CEILIDH
Book, music and lyrics by Scott Gilmour and Claire McKenzie
directed and choreographed by Sam Pinkleton
Shoreditch Town Hall, London until 13 November 2026 then touring
running time: 2 hours 30 minutes including interval
Pigeon-holing creative people is a hiding to nothing at the best of times, but it feels especially redundant when considering New York based wünderkind director Sam Pinkleton’s work on Ceilidh, the new immersive musical drawing audiences to the dance floor at Shoreditch Town Hall. The person who staged both Oh, Mary! and the current, joyous trashy-on-a-big-budget Broadway Rocky Horror has here helmed -as both director and choreographer- something unexpectedly communal, warm…..and quintessentially Scottish. Apart from a gay romance which is vaguely central to what plot there is but comes off as pretty irrelevant, this is nothing like Pinkleton’s higher profile productions. But it’s lovely.
From a dramatic point of view, Ceilidh is pretty flimsy, but anyone with a beating heart must surely respond to its irresistible mix of mayhem, Caledonian tradition and glorious music. True, there are moments where you wonder what on earth is going on, especially during a number jokily exploring the origins of ceilidh through Scottish history, that’s rendered ponderously unintelligible by the venue’s muffling acoustics. True also is that while most of the comedy lands, it’s pretty basic and obvious, and a couple of characters feel like non sequiturs in human form. Furthermore, the revelation of the importance of an older character who initially seems like a bemused bystander can be seen coming a mile off, but that doesn’t blunt the emotional impact when it hits.
Fundamentally, Scott Gilmour and Claire McKenzie’s refreshingly uncynical musical works, and it works because it taps into the basic human need for connection. You can pick holes in the narrative and the sketchiness of the characters, but if the thrill of the music, the sight of strangers dancing together chaotically but enthusiastically and the sheer blazing talent of the actor-musician cast doesn’t put a smile on your face, then maybe it’s time to give up going out altogether. And gosh, is it unexpectedly moving by the end. It creeps up on you by stealth but this is a show that moistens the eyes as much as it quickens the pulse. A musical that is uplifting, jokey and cheerfully meandering suddenly, late in the second half, hits you with an emotion force that leaves you reeling, and not in the Scottish dancing sense.
At the press performance I saw, co-creator Gilmour was out and his alternate Kyle Gardiner gave a delightful, sweet-voiced account of Ramsay, the ceilidh caller whose family history is traced, albeit somewhat haphazardly, in the course of the show (“ceilidh is in your blood”). Gardiner’s rapport with the audience is joyful and unforced, and ultimately pays off huge emotional dividends. Kirsty Findlay and David Rankine are superb -relatable and sympathetic- as his parents, with Laura Lovemore and Charlie West providing riotous support as a brash secondary couple.
The casting throughout is just splendid: Star Penders is a roaring comic delight in a variety of roles, and there’s sensitive, note-perfect work from Jerome Lincoln as Ramsay’s life, as well as dance, partner, the prodigiously talented violinist and performer Rori Hawthorn in a role whose significance is never fully established, and veteran Scottish actor George Drennan in a heartbreaking cameo.
If, like me, your theatrical bête noire is enforced audience participation, then the constant invitations to get on the dance floor might initially seem enervating. The rough magic of Pinkleton’s production and sheer, irresistible ebullience of the cast surely draws you in as the show progresses though. Gilmour and McKenzie’s thunderously attractive score, alive with the sound of fiddles, guitars, drums, winds, drums and foot-stomping adds another layer of enchantment to a hugely enjoyable evening. And yes this Ceilidh even has bagpipes.
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