Credit to Graham Hill for stepping into the night gown and slippers of Scrooge at short notice. With book in hand, and on the first of three sold-out shows at Stirling Castle, he performed the role with grounded irascibility and commendable nuance.

But here my generosity runs dry for there is much about Chapterhouse Theatre Company’s touring production of A Christmas Carol, adapted by Laura Turner, which rendered it dead as a door-nail.

Firstly, prior to the show and during the interval, to have a brace of costumed actors proclaim from the stage “Programmes? Any last raffle tickets to be bought?” not only burst the bubble of anticipation but ran contrary to the spirit of charity at the heart of Dickens’ text.

Secondly, the microphone levels peaked and dipped like a rollercoaster ride – which this staid production and flat adaptation most certainly are not. And, what’s more, they appeared to be switched on throughout, relaying each offstage jingle-jangle of chains and clomp of heel with spell-bursting regularity.

But the show’s shortcomings were not limited to directorial or technical issues because, thirdly, some of the performances were as wooden as the fixed flats. Particularly the actor doubling as Scrooge’s father (cast list not forthcoming) who in a permanent state of fury delivered his lines as if trying to out-roar a tsunami. Think Bill Sykes meets Brian Blessed.

And the fourth, but by no means final, nail in the coffin was the death of Tiny Tim, the silent grieving for whom was excruciatingly long and not so much guilty of gilding the lily but dunking it in a tub of glue and showering it in glitter. The result of which made the winter solstice – the longest night of the year – drag even more.

On a rare positive note, the choral singing and close harmonies were excellent. But like Scrooge’s dusty old ledger, the debts far outweigh the credits.

Peter Callaghan
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