A gently experimental Christmas pleasure, The Enormous Christmas Turnip offers a non-patronising, and more interactive alternative to modern Panto silliness.
📍 The Studio, Edinburgh
📅 FRI 17 DEC TO FRI 31 DEC 2021
🕖 Performances at 11am, 1.30pm, 3.30pm | Twilight performances, 6pm on 17 & 18 December
🕖 Running time: approx. 45 minutes, no interval
👥 Director: Fiona Manson
👥 Created and performed by Ivor MacAskill and Rosana Cade
👥 Designer: Ailie Cohen
👥 Lighting Designer: Andy Gannon
👥 Sound Designer: Yas Clarke
💰 Adult: £12.50, Child: £10.50
🎭 Wheelchair accessible, Cushions provided front row for Children/Guardian use.
Before Ivor MacAskill and Rosana Cade donned bunny costumes to play our two leporine protagonists, they had already taken the time to pen the script. Thus it’s entirely their own fault that the entire audience is invited to their Christmas dinner, and that they must find someway to feed us all. Their solution? Well as committed vegetarians, Tur-key is off the menu, but not Tur-nip.
Thus begins their quest to grow their own Christmas feast. Thanks to some wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff, they will journey through four seasons in one hour to do so.
The Enormous Christmas Turnip, and I intend this as a compliment, has some of the ineffable qualities of good 80’s experimental theatre. There’s an almost psychedelic edge to the entire production, though it never veers into indecipherability. From the opening, minimalist, and somewhat absurd rendition of “We wish you a merry Christmas,” it’s clear we’re not down any ordinary rabbit hole. Yas Clarke’s dreamlike electronic soundscape only emphasises this sideways shift out of the expected, pastoral world where Peter and other rabbits likely exist. Andy Gannon’s lighting gives is simple, but adaptable, and quite sufficient to provide a change from night to day, and Spring, to Autumn.
This isn’t to say the show lacks a clear narrative, far from it. The mission to tend and grow a glorious crop, not just of turnips, but carrots, potatoes, and more, remains its beating heart from start to finish. There’s puppetry, dance, and abundant opportunities for audience interaction, particularly of the munchkin persuasion, to illustrate this agricultural adventure.
The evidence of the show I sat in on suggested a quick, and enduring engagement of young minds, enchanted by the prospect of colossal, and sometimes anthropomorphised vegetables.
I’ll stop now to emphasise that in an era when Pantomime is generally reducing audience participation, this is a show which invites it. Indeed, child, and adult alike are bidden to become co-conspirators with our two bunny guides. This it achieves quite naturally, and without an excess of silliness, or forced device.
Further, the tone of the production is not in the least patronising. Children are spoken to, not down to. The language is accessible, but touched with well-judged ambition, thereby widening its appeal to older children who can appreciate more of the verbal humour, whilst the younger marvel at the constantly progressing visual fun. As performers, MacAskill and Cade are comfortable, and accomplished, unafraid of the ridiculous, but uninterested in cheap laughs.
Fiona Manson brings some fine pace to the show, and extracts maximum joy from the script. The puppetry elements are an undiluted delight, well judged, and surprisingly captivating.
There is, however, a joke early on, with regard two rabbits, and one carrot, which, perhaps unwittingly incurs memories of a particularly fetid internet sensation of yesteryear. Given this isn’t a show laden with double-entendres, indeed the atmosphere is soothing and welcoming, this line of humour I would tweak for consistency.
In terms of staging, and design, there is much to compliment in Ailie Cohen’s work, in particular the cleverly designed vegetable patch, and the “Poly-Tunnel of Love.” Even so, I do feel the production would benefit from a more immersive backdrop. Both MacAskill and Cade exhibit a deft hand at manoeuvring props, and even something humble, such as painted hangings could transform the black panels which serve as stage exits and entries. There is much to admire in minimalism, and the promotion of imagination, but simple, visual beauty can be a spur to both.
Nevertheless, this is a well-conceived piece with an admirable message of camaraderie, and the love of growing things. Its finale is truly worthy of the title, and absolutely no one could possibly go home feeling in the least cheated. It has all the elements of a five-star show, but, and let me stress this is my opinion, The Enormous Christmas Turnip is a few tweaks short in it in its present incarnation.
I’m more than happy to recommend the show to your consideration, and salute those involved in its incarnation. I think this is a show capable of persisting beyond this festive season, and outside the realms of fair Edina.
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