Campbell, supposedly abducted to Pakistan by her father but really the victim of nothing more than a splintering family. Back in 2006, that family was caught up in a ferocious media storm. My Name is… tries to get behind the headlines. It takes the words of Molly/ Misbah—here Gaby/Ghazala—and her estranged parents, threading
them into a shared but conflicting narrative. Beneath the sensationalism, we hear the story of an ordinary romance subjected to the immense pressure of two colliding cultures. Meeting in Glasgow in the 1980s, Farhan and Suzy are barely more than kids when they have to start defending their love. Suzy becomes Sajida, converts to Islam, starts wearing a hijab. But the stress of becoming someone else soon creates cracks. In Philip Osment's quiet staging, mother, father and child all share the same space, moving closer together and further apart as their narratives overlap, intertwine and contradict one another. It can be a little inert at times, but the sad complication of these true stories drives the show forwards. What the headlines can't grasp —and what Tamasha respectfully conveys— is that there are no heroes and villains here, only people making impossible choices. ✏︎ Catherine Love
and pioneers of his craft. In Kally Lloyd-Jones's two-hander, text and dance are woven together to tell the story of Nijinsky's mental decline and explore the nature of psychological instability in creativity. It's a path that has been trodden before when examining the legacy of artists. But in LloydJones's production the dance helps to make sense of Nijinsky's journey, speaking the language in which he was most articulate. Dancer Darren Brownlie gives a fine-tuned performance as young Nijinsky, moving from the precise sequences of the ingénue at the barre through to the fragmenting of his sense of self—brilliantly
done with a puppet Petrushka—to the frustrated routines of the asylum. Old Nijinsky, James Bryce, is excellent too, addressing his younger self with tenderness, throwing up ideas of the different selves we become throughout life, and the maddening age-old irony of wanting the wisdom of later years in the turbulent young ones. But the script relies heavily on feeding us the questions it wishes to explore, and the repetition of sage soundbites. As a result Nijinsky's Last Jump is not a portrayal of mental illness that will break the mould. But it is touching, striking and hugely heartfelt in its compassion for its subject. ✏︎ Lucy Ribchester
My Name is... VENUE:
TIME:
festmag.co.uk
TICKETS:
Northern Stage at Summerhall 7:25pm – 8:45pm 8–30 Aug, not 19, 26 £14
What's in a name? Well, more than you'd think. For a teenage girl torn between parents, between nations, between religions, the gulf between “Gaby” and “Ghazala” is vast. And that's what Tamasha's verbatim show draws out: distance and proximity, identity and difference. Writer Sudha Bhuchar was fascinated by the story of Molly/Misbah
Nijinsky's Last Jump HHH VENUE: TIME:
Reviews
TICKETS:
53
Dance Base 2:00pm – 3:00pm –23 Aug, not 10, 17 £10
Vaslav Nijinsky was only 29 when diagnosed with schizophrenia in 1919. He retired from public dancing and spent the next 30 years in and out of psychiatric care. And yet, despite what seems like a relatively short time of creative productivity, he is still revered as one of the greatest practitioners
Photo: Helen Maybanks
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