Theatre

But that was then

Oran Mor, Glasgow

Mary Brennan

four stars

LIKE old age itself, this one creeps up on you. It plays tricks on what you were certain sure of, and springs surprises beyond what you were expecting.

James (Billy McBain) and Marcia (Alison Peebles) have been married for what seems like forever. Middle-age has given way to what some chirpily hail as a “third age”, seeing retirement as a starting point for fresh experiences. Marcia, however, sees ageing in terms of loss: her looks have been hijacked by wrinkles, her acting career has fallen into the doldrums – these young producers don’t know who she is – while her marriage. . . well that slummock in the armchair is still there, useless as ever.

In the time it takes for Marcia to do her make-up, take out her rollers and reveal the evening finery she’s wearing to the BAFTA ball, she also unleashes a barrage of reproaches against the ravages of time, the treacheries of casting directors, the inadequacies of James, and his failures as a would-be playwright. Alison Peebles is in blazing form, veering from the waspishly snide to dramatic flourish, from wistful nostalgia to the coorse’n’vulgar. McBain gives as good as he gets, albeit with a more jocular feel to his banter.

Then, just as you’re wondering why Peter McDougall has pitched the dialogue in such a florid, often stagey and grand-standing style – and why director Graeme Maley hasn’t intervened – there’s a bitter-sweet twist that makes sense of it all. You may well have guessed, by then, what the real and irreversible cost of Marcia’s encroaching age is, but McBain’s closing words – spoken out front to us – are an incredibly moving love letter to the Marcia he has just danced with, a Marcia made glowing and vital by the evergreen talent of Alison Peebles. Tears may well trickle into your pies and pints, folks.

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