EIF 2022 - Burn at the King's, or, Mr Cumming is Self-Indulgent

 I was sceptical about this show in advance. When it began with a projection of the title (a theatrical tick I particularly dislike) on the back video screen my scepticism increased. The subsequent hour did not change my mind.

There's no doubt that Alan Cumming is a compelling stage presence - having that indefinable quality of charisma I've observed in very few performers in my years of theatregoing and which renders the individual inherently watchable. He is also a very effective deliverer of text. But neither these qualities nor throwing the kitchen sink at the staging can disguise the fundamentally thin character of this show.

Burn has been created by Cumming and Steven Hoggett (who also co-choreographs) by, as far as I could make out, stitching together a greatest hits of Burns poems with excerpts from his letters to form a loose biography (with the odd addition - at least I presume the obligatory new work inclusion of "f***ing" was an addition). The last time the Festival tackled Burns was the late night cabaret show Had We Never at the Portrait Gallery in 2017 - a far more powerful and illuminating experience. By contrast this show never persuaded me that this essentially biographical narrative needed to be put on stage, or that the staging illuminated either the life or art in a fresh way.

A significant issue here is the slightness of the choreography by Hoggett and Vicki Manderson. They were presumably constrained by Cumming's physical capacities but it rarely compels attention in itself. The piece alternates between set pieces and textual delivery with accompanying gesture which tends to be rather obvious reinforcement of particular words. Anna Meredith's score is loud and repetitive.

In the interludes the creators throw stage illusion, overblown projections (the horse when we talk of horses feels particularly strained), and lighting changes at the enterprise - all of which outstay their welcome.

I'd seen a tweet about the use of Auld Lang Syne at the end but when it comes it rather indicated I thought doubts about tone. It feels tacked on post-applause and neither Cumming nor the audience seemed clear whether the audience was supposed to join in (which at this performance bar a single enthusiast upstairs they didn't). 

A few in the Stalls gave this a standing ovation. Cumming's qualities as a performer go some way to lift the afternoon but it is ultimately a thin, missable, show.