Richard Burton. This part begins with some pretty shocking contemporary news coverage of the AIDS crisis but Taylor’s part in fighting it is dealt with by to a quick phone call to Ronnie Reagan. Names are dropped leadenly to establish the period (“Burt Reynolds — what a dreamboat!”). Taylor now seems content to trot out breezy well-worn stories as if she were on a chat show. It’s rather telling that the Pope, who accused Burton and Taylor of “sexual vagrancy” has the best line in the show. In fact, a lot of the second half does sound like verbatim anecdotes from Elizabeth herself which is great for accuracy but not always interesting. Unfortunately, it’s not so much Photoplay but more Hello! magazine. Rory Ford

THEATRE

Rip Her to Shreds ★★

Underbelly (Venue 61) until 30 August

There’s a lot of energy, ability and good intention on display in this play about three young college roommates (Beth, who’s convinced herself she’s in love with her neglectful boyfriend; Mercy, who has a lot of drunken sex but can’t figure out whether this is a good thing or not; and Bo, the feminist idealist who’s mourning her dead mother) developing magical powers. When Beth is driven wild with jealousy by pretty freshman Abby, the tone switches from Practical Magic to The Exorcist as vengefulness begins to win out over sisterly love, yet a spicy and well-performed piece about the darkness in young women’s hearts falls to bits somewhat amid an overly shouty and unsatisfyingly cacophonous finale. David Pollock

THEATRE

An Echo in the Void ★★

Assembly Roxy (Venue 139) until 29 August

An ambitious but rather frustrating entry in the “disparate characters trapped together” sub genre, this new play from Jason Weiss holds the audience at arms length for much of its running time and doesn’t entirely repay your close attention. It very deliberately disorientates as four people find themselves trapped in a void, cycling through their — often traumatic — memories trying to figure out where they are and how they can escape. A pattern points to medical tech company, Ethereal Dynamics and their breakthrough in neural science, Sanctuary, an interesting but not fully realised idea. The cast are strong and Weiss’s direction and own original music can be effective but ultimately this ends up in a metaphysical cul-de-sac. Rory Ford

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