I am no stranger to the Scottish communal frenzy that is the ceilidh (pronounced kay-lee, from the Gaelic for a gathering or visit): a dance and then some. Yet I am intrigued to see how the frantic, orgiastic experience translates into theatre.
Picture it: Normandy, a dark summer night, a blended wedding party of drunken London creatives and actors on one side and bemused, semi-aristocratic Belgians on the other. The caller screams into the gloom and the guests crush and shove each other around – it’s a bloodbath, but a wonderful one, as elderly Europeans are thrown into one another by tartan-wearing Scots and almost-Scots. This is a ceilidh, a New Year and wedding staple that is rapidly becoming a Gen Z sensation.
If you like any of the following, the concept is for you: strong drink, social cohesion and frenetic whirling. But why go for the touring musical version, now shindigging at Shoreditch Town Hall, over the slightly cheaper traditional dances offered by, say, the London Ceilidh Club?
Beginners welcome
Well, this one is very newbie-friendly and good for mixed abilities or dance sceptics, as there is a plot, sections to watch and much less pressure to participate. Creators Scott Gilmour and Claire McKenzie have woven in the famous dances, along with a smattering of the Scottish bard Robert Burns and an overarching story touching on family, legacy, sexuality and memory.
A family of callers
Gilmour also plays our narrator, Ramsay. In sky-blue tartan, he tells the tale of his family of callers (MCs for the dance), focusing on his father, Leo, played with gravitas by David Rankine, and his English mother, a fluting-voiced Kirsty Findlay. Woven in are a feisty grandma (Star Penders), an eye-rolling best friend, Yvonne (a scene-stealing Laura Lovemore), and ailing older versions of his parents, played by the heart-wrenching Annie Grace and George Drennan.
The story of accepting difference – here, sexuality – and life’s abrasions is at times a little overambitious given the lack of set and the minimal costume, but it ties the on-your-feet sections together well, and it is sung and acted with gusto by all involved. Sam Pinkleton (Oh, Mary!) works his Broadway magic as director and choreographer, keeping the actor-musicians whipping around, instruments in hand and smiles plastered on their faces.
A tight squeeze
The full band clinches the deal: the bagpipe and fiddle solos, and the many, many stumbling steps and turns we in the audience try our best to learn. The venue does feel oversold, though: at points there is little room to swing your partner (or a stranger), and the most famous dance, Strip the Willow, has to be divided into four smaller chains, which rather distracts from the feeling of togetherness.
However, finishing with a singalong of Auld Lang Syne while holding hands puts that right. Ceilidhs are a remarkable living link to Gaelic tradition and Highland identity, and have become an export of the best of Scottish culture: bursting, roistering and aggressively friendly. Feeling a little sick from the shot of whisky and the haggis ball I scoffed, I swing my bemused Italian friend around and around as she shrieks with shocked amusement and flecks of fear. On an evening when I needed cheering up, this couldn’t have been a better tonic. I defy anyone not to have a hoot of a time – leap up and get stepping!
Ceilidh the Musical runs until 28 February 2027 at Shoreditch Town Hall, 380 Old Street, EC1V 9LT.
To book, visit shoreditchtownhall.com/whats-on.
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