Theatre Review: The Strange Undoing of Prudencia Hart at Spoleto Festival

“And I would walk 500 miles” boasted The Proclaimers, Scotland’s pro-independence hard nut, Celtic-rock-stomping Reid twins of the late 80’s.

Pooh! That’s nothing. Rabbie Burns’ “Luve” 220 years earlier – which you all recall was like a Red, Red Rose – would “Come again, Tho’ ‘twer ten thousand mile”; and I’ve just hazarded 3,913 miles – from the Scottish Borders to the Spoleto Festival, Charleston, South Carolina; (Google calculation; no drivable route available). But, I was discombobulated, not to say flabbermagasticated, to discover on arrival that I was immediately thrust right back – into Kelso!!!

How so? The National Theatre of Scotland was performing David Greig’s “The Strange Undoing of Prudencia Hart”. I know, it’s not an opera, but it’s almost one – think “Beggars Opera” as a musical narrative tale – and it was “dead, bloody brilliant” (that’s Scottish trendy vulgar), so on my review of Spoleto this year I’m kicking off with it.

Oddly, in the Spoleto programme there was no mention of the plot, a demonstration of Celtic low cunning, so many unsuspecting Charlestonians bought tickets. This is what they were in for, courtesy of the National’s website:

Pull up a chair and whet your whistle for an evening of anarchic theatre, live music and strange goings-on…

One wintry morning Prudencia Hart, an uptight academic, sets off to attend a conference in Kelso in the Scottish Borders. As the snow begins to fall, little does she know who or what awaits her there. Inspired by the border ballads – and delivered in a riotous romp of rhyming couplets, devilish encounters and wild karaoke – Prudencia’s dream-like journey of self-discovery unfolds among and around the audience.

With a rollicking text by David Greig, barnstorming live music; and a ‘terrific, inventive sense of fun…’ (The Scotsman), The Strange Undoing of Prudencia Hart is the lock-in to end all lock-ins

National Theatre of Scotland cannot be held responsible in the event of any member of the audience losing their head, their heart or their very self during the course of the performance.

This is not what they generally do of an evening in lantern illuminated, cobbled, seersucker-clad Charleston. Essentially, prudish Prudentia (Jessica Hardwick, subtle and vulnerable) arrives at a seminar in Kelso (anonymous pub in the play, but for my money it’s the Black Swan) to defend her pet academic theory about Border ballads and Scottish literature as a separate genre, as defined by the 18^th c collections of Sir Walter Scott and …….. zzzzzzzzzzzz…. You get the drift.

Her “opponent” is trendy, in your face, lascivious lecturer, Colin Syme (George Drennan, almost too good at depicting a know-it all-fashionista academic) who whizzes down the A68 on a motorbike, hilariously illustrated by his grabbing an unsuspecting member of the audience’s arms from behind, and stretching them out to use as handlebars, while another member of the cast held out his white scarf, shaking it to give the impression of speed and wind. So far, so zany, so interactive.

The audience – who had not seen anything so provocative since the bombardment of Fort Sumter in 1961 – was asked beforehand to provide snow from torn up napkins (“here’s some weather we prepared earlier”) as Colin, the motorbike and the game guy with the outstretched arms headed for a to-be-snowbound Kelso.

The early interaction was smart, as it set the tone for what was to come with an audience who had probably never been grabbed by members of the cast before.

The action takes place in the pub, the audience represents the boozers and a debate about the meaning of Border ballads ebbs and flows between Prudentia and Colin, punctuated by illustrative songs, escalating action amongst the tables and excellent singing. The cast were top class all-rounders, with no weakness in any skill.

Kelso becomes snowbound in fluffy napkins. No going back to Edinburgh. It’s all going well-ish, until there’s a crack in time through which Prudentia slips. In Scotland this is normally called “closing time”, or “chucking oot”.

She reflects on local lore of the devil coming to Kelso (surprising choice really) and spiriting away a local lass – who Prudentia stumbles across on her way to an Air B’n B – owned by …. yup, the devil. She chose her own accommodation instead of accepting an offer to shack up with lascivious Colin, so hell hath no fury like a lecturer scorned.

There are deep literary, historical and psychological reasons which combine to underpin Prudentia’s undoing, slipping through the crack in time – but, more likely, she was pished!

The devil’s B&B holds a library of Scottish balladry that Prudentia could only dream of and she spends aeons there, marked by the growing dereliction of Kelso seen through the window and grass overwhelming the adjacent Costco car park, as years roll by. (Neat hat-tip to audience, as there is actually no Costco in Kelso, but it’s unlikely they would have heard of the Co-op in Charleston.)

The devil then takes on two personas. Prudentia has a “crise” about whether she has fallen in love with him or not, decides to renounce him, escape and ends up in the Costco car park in the arms of Colin.

It’s difficult to convey how involving and rollicking this experience was. The action was tumultuous, with characters appearing amongst the tables and in corners out of nowhere, the dramatic climax being a scene where Prudentia is close to being dragged down to hell by a blood red, extended devil’s arm. The grabbing of Meg, the grey mare’s tail in Burn’s “Tam O Shanter” comes to mind. Balladry is handed down the generations.

Yes, it was a bit of a romp, but punctuated by sensitive interludes when the music took over, or Prudentia’s inherent grace brought stillness and poignancy to the room.

Half time was a hoot. The room was arranged into tables of four and, this being America, conversations were struck up among strangers from the off. My table was rapidly surrounded by inquisitive Americans who had heard a rumour that not only was I a Scot but had a home near Kelso. News travels fast in Charleston: “What are they saying?” “Is there REALLY a Costco in Kelso?” “Did they put you here as a “plant?” “What the hell’s goin’ on?”

Alasdair Macrae composed the music. He’s won several awards in Scotland, including from the Edinburgh Festival, but as “Prudentia” travels far and wide he must surely become more widely recognised. According to reviews of Prudentia in other cities his performing talent matches his composing skills and he seems able to command a tune from every instrument that comes to hand. His lyrical line helps carry the audience through material that otherwise risked being inaccessible.

How on earth, I hear you ask, came it that Prudentia was undone in Charleston? As the direct links with the Festival dei Dui Mondi, Spoleto, Italy originally forged by founding composer Gian Carlo Menotti in 1977 have waned, so connections between Charleston’s Spoleto and the Edinburgh Festival have waxed. Prudentia is not the only production squirrelled from Edinburgh this season. Daniel Jamieson’s “The Flying Lovers of Vitebsk,” which won last year’s Carol Tambor “Best of Edinburgh” award, was also performed.

Which is appropriate, as Carol Tambor is a prominent New York artist whose foundation has had a huge impact on New York theatre and beyond, the award premiering in Edinburgh in 2004.

Meantime, as Prudentia’s hangover ebbs and she settles down to life on the pillion of Colin’s motorbike, slipping back through that rent in time to “You’ll have had your tea” Edinburgh life, we wish her well. There’s a ballad in that somewhere – and more on Spoleto to come.