Review: Trainspotting Live

If suddenly you found yourself involved in immersive theatre, which play might you choose? The Cherry Orchard? Into The Woods? You’d probably avoid Medea and steer well clear of Titus Andronicus. You might also want to put Trainspotting Live into the latter group. That is far from a reflection on the production itself. Just, if you’ve read the book…

The sound of 90s dance music blares out and acts as a reminder that this performance-as-event very much belongs in this space: The Arches. A space which performs as readily as the actors now dancing before us. A reminder, there’d’ve been a time when many in the audience would’ve done the same themselves…albeit not on a stage.

Curtains roll back and we are summoned to our seats by ‘Begbie’. Once seated, we are entertained by ‘loaded’ actors in full rave mode and marvel as they make regular incursions into the audience realm sandwiching a long corridor stage. It becomes clear these incursions are not limited to pre-performance scene-setting when ‘Renton’ blithely swings around a weighted spraying sheet above the heads of the audience wherein he then bounds and proceeds to wipe his naked buttocks a mere 30cm from their faces. Any sense of relief felt by viewers sitting elsewhere is immediately followed by a recce. As they say in panto: “it’s behind you!”…that would be a reference to “the worst toilet in Scotland”. Usually dramatic irony leaves the viewer feeling superior: aware of what lies in store for the character. Unfortunately, I know also what may lay in store for me. Still, even now, I remain blissfully unaware of how readily familiar I’ll soon be with its contents.

Adam Spreadbury-Maher’s revival of Harry Gibson’s 1994 adaptation (of Irvine Welsh’s milestone novel) is ceaselessly visceral. A blanket of bleakness leavened with holes of humour….which never lets up, never lets go, and remains at all times entertaining. The actors are phenomenal: Andrew Barrett dripping the sweaty, fearful, bravado of ‘Renton’; Olivier Sublet projecting the steroidal, super-het, psychosis of ‘Begbie’; Kyle Matson delivering the doomed, commensurate, assuredness of ‘Tommy’; and Michael Lockerbie conjuring the moral-vacuum that is ‘Sick Boy’. Lauren Downie has perhaps the toughest task, manifesting the source material’s weakest characters: the females. However, her portrayals of the indefatigable, stoic ‘Allison’ and the domestically-abused ‘June’ are all too human and aching to watch.

Whether on page, on screen or on-stage, Trainspotting has always been an overwhelming experience. That is the nature of Irvine Welsh’s novel. No room for nuance or subtlety (barely space for females). All of these characters. All of the time. In yer face. None among us daring to have anything to say about it. Whilst it is safe to say that Gibson’s text helps to save the production from feeling dated - with its exclusion of the problematic character of ‘Dianne’ - it is testament to the vision of Spreadbury-Maher and the breathless performance of the cast that this play still resonates today.

Trainspotting Live runs until 16th October at Platform (The Arches), Glasgow.