★★★★½

Review by Tony Frame. Venue 431. RSE Theatre – Welcome East

I went into this as blind as I’ve ever been in going to see a show at the Edinburgh Fringe. I knew absolutely nothing about it. The reason I chose to go and see it was because I had put a call-out on Twitter asking for shows that hadn’t had any reviews. Cat was one of them that answered the call-out. It had a limited run too, and so I thought it would be good to try and cover it. The title and poster intrigued me. It looked dark, and I hadn’t seen any really dark plays this year. I knew it was a new piece of writing, and I got the impression that it might have been a student production (don’t ask me why, it was just a feeling). So I went along.

First of all, I didn’t like the venue; George Street is a nice street with lots of prestigious hotels and bars and restaurants, but it feels devoid of a Fringe atmosphere. The venue’s building itself (whilst large) had zero buzz about it, inside or out. There was no hustle and bustle of performers and shows coming at you from every angle like Bristo Square or Surgeon’s Hall or the Pleasance. I had the lingering feeling that I had maybe picked a turkey of a show, and being a vegetarian I can tell you that it’s not a nice place to be when you have to pick it apart and write a less than appreciative review about it.

The stage is bare but for a chair on it. The lighting is minimal; no effort is made to dim the room and put the audience into darkness. This is a show with very little money thrown at it in comparison with the others I had been to. Still, these musings of mine are of little consequence; I always keep an open mind regardless. And then the show began…

The actress walks out onto the stage with a can of Pepsi in hand to which she sips it, she will intermittently do so throughout the performance. She then address us with a delightfully descriptive opening about her ninety-three-year-old grandfather. Her words paint a picture of a turtle-like geriatric spectre who reeks of urine and faeces, with fingernails like dirty talons. The person relaying all of this to us is the enigmatic title character – Cat. A youngish-woman in her mid-to-late twenties (the actress playing her is younger I hasten to add) who works as a teacher and is forced by circumstance to look after her grandfather and his myriad of health problems.

Cat then proceeds to lay out her life story to us. It’s a gritty tale full of the most vivid detail; there’s layer upon layer of descriptions of people and places that gives us a clear understanding of what we are witnessing from the protagonist’s point-of-view. The prominence of a care-worker’s chin and the size of it is one such detail that adds substance to the world that Cat lives in. The room where her grandfather stays in, along with his pet rats, and the stench of bodily fluids is so vibrant that you can practically see it and smell it all because of the masterful skill in the storytelling. There’s no auditory or lighting tricks that aid this performance or the story being told, which is why these words and the immersive way that they are laid out to us have to be praised.

Cat’s story takes us into a murky world of tapeworms and filth, of awkward boyfriends and gut-wrenching health problems. A segment about her parents adds some insight into her psyche and her sick sense of humour, a humour where she relishes the thought of someone’s demise, especially her grandfather’s. By the time the ending arrived it revealed a hidden twist that I did not expect in the slightest, a twist that explained everything to some degree.

This was a production that surprised me in many ways; the performance was excellent and reserved (it avoided showboating) to the extent that it felt true to the character and didn’t try to intentionally impress the audience like some Fringe debuts do. The quality and minute detail and attention of the engaging writing was up there with the best plays I have ever seen. You’ll come out remembering some of the sentences and the imagery attached to them like they were your own memories, you’ll almost want to give yourself a wash or a shower to scrub away the ingrained dirt from them. It’s a brilliantly told tale that in hindsight reminded me of Iain Banks’ novel The Wasp Factory, with it’s strangely fascinating and disturbed protagonist.

It was only later when I emailed the playwright (Connie Harris) and asked if she could send over a Press release that I discovered she was the actor playing the title role, but not only that, she had also taken on directing duties as well. It’s one thing to do one of those roles skilfully, but for anyone to do all three of them to such a high consistent standard is something else.

Cat is a brilliant piece of theatre that felt fresh and daring and I would hope it continues to play elsewhere and is given a little more help with the advertising and tech. A nice dark theatre with sound effects and some lighting design would help add to the bleak atmosphere and Fincher-esque world that Connie has created. It’s a gem from this years’ Fringe for me. A beautifully bleak gem.