Hand Me Down

Glas(s)' approach to performance is well established. Tashi Gore and Jess Thorpe find people outside of show business who have stories to tell, train them in performance technique and hand them the stage. This bold approach, which links community and experimental practice, two of the most dynamic areas in modern theatre, has already seen the company explore marriage, adolescence and father-daughter relationships. This time, we hear it for the girls.

The women of one Port Glasgow family have been assembled, and through a series of games, questions and dances, conjure up the inter-generational conflicts and kindnesses. At first, it feels awkward. Some of the characters are larger than life, others shy and uncomfortable. The format is perhaps too familiar, too safe. It threatens to become a heart-warming romp.

Gradually, other themes emerge. The youngest member of the older generation gradually reveals a personality that has obviously been defined by her relative age, while the absence of men lends a mournful atmosphere event to a jolly ceilidh. The picnic scene, reminiscent of Sunday lunches or even formal family events like funerals or weddings, has home truths and reconciliations. While the sisters and aunts and cousins and nieces are friendly, this never becomes a trite celebration of female endurance and power. A melancholy, for those absent or lost, is evident.

In the past year, Gore and Thorpe have become a presence in Scottish theatre: perhaps their best strategy would be to leave Glasgow and take their style to other cities, to find other stories. This isn't to criticise what they have discovered, even if some of the recollections are starting to become familiar. Rooting around in the hidden histories of families is a fascinating process, and Glas(s) illuminate the past with a light as bright as the final video montage of photographs and faces.