THEATRE REVIEW: SINGLE SPIES

King's Theatre, Edinburgh

by Chris Hammond

SquareOne Entertainment

Nigel Havers is a name that inspires. I, in my formative years at least, quite literally yearned to be Nigel Havers when I was older. Not too tall, spindly and boyish, but boozy, hedonistically absorbed and caddish with a penchant for throwaway women, shoes and a damn good blazer. I am referring of course to Nigel’s performance in now redundant BBC midlife crisis drama/comedy Manchild.

Now in my mid twenties and counting down the years till I can truly replicate his amoral screen persona, I was quite frankly frenzied to learn that he was coming to Edinburgh to perform as (how suitably) a spy in an Alan Bennett play! Enlisting the aid of my best friend, I descended onto the Kings Theatre to partake in what I thought would be two hours of Havers bounding, blethering, boozing and bedding in the name of Her Majesty’s Secret Services.

Notebook in hand, more for taking down tips than forming notes, I grabbed my seat expectantly. What unfolded was two hours of esoteric art babble, Carry On-esque innuendo, rigidly unbelievable conversation, very little espionage and a jaded, sterile Havers decked out in suits so shiny they could have come from Burtons.

Alan Bennett wrote this in the late 80’s, and it shows. With many of the Cold War jokes redundant, the audience needed something to hold their flagging attention. Split into two entirely different short plays and with little to suggest either segment was worthy of extended development I could only console myself that someone somewhere had to be having a worse evening.

Oh how they japed about the national gallery and the Queen and communism! Oh how I receded further into my seat biting my fist in order to repress a roar of “Nigel do something manly!” Finally, mercifully, the 1980’s Are You Being Served style chit-chat ended and as I mutely applauded the team taking their bow all I could think about was alcohol, the attractive usher and why my plus one looked like he wanted to strangle me.

FILM OF THE WEEK: LA FRANCE

La France

by Katie Smyth

SquareOne Entertainment

Newlywed Camille awakens in war-torn 1917 France to find a letter from her soldier husband telling her to forget him and that she will never hear from him again.

Undeterred, our androgynous heroine takes off into the wild in search of the Front and her beloved. Garbed as a boy and half-starved she runs in with an unlikely troop of soldiers who after much hesitation, poisonous mushrooms and a wide shot eventually grudgingly accept her company.

All is not as it seems however, as Camille’s new found friends appear less concerned with rejoining the fray than regaling each other with myths of Atlantis and impromptu singsongs. Ever wondered where the Beatles drew their inspiration for Sergeant Pepper? Look no further than the jaunty uniforms, experimental vocal arrangements and dubious instruments of these travelling minstrels.

Unsettling from the start and gripping throughout it’s hard to pinpoint whether La France is more of an indictment of Gallic war mongering or a simple insight into the human need for self-preservation.

ALBUM OF THE WEEK: LOWGOLD

by Chris Hammond

SquareOne Entertainment

Lowgold – Promise Lands (Cooking Vinyl)

Ah, the UK indie scene! There’s the monolithic mediocrity of Coldplay, the unbelievably past-it Oasis, the literally vile Razorlight and the walking get-out-of-jail-free card known as Peter Doherty. But wait, it seems that the perennially overlooked Lowgold could be set to mount a takeover.

Excited yet? Well you would be if you heard Promise Lands stand-out track Just Like A Sin because its gobsmackingly tasty. Principally, this is because Lowgold sound nothing like their yawnsome, skinny jeaned, anti-war, fruit-loving indie peers and elders.

Mixing forlorn anthems with low-fi slow burners might not be a musical eureka moment, but the band do it so well you’ll be hard pushed not to utilise the repeat button on your CD players remote for the best part of a week. Promise Land comes highly recommended.

CHALLENGE DAVE: THE MARKSMAN

In the first of a regular feature, we challenge our Dave to go undercover and soak up the ambiance of the worst pubs in Edinburgh. Tune in before he gets killed. This week: The Marksman.



by David Hynes

SquareOne Booze


On your marks....get set.....DO NOT GO! What aim the owners of this Leith-based pub had in mind when they opened the doors last year remains unclear. It certainly doesn’t try to compete with the fashionable bars in the city centre. The target audience seems to be real men (or women who look like real men). By far the least salubrious bar I have ever visited in Edinburgh, the Marksman is a no-nonsense drinking den for those who come to drink. Or fight. Or most likely both.

The entrance was almost completely hidden behind half a dozen chain-smoking octogenarians who guarded it earnestly. The walls seemed to echo with the arguments that the pub has surely witnessed over the last 15 months. The bar (if indeed you could call it a bar), is grossly inadequate and the pub, taken a as a whole is also absolute s___e.

The locals seemed friendly enough, but I didn’t advertise my Englishness for fear of angering the men or even worse; attracting any of the "hens" in need of a cosmopolitan lover.

I did talk to some of the regulars though and if the words of the builder I spoke with are to be believed it seems the regulars in The Marksman can deliver a birthday bonanza. Tired of the usual arduous process of shopping around for decent gifts? I have it on good authority that all of your presents can be delivered to your home, on time and for a fraction of the usual cost.

Despite its flaws, I can’t but recommend the Marksman. In a city full of trendy wine-bars and soulless tourist traps, it is a genuine watering hole and represents a dying breed of pubs. True, it’s tough, true the smoking ban might not be enforced stringently during the periodic lock-ins but at least it is honest.

Let's face it, every city needs its s__t-holes, and in this regard The Marksman absolutely hits the bullseye.

Visit The Marksman at 13 Duke Street, Leith. But if you don't fancy that, try these:

SquareOne's top five Edinburgh pubs

1. The Oxford, Young Street
2. The Canny Man's, Morningside Road
3. Boda, Leith Walk
4. The Blue Blazer, Spittal Street
5. Victoria's, Leith Walk

SUBWAY SECT

by Chris Hammond


SquareOne Food

Ah Subway, I thought to myself, this was bound to be an interesting dining environment. I had notions of Film maker Luc Besson's dystopian French masterpiece of the same name swirling round my head as I took the short walk across the road from my flat to the restaurant.

What eclectic wonders would this most famous of establishments hold I wondered? Barely able to conceal my excitement I crossed the threshold only to have my entrance blocked by a phalanx of flab. Four fetid fatties were rooted to the door area, chunks of meatball and bread spilling forth from the gaping hole which seemed to have replaced their mouths. Nimbly, breath held, I squeezed past into the bowels of the eatery.

Half overcome by my near gymnastic entrance, half overcome by the fact my coat had collected a fistful of what I could only presume to be dog hair on the brush past, I was in sore need of a seat and a stiff drink. Much like McDonald's, Subway have done away with any traditional sense of the restaurant experience. No table service, no attractive staff, no alcohol, no dubious sort attending the washroom and most oddly no booking required. The latter of which was to prove more than annoying.

On receiving my meal of a spicy chicken sandwich and diet coke, I attempted to find a spot to rest my weary legs. With the doorway and window area about as accessible as an eggcup being lain on by a Blue Whale, I was forced to sit alongside three unruly truants. Here amongst the barrage of cigarette requests, I glumly surveyed my surroundings. Décor of a better than average public toilet, staff dressed like baseball players with aprons on and the scream of nicotine hungry delinquents put me clean off my food. Leaving the remnants to the savages masquerading as children I rode the gauntlet of gluttons guarding the exit and made my dash for freedom, fresh air and a very long shower.


SquareOne's Top Five Sandwiches

1. Cheese
2. Cheese and pickle
3. Cheese and tomato
4. Cheese and onion
5. Cheese salad
   

HAUTE CUISINE (HOT FOOD)

by Chris Hammond

SquareOne Food

McDonald's, the world's most famous non-Michelin starred restaurant would be my dinner destination for tonight.

Decorated like a tasteless hospital canteen with barely functional tables and chairs, McDonald's first impressions suggested little to warrant its international reputation. This was of course the dining choice of many a Hollywood celebrity, including empty headed mime sensation Britney Spears. Unperturbed by my initial disappointment I moved towards the reception.

The restaurant has done away with traditional waiting practices, and operate a newfangled queue system where one has to stand in line before picking from a gaudy wall mounted menu. On reaching the front and confirming my reservation (which they had misplaced), the drone in attendance then asked to take my order which was then cooked right in front of my very eyes in a fully functional open view kitchen. Surprisingly, despite the fact two thirds of the restaurant's clientele were heavily inebriated I was curtly informed alcohol was not on the menu, nor was there a lounge bar I could retire to after my dinner. Not to worry after thirty seconds my order was ready.

Tucking into a Big Mac meal served on a cardboard plate, I sat back to enjoy the experience. The burger hinted at meat product, the cola was well iced and the salt content of the fries was reassuringly high. A feast fit for a king, despite leaving a vaguely nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach. Meal over what then struck me about McDonald's, other than the smell of nappies and sweat, was the very exclusive dress code. In fact sitting here decked out in a fine Italian blazer, Loakes and crisply ironed shirt I stood out like a sore thumb. Most of the hungry masses had adopted a very casual interpretation of sports casual which included training shoes, jogging bottoms and hooded top. The music too was more P Diddy than philharmonic orchestra lending an edgy uncertain atmosphere to proceedings.

Later, when moving onto dessert (something called a McFlurry), the ambiance was greatly enhanced by a dishevelled collection of England rugby fans whose busy hands, receding hairlines and notable paunches, complemented the near skeletal collection of Adidas clad proletariat who had overtaken much of the eating space. With the violent undertones escalating as the Sassenach’s rued their surprise butchering at the hands of ‘Ex Edinburgh Public Schools Egg Chasing Select’ I decided to retire to the washroom to freshen up. Here I met a young Leither called Chas who was frantically trying to find his veins under the UV light, whatever for exactly I’m unsure. Unable to freshen up sufficiently, mostly due to the fact the scent emanating from the sink suggested it was also functioning as an auxiliary toilet, I scrambled back to my dining table only to find a nervy pack of Japanese tourists huddled there. Rather than join them for a friendly chat I disappeared to The Oxford where there were a half dozen pints of IPA with my name written all over them.

SQUAREONE ALBUM OF THE WEEK

by Chris Hammond

SquareOne Entertainment

Bumtech - Beware of D-G
(CD Baby Records)

Yet another slice of bizarre tuneage from the crazy musical carnival that is Portland, Oregon. Bumtech are a mixed sex electro-pop duo, who like to sing about mixed up sex.

How well a song about condoms, the pill, grandmothers, abortion and IUD's would do in the charts I couldn't possibly say, but you get the feeling that gargantuan commercial success is not what Bumtech are about.

Sounding a little like 90's synth pop pioneers The Pulsars with Russell Brand writing the lyrics might not read well on paper, but this little something just about makes the 40 minute experience pleasurable.

Anyway, how can you possibly ignore an album which is a perennial favourite of the late night slot on Herne Bay Radio Station, Kent?

SQUAREONE GIG OF THE WEEK

by Atholl Simpson

SquareOne Entertainment

Omid Djalili

10th March 2008, The Playhouse, Edinburgh

The self professed ‘Fat One’ is back with a new stand-up show following his recent outing on prime time BBC, and I was keen to see whether or not the Celebrated Iranian comic would live up to expectations. Proceedings kicked off ‘2001 Space Odyssey’ style; with total darkness and classical music setting the tone for what promised to be an epic show.

There were few ethnic groups that didn’t get the p__s ripped out of them, or at least receive a sly little comment. Whether it was a Korean footballer's dog eating skills, the Poles taking over Scotland or Nigerian traffic wardens, most stereotypes were there. His ‘Al Qaeda Christmas party’ was priceless: ‘No drinking, no dancing. But the fastest game of pass the parcel you have ever seen!’ Entertaining it was, fresh and inventive it wasn’t.

He might like to play with race, but the repetitive nature and volume of clichés he used slowed the show down. Djalili’s energy and loud-mouthed spurts seemed to cover up the lack of a fresh approach to already jaded views of the Middle East and show business world.

The festival of humour on display from this energetic, boisterous, little man did however reach a killer peak. He really does know how to end a show. The finale was a myriad of belly-dancing, painfully funny gymnastic attempts and fireworks that sent the audience off with a smile.