Wooden, road, pale, stone and woollen were some of Ivor Cutler’s favourite words. I expected honey, or bee perhaps. But nothing was ever as you’d expect it with Ivor Cutler, which this clever and exuberant production makes clear.
The dour mystique of the cult Scottish writer and musician is vividly channelled in a splendid performance by Sandy Grierson. During extensive research for the role, Sandy’s frequent meetings with Ivor’s partner Phyllis King developed into a friendship. It is their relationship that provides the frame for the play.
This is by no means a theatrical take on a bio-pic, Vanishing Point is way too inventive for such a thing. Instead, action flits between Sandy and Phyliss (a beautifully subtle performance by Elicia Daly), and between Ivor and the on-stage band, God, and the audience. His songs, sequenced to propel the narrative, are sometimes played straight, with Ivor at the harmonium, or opened out with rhythms beyond his imagining. There is Calypso and Klezmer, there is dancing. Oh Ivor!
The instrumentation throughout is gorgeous, arranged and directed by James Fortune and played by Nick Pynn, Magnus Mehta, Jo Apps and Ed Gaughan. Costumed like a band of ‘Cutlers’ in tweeds and plaid, odd hats, plus-fours, the musicians fire off comments, become plot-points, and in Ed Gaughan’s case provide a multitude of supporting characters.
The interweaving of music and story echoes The Strange Undoing of Prudencia Hart, also a National Theatre of Scotland production, and I wondered if The Beautiful Cosmos… would benefit from a more immersive setting. But when Kai Fischer’s superb design turns the proscenium arch inky black, fluorescent edged, with a resounding crash, all the dramatic effects you could wish for follow on.
And so we are swept through some of the episodes of Ivor’s life: his early years in a Glasgow tenement resenting his siblings, his failure at art school for being too left-field. There is an unhappy teaching experience in Scotland, where he refuses to wield the strap, enlivened by Ed Gaughan’s sadistic headteacher. We see Ivor trying to sell his songs commercially, being championed by Ned Sherrin, becoming a favourite of John Peel and all the success and notoriety that follows.
The text, by Sandy Grierson and the company, is poetic yet conversational. Some hilarious set-pieces throw every meta-theatrical trick at us, exposing foleys, berating the props (a delightfully batty scene in a zoo.) At one point the audience is asked to join in. It is totally unexpected and we are a bit reticent. A tirade ensues: ‘You are the one constituency left in England that isn’t full of middle class Tory voting scumbags!’ We join in with gusto after that. (This is just days after the General election: southern England is now a swathe of Tory blue, except for the newly declared Peoples Republic of Brighton and Hove, which is red and green. I like to imagine that Ivor Cutler would approve.)
Under Matthew Lenton’s direction, the storytelling is clear and playful. There are some absences of biography (a marriage and two sons, a happy teaching life in London) but what shines through is Ivor’s inventiveness and unique world view.
As Ivor’s health declines, the temperature on stage mellows. Shadowy evocations of a family and flowers appear upstage. The music calms. Jo Apps sings Ladies are Lovely to Nick Pynn’s solo violin, a spine-tingling moment.
There is pathos but not sentimentality at the end. We have had an extraordinary life illuminated extraordinarily. Ivor has the last word, of course, arguing with God about where he might end up. In our hearts, I think.