Kings Theatre, Edinburgh
Written by Tony Roper, with songs by Dave Anderson, two stalwarts of Scottish comedy, The Steamie has endured for nearly 40 years.
The magic lies in the language and Glasgow patter of the 1950s, and in the particular year Roper has chosen. Set on Hogmanay in 1953, the play captures a world on the brink of change. Rock ’n’ roll will soon begin to make its cultural impact felt, although the full force is not quite with us yet. Doreen, played by Eden Barrie, dreams of the future being sold by American culture: a house with a front and back green, a refrigerator and a telephone. She talks of watching Tony Curtis at the pictures and experiencing a hot flush, which she explains to her husband as “women’s troubles”. There is a touch of Hollywood glamour in her aspirations, although the reality of life remains firmly grounded in working-class Glasgow.
Magrit, by contrast, is a pragmatist, a roll-your-sleeves-up-and-get-on-with-it type, while her husband Peter’s heavy boozing provides another source of comedy. Louise McCarthy is a familiar face on Scottish television screens, and as Dolly she brings warmth and playfulness to the role, with plenty of comic moments rooted in Glasgow life. Having previously played Magrit, she returns as the heartbeat of the show, bringing a sociability to a character who thrives on gossip and company.
Paul J Corrigan, another familiar face of stage and screen through River City and Gary: Tank Commander, plays Andy, the local handyman whose arrival brings a different comic dynamic to the washhouse. He may be the only man in this company of women, but he is very much on their territory. Dundee’s Lesley Mackie threatens to steal the show as Mrs Culfeathers, particularly when recounting her husband’s reaction to mince and tatties. It is a classic Glasgow domestic skit, finding the absurdity in the small frustrations of married life. The audience is never far from rolling in the aisles; Mackie’s timing is perfection.
There is more to The Steamie than nostalgia. Beneath the laughter is a portrait of working-class women whose lives are shaped by routine, family and the bonds formed in a shared social space. It feels like a world that is gone now, and that is lamentable in so many ways. It makes you think about where we exchange stories, share frustrations and dream of something different. Nearly four decades on, Roper’s play retains its warmth, wit and distinctly Scottish character.
