RESTLESS NATIVES THE MUSICAL | PERTH THEATRE
★★★
‘We need more of Ronnie and Will and their alter-egos, The Clown and The Wolfman…’
When Restless Natives was released in 1985, it captured the hearts of a generation of Scottish cinema-goers, quickly becoming a cult classic, not least because it boasted one of the greatest film scores ever, courtesy of Big Country.
A light-hearted, joyous take on the highs and lows of being Scottish, as seen through the eyes of two working-class Edinburgh lads turned modern-day Robin Hoods, its camerawork was a celebration of the sweeping beauty of the Highlands, juxtaposed with the majestic beauty and urban decay of the Scottish Capital’s housing schemes. Consequently, it was always going to be a huge ask for it to transfer from the big screen to a small stage.
The story itself is fairly simple, Ronnie and Will, two unlikely friends find themselves even more unlikely folk heroes when they take to robbing tourist buses, armed with a ‘puffer’ loaded with itching and sneezing powder and the like. As their fame grows, so too the danger of their escapades increases as the local police and a lone Texas Ranger set out to capture them, and before long the pair, Ronnie and Will, find themselves at logger-heads, their friendship on the line.
At the heart of this new musical from the same team who made the film are a strong double-act, Kyle Gardiner, as Ronnie, and Finlay McKillop, as Will.
Gardiner and McKillop’s performances perfectly capture the frustrations of growing up in Thatcher’s Britain of the Eighties, where unemployment and a bleak future awaits them. The pair share an easy onstage chemistry that never fails to ring true and, arguably, bring more depth to the characters than their movie counterparts; Gardiner’s Ronnie is a lost, lonely soul desperate to fit in but afraid to show his feelings, while McKillop’s Will is an empathic, loved-up dreamer. Both are instantly likeable and relatable. McKillop also boasts the strongest vocals of the production, which has one critical failing… we need more of Ronnie and Will and their alter-egos, The Clown and The Wolfman.
Instead, other characters have been written up, skewing the balance of the piece with more than one outstaying their welcome as the reworked story unfolds. That said, all the signature moments are there and the iconic lines spoken – even the legendary (and still hilarious) request for ‘prosthetic breasts’ has survived. Delivered in the local vernacular, it’s greeted with expectant laughter before a word has even been uttered.
However, it’s when the haunting, jangling guitar refrains of Big Country’s soundtrack surface periodically throughout Tim Sutton’s new original score, that the real power of nostalgia kicks in. Musical director Hilary Brooks ensures her four-piece band are on top form in those moments and Andy Chisholm’s searing guitar is simply spine-tingling.
If there’s a melancholic edge to many of the songs, which after a while all start to merge into each other, there are a couple of exceptions. A Man Like Me, a father and son duet, proves a moving turn from Harry Ward and McKillop, and later, It’s Good To Be Bad, finds Ward, this time as Scotland’s most feared criminal, Nigel, stealing the scene. If you’re looking for a Big Country musical, however, be warned, this is not it.
Ninian Dunnett, Andy Patterson and Michael Hoffman’s book, along with Dunnett’s lyrics, are en pointe, sometimes outrageous, often laugh out loud funny, and with a nicely subversive subtext and no fear of the f-word.
Veering from moments of over-sentimentality to sheer absurdism, Hoffman’s direction is erratic, but then he does have his work cut out. Becky Minto’s set design, while inventive, is a clumsy affair that hampers the rhythm of the piece. Consequently, pacing is inconsistent, the story rushed while more forgettable musical numbers are plodding and over-long, and that’s without mentioning the ramshackle nature of scene changes.
The film Restless Natives lives on in the psyche of an generation of Scots now in their fifties and sixties, this musical, perhaps reflecting the perspective of that generation, seems to have eschewed much of the youthful joy of the original in favour of a introspection and the existential angst that comes with middle and third-age.
Still that doesn’t stop the capacity audience on press night roaring their appreciation and with the finale comes a final question; “What kind of country is this,” the gathered ensemble sing out as those watching clap along. They have the answer too; “A fuckin’ great wee nation…” and just for moment the defiance, rebellion and energy missing elsewhere in the production shines through.
Is this the end of a musical or the beginning of a legend? It will indeed be interesting to see how the piece has evolved by the time the story of The Clown and The Wolfman comes home to Edinburgh in a few weeks time.
At Perth Theatre until 10 May, tickets here.
Full tour dates and tickets here.
