Shay Mace
On the Isle of Cumbrae in the Firth of Clyde, we’re introduced to seventeen-year-old Steven McPhail. Fluttering through life without really fitting in, it’s a familiar story for many young queer people who come to a reckoning with their sleepy hometown and the person they want to be. Millport doesn’t seem to have space for Steven’s newfound sexuality, of which whispers begin to find their way right to the front door of his Maw’s BnB. In moments of crisis, our queer elders step in to offer their support and guidance, and in this loving portrait of queer youth, devoted writer-director Andy MacGregor and spellbinding performer Steven Brownlie work in unflinching synchronicity.
You’d be forgiven for thinking we were watching a play that follows young Steven into his queer blossoming, but as he tells us, we only have an hour, and the piece deftly decides to concentrate solely on the final days Steven spends on the island. With Section 28 in place, the school he travels on a ferryboat to each morning has no support mechanisms in place to help him, and a faltering romantic encounter with another young man leaves young Steven exposed to the world. He faces a question – embrace his queerness even in the confines of an island community that may struggle to recognise it, or flee the scorn of his father to seek his found family.
Fate intervenes with the arrival of Vicente Miguel, a mysterious drag queen performing at a festival in town. MacGregor asks us to look through the eyes of a young man on the cusp of queerness, and at the same time see the reflection in those who nurture our individuality, our sense of self, and invite us into a community where we belong. Not all of us are lucky enough to see what’s deep within ourselves in others, representation is fraught but invigorating, and for Steven, the world is his oyster as he steps beyond the island, yet never loses sight of the place that shaped him.
Nostalgia rings in lyrics that both covet and complicate island life, with a particularly heartfelt moment appearing as we are asked to sing a saying from Steven’s grandmother, “you can’t see the stars in London, not like you can on the Clyde.” It’s a goosebump-raising shared experience that celebrates that effervescence of life, identity, aspiration and youth. Brownlie rings through a series of musical numbers, that show a great care for the place of family, both chosen and by blood, with flawless vocals, a distinct Scots acccent, and little more than himself and keyboard player Hilary Brooks.
Each song rings in its unique lyricality and cadence, while progressing the story along. It’s a simple concept, a coming out story that may have been told in many other forms before, but the pure quality of production from Sleeping Warrior gives an utterly engrossing, emotive sensibility to Steven’s life that is utterly intoxicating, delightful, and stirring. As we see Steven don his drag persona and come into himself, the arc is delivered with compassion and verve from Brownlie, in tight and delicate direction from MacGregor.
There’s precious few performances at the Fringe that make the whole room sob, laugh and sing in equal measure. Crocodile Rock does it with giddy delight and a deep-rooted fervour for the people and places that make us who we are, and who we can be.
Recommended Drink: Head down to the Pier Inn and knock back a few pints, served by Ms Milly Port herself.
You can catch Crocodile Rock at Dining Room at Gilded Balloon Teviot until August 31st from 16:30 (60mins). Tickets are available through the EdFringe Online Box Office.
Isobel Jacob
Romeo Lau
Freddie Haberfellner
