Up & Down the West Coast

Train tracks rumble undercarriage, theatre lights dim to darkness. Blue caught on the strippers pole, blue thrown back from the mirrored ice. A young ingenue sings Wet Ass Pussy, and the new Varberg tunnel incites murder… 

Such is the theatrical ecology that populates the Swedish West Coast and the Danish capital, an environment easily traversed by the Öresund train and a must-do trip for art enthusiasts, nature lovers, and city stalkers. An annual pilgrimage for me at this point, a year in reflection cannot be completed without considering the dramaturgical developments happening in Scandinavia.

November in Scotland sees the close to most theatres’ seasons and the start of Panto-time. At this point I was feeling fatigued by the risk-free ventures of our institutional venues that presaged the proliferation of safe classics we see coming for 2026. During this time I curated Perth Theatre’s Scratch Night, the perfect opportunity to see new work cutting its teeth in the studio, and felt a spark for what could be in our country. And yet, lo and behold, the pantomime comes around and punches you with its traditions, its heritage, and the same stories every-fucking-where. Listen, I enjoy a panto, singular, but I also enjoy feeling like I have choices for things to see. 

November in Scandinavia, however, is a different story. I was able to catch shows established in their longer run times or in the midst of a tour, and hey, some were great, some not so much, but they were leagues ahead of where we seem to be in Scotland…

My trip across was a much awaited opportunity to catch up with dear friends, to see a production I had worked on but not yet seen, and to catch a collection of shows in new-to-me theatre houses. Based between Varberg and Lund for the period, I was able to travel up to Gothenburg and across the bridge to Copenhagen to get glimpse into how theatre is made elsewhere.

I’ll start in the North and head down the coast before ending West in Denmark with these vignette reviews since it was in Gothenburg where tradition met the contemporary and highlights what can (and maybe shouldn’t?) be done with the Canon.

The Seagull (Måsen), Gothenburg City Theatre dir. Yana Ross

I was keen to see this adaptation of The Seagull following The Royal Lyceum’s production in Edinburgh. The latter was a traditional version, leaning into the luxury of classic theatre and that old school dramatic experience. For what it was, I really enjoyed it. It didn’t try anything new with the text, but then it was able to prove a competent and genuinely funny direction. Yana Ross’ adaptation, however, was quite different.

Firstly, the stage at the Gothenburg City Theatre was used beautifully, embracing its cavernous size. What luxury for a stage to be able to almost recreate a dairy farm in its all its vastness, growing out from below or rotating into the distance, it was an impressive structure that really situated the play outwith the confines of modernist interiors. Zane Philström should be commended for what he was able to bring to life, especially with the striking milk-jug graveyard created for the final scenes. 

The dramaturgy of this work didn’t work for me so much though. I find it difficult to reconcile the working class realities of farm life and the middle-class melodrama of our characters in this Swedish context. It doesn’t carry the same weight it does for British audiences, or those from countries where class divides are so entrenched in their lived reality. The modernisation of the story, set during a midsummer party, created new and often disparate dramaturgical threads. None of which really complemented the other, or made for a cohesive experience.

From the digital audition videos, the live filming, the karaoke version of WAP, to the movement sequence that further decelerates an already anti-climactic ending. Had one of these directions felt really embedded in the aesthetic or dramatic world of the piece, as opposed to just an add-on because why not, then their value would have felt more weighty, more stringent to the storytelling at hand. 

It makes me stop and wonder what it means to adapt classics for today’s audiences. Must we push forwards if we cannot already master the fundamentals? 

Ummikkos, Teater Halland (Guest Play from Riksteatern and Tornedalsteatern) dir. Filip Alexanderson

My work to date has shown an interest in the theatrical experiences being expressed in minority languages, so I jumped at the opportunity to catch Ummikkos, a show reflecting on the Tornedalian experience and the use of Meänkieli. Surtitled in both Swedish and Meänkieli, it was a great opportunity to experience a direct challenge to the hegemony of majority language theatre making. And it was a sell-out show.

Throughout the entirety of this journey, I watching theatre in languages that I do not speak/understand. Admittedly, my Swedish is strong enough to pick up on some threads, but we must remember that theatre is as much a visual media as it is a literary one. Good theatre can be experienced despite language barriers. With this in mind, I think it’s healthy to see theatre in languages you’re not a speaker of. In Scotland, we absolutely should be exposed to more of this, so go get yourself to some Gaelic theatre!

With Ummikkos, I was struck by the emotional response by the audience. The drama, lived through the reality of the experiences seen on stage, is absolutely striking, and effective in communicating alterity from the privileges of being a part of the hegemonic power. I question how often Swedes are confronted with the colonial structures they enforced on their Northern regions, and how, perhaps, a guilt in regards to this has not been fully considered. As a Brit, my entire life has been a process of acknowledging the extent of our imperial crimes and having to understand how my way of life has been built on the back of others. With this context, the drama of Ummikkos didn’t feel necessarily as confronting as it could have.

A part of this may been down the dramaturgical approach of the play. It felt quite pedagogical. There was significant time spent with the actors/characters delivering text to us as an audience, explaining what was happening, what effect it had, and how it carried across generations. It highlighted shared experiences across the Pond, and hammered home a clear and direct message to contemporary Sweden. But sometimes, drama should be experienced, not lectured.

I recognise how some Gaelic theatre makers are frustrated by the idea that they have to deliver a history of the Gàidhealtachd and its people, or telling the stories of how the language was oppressed when they would rather just tell stories of the now that happen to be expressed in Gaelic. We as an audience need to appreciate minority language theatre as a modern artform resonant with alll our lives today, not just having to bear the burden of colonial ignorance.

Tony & Nancy, Teater Halland dir. Ylva Olaison

I seldom sit down in an auditorium to see a show at 10 a.m., but for this show targeted at young people/school groups, I’m glad I made the misty morning walk to see it. The round stage at Teater Halland is a wonderful space, with a seemingly bespoke seating bank made simply from wood and the design of a mirrored floor to create an ice rink, the school children were instantly drawn into the world of elite sports. And I was too.

My exposure to children’s theatre comes more from Perth Theatre’s resident children’s company, Dirliebane, who make clowning shows for babies and young-young children. I recognise the pain for teachers of primary and secondary schools outwith the Central Belt of Scotland who find very few shows designed specifically for their students’ ages. As such, it was nice to be able to catch an institutional theatre deliver this kind of work, and it was brilliant to see a mature piece that didn’t condescend into the silly, presuming that’s how to keep a child’s attention. Admittedly, there was a broad age range in the auditorium with me, so I don’t know who the target audience generally were, but both ends of this spectrum seemed to really enjoy it.

Having been lucky enough to see Kristian Hallberg’s K with Ylva Olaison performing, it was such wonderful to reunite with their work in this different form. It was a simple but effective performance, cutting to the core of friendship and all its fretting when you’re a teenager. The use of lighting to create this world both external and internal to the girls situated this performance well within the round. Our audience seats were no longer that of a theatre’s but instead the imagined plastic benches surrounding an ice rink.

There is a dramaturgical dilemma when writing a one-hour one-act performance: how do you maintain tension and drama whilst also trying to tell a complete, or thereabouts, story? With Tony & Nancy, the story is simple but universal. Universal in that many of us have had friendships that function like this, semi-universal in that many of us already know the story - although possibly not the targeted audiences. And yet still, despite its simplicity, the emotional nuance and real world human dramas made for a compelling play that had you wanting more when it ended. I recognise that there was a point where a lot of the younger audience members started to struggle concentrating or maintaining their interest, but regardless, the story arrested them back into the world towards the end, delivering on a great show.

As short form theatre continues to be on the rise in Scotland, and the ongoing popularity of A Play, a Pie, and a Pint, I wish that directors would consider the use of space and lighting in the way Olaison did. I fear that Scotland is gravitating towards these kinds of shows out of economic necessity, but Tonya & Nancy proves that you can still deliver uneconomised imagination.

Tunnel Vision (Tunnelseende), Teater Dictat dir. Johan Svensson

This was the main reason I visited Sweden this autumn. I worked on Tunnel Vision as a dramaturg in its early development phase, and it was a joy to see this Macbeth-inspired show up on its feet. From eating many bananas, to the slow dripping sounds of a leaky tunnel, the production presented to audiences familiar sights of breakfast and an eerily familiar feeling of sinking beyond the norm in search for what we deserve. The show ended in Scenkonsthuset Bastionen, which felt a little like a homecoming for me. That venue and its people will always have a space in my heart.

Djinn, Blaagaard Teater dir. Sargun Oshana

The narrative of Djinn starts as soon as you enter the foyer of this theatre. A dramaturgy that expands beyond the script itself is something that I long to see in Scotland. I caught a glimpse of it at the Dundee Rep this year with their production of Doubt where the design of the stage and its very first scene (your direct introduction to the world) presented the same striking image of the poster. That is a narrative thread that goes beyond script and really evokes an artistic perspective that becomes multi-sensory. To enter Blaagaard Teatre and instantly be immersed in the world with small design nods above the stations to store your shoes, or the toilet decked out in the same way as the auditorium, specifically for this production, is an experience that brings you closer to the work and the characters’ lives. 

This was then continued in the bold direction whereby a significant amount of time was spent telling the story not on the stage, but instead amongst and around the audience. With Zakarias engaging in almost conversation with the audience, we were up on our feet dancing, holding hands, and being forced to spin around as the drama unfurls in front, beside, and behind us. It was a joy to be so close to this ever intensifying analysis of queer experience in a religious setting. 

With punchy sound design, the dialogue was punctuated or further enhanced through pole-dancing, right in the centre of the audience. Sitting right beside and below it was a privilege to see in such fine detail the acrobatic strength and stamina that the actor possessed, creating an erotic setting which delivered on the longing that soaked Zakaria’s story. And when you believe that the whole play will just exist amongst you, the curtains on the stage rise and we are thrust into the gimp-masked club scene of Copenhagen. Standing on my feet and dancing, confronted by a mirror looming over the back of the stage that reflected us right back on ourselves, I felt transported not only to the idea of the club, but to my own youth in other clubs like it. 

Now, Danish is much more difficult for me to wrap my head around than Swedish, and so I feel like I definitely missed out on an aspect of this performance that relied on the text. As the play is adapted from a poetry collection, language is evidently important, and I’m sure the dialogue was as beautiful as the design, the acting, and the movement that Oshana directed, but unfortunately, I missed out on that. That doesn’t detract from the actual physical and emotional experience that I had, proving that some experiences live in our bones and not just in what we hear.

Our actor for Tunnel Vision, Mathias, asked about the show once I had seen it, and questioned if it was bold (since it was Danish). And yes, it was. Compared to most things I’ve seen this year, it was bold, and playful, and sexy. Which has now given me a taste and desire for more like it…