Wild Rose

Lyceum Theatre, 14/3/ 2025

Wild Rose, a New Musical; book by Nicole Taylor,

Director, John Tiffany

PLEASE NOTE: SPOILERS BELOW*

If you are a fan of Country music, anywhere in Central Scotland, you must see this witty, gritty and brilliant new musical. Even if you loathe Country, as I do, your barriers will fade before the theatrical ingenuity, consummate performances and stellar musicianship in this show. Director John Tiffany (of ‘Black Watch’) and his team have worked magic.

Approaching the Lyceum, I entered a diverse chattering throng of all sorts, from City-slickers to pensioners, swollen by coachloads of squealy tweenies and blonde ladies in Stetsons, sequins and cowboy boots. The mood was high (especially after free G&Ts from the sponsor) but as soon as the lights dimmed and Dawn Sievewright opened her mouth to sing as Rose-Lynn, there was only rapt silence or rapturous applause.

The original film, ‘Wild Rose’, follows a Country-music-obsessed Glasgow girl, singing stunning covers of Country numbers. Her sights set on Nashville, she is hampered by a couple of carelessly conceived young kids; and now an electronic curfew tag, following her release from prison for a minor crime, stops her going back to her night job singing at the Glasgow Grand Ole Opry. Despite my own prejudices against Country, I had relished the film when it came out in 2019.

Almost seven years on, the Lyceum has transposed this film to the stage. Realising many in the auditorium might know the original by heart, I felt the relation between the two versions might be significant/ especially interesting, so I summoned the film on Prime as soon as I got home. In fact, storyline and dialogue are extremely close; yet the Lyceum’s ‘New Musical’ surpasses the original magnificently. Nicole Taylor’s dialogue of Glaswegian banter can now scintillate before a laughing live audience. Delivery by dyed-in-the-wool Weegies must also lend an edge, and some extra bits of wit have crept into the script.

Following a film so closely meant around twenty-five location shifts. Undaunted, set and lighting designers Chloe Lamford and Jessica Hung Han Yun contained it all within a playful old-style theatricality: screens sliding down, podia and posh worktops pushing up, small tables popped on for spotlit family exchanges, and upstage, a long platform and proscenium arch, housing various backdrops of Glasgow, Nashville or the BBC. The film, naturally, took us to outside spaces and places. The theatre’s enclosure however, enhanced Rose-Lynn’s dreams of show-biz, at the same time intensifying the sense of her entrapment by past mistakes and present responsibilities.

Fidelity to the film was also in the looks of most of the cast: for example Blythe Duff’s dogged, acid-tongued (but sweet-voiced) granny has grey cropped hair like Julie Walters’, and Janet Kumah as the warm and adventurous posh Susanna is black and willowy, like her 2018 counterpart Sophie Okonedo.

After the opening gaol scene, a motley eightsome – supposedly Glasgow’s Grand Ole Opry house band – file on and position themselves along this rear stage, where they remain, part of the action, till the end. When they need to disappear, French windows descend to screen them, or they are left in the dark in Disney-like silhouette. Acting as if ramshackle, they are of course all peak professionals, playing accordingly.

Sievewright’s performance is a tour de force. Her vocals are unselfconsciously glorious and infinitely powerful; equal to that are her powers of interpretation, of “truth-telling”. Tattooed on her arm Rose-Lynne has the famous formula for a successful Country song: “Three chords and the Truth”.

Conversely, day-to-day truth is scarcely an option in Rose-Lynn’s book. She lies to friend, foe, family, children; it’s her default setting. She lets everyone down, often needlessly. Sievewright captures her self-centred, infuriating side as convincingly as her ebullient charisma.

This is a comedy of characters: a rich array of them, drawn and contrasted through voice, costume and dance style. Choreography is strong and slick whilst factoring in the individual’s body language in a most engaging way. The actors fully embody their roles, including children Alfie Campbell and Lily Ferguson, who deliver distress, cold fury and dry wit with equal aplomb.

*My one reservation concerned the ending; from the film I only remembered a general feelgood. As to details, I came as if new to the narrative. Spurning kind offers of funding, Rose-Lynn uses her mother’s life savings to go to Nashville, only to run straight home again. To me she appeared to end up disappointingly back where she started at the Glasgow Ole Opry. I now realise her coming downstage and singing directly to the Lyceum audience is meant to be her triumph at Celtic Connections. Perhaps the point needs a touch more emphasis.

Fans of Country, or of bold, creative theatre: this show is a triumph.

Photo credit: Mihaela Bodlovic