Taverna Miresia – Mario, Bella, Anastasia, EIF theatre review: 'oddly empty'

Taverna Miresia – Mario, Bella, Anastasia ★★

Church Hill Theatre until 29 August

In a once white bathroom, a family grieve the passing of a loved one. Everything’s slower, but there’s two kinds of almost stillness – the one that comes from the intensity of grief and the other that comes from its aftermath.

The challenge with Greek director Mario Banushi’s at times audacious commitment to a style of theatre that defies its audience find something to be entertained by is that the show is slowed down to a precise place where all the emotion falls out. What’s left is oddly empty, which is perhaps the point, but it’s one that doesn’t need a whole hour to prove.

Enjoying The Scotsman's coverage of the Edinburgh festivals? For just £2 a month you can get unlimited access to scotsman.com plus 2-for-1 Fringe tickets. For details visit www.scotsman.com/subscriptions

The programme reveals that the piece is a fragmented recreation of Banushi’s family home, in Albania, and a farewell gift to his deceased father. Its words are full of feeling that unfortunately don’t seem to have translated to the stage.

Even in the silent, tightly choreographed performers’ occasional wild bursts, there’s no real character or connection. Instead, a shadowy representation of Banushi wanders, observing women whose often-naked bodies are twisted and made grotesque in the grey shadows surrounding a sink and shower, like Lucian Freud paintings physicalised and objectified, to be stared at.

It’s an approach that feels not only similar to painting but also mood music, neither of which are theatre. A woman eating an egg is a highlight. An audience member politely laughs. A tap drips daring you to imagine if it would be more interesting watching one. Wailing and chanting eventually build -- albeut beautifully -- before the otherwise silent figures morph into unspecified tribespeople and writhe naked in the hay that has shot up through the tiled floor.

When a huge lump of this hay appears in human form, I can’t help wondering how many student companies at the Fringe it could fund. Dark falls. A bottle clucks. There’s an unnecessarily long black out, then it’s the end. Sally Stott

The Scotsman’s arts newsletter is now sent twice a week - subscribe today

Enjoying the Arts & Culture journalism on scotsman.com? Make it easier to find by selecting us as a preferred Google source

Want the latest Scottish headlines sent directly to your phone? Sign up to our new WhatsApp channel here