In sitting down to write this review, I keep at the forefront of my mind a lesson I learnt from my favourite film Ratatouille: that us critics risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work to our judgement. And, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so.
Now, Studio Platero’s The Tears of Nerakhis is far from the average piece of junk! And I am totally aware that however much effort I put into this review is incomparable to the amount of effort put into this musical. This is, by far, the most ambitious piece of student theatre I have ever seen. It’s three hours long, completely written and composed by students, and constructs an entire fantasy world, replete with a beautifully-made set, costumes, and puppets. It is obvious how lovingly curated this piece is.
 |
| ID: flown set-pieces representing two moons in the shapes of figures looking at one another. Credit: Francesca Jeffs. |
I spoke with Studio Platero member Felix da Silva-Clamp at the Refreshers Fayre, and he was the most fervent I’ve ever seen someone be about a show in St Andrews. It was a delight to hear someone be so excited and enthralled about what they were making. The amount of love and time that has been poured into this work by everyone involved is evident. It is a real feat, and is so clearly a passion project of the highest order.
Set in a mythic land run by Gods, this sung-through musical chronicles the tragic love story of human Calanthe (played by Maeve Murray) and nymph Alea (played by Eleanor White). Queer romance – hooray! – hence The Gay Saint review. As wonderful as it always is to see queerness in the fantasy genre, The Tears of Nerakhis regrettably has an incurable case of dead lesbian syndrome. The show starts with Calanthe’s life story, as she experiences homophobia, romantic rejection, forced marriage, and attempted rape.
 |
| ID: Maeve Murray as Calanthe kneeling. Credit: Francesca Jeffs. |
This is not to say that you can’t write queer tragic romances. Queer characters are allowed to suffer and die. My criticism derives from the show’s reliance on outdated tropes, and lack of nuance or subversion. If Alea was more thoughtfully framed as bisexual, it would have been beautiful to have a song where she realised that. Her attraction towards a man could have been a revelatory expansion of identity. But it wasn’t. And by the time Alea is burned at the stake and Calanthe is left to lifelong grief, a queer audience member starts to wonder whether the show’s messaging is that queer joy is fleeting and queer suffering is inevitable.
As beautifully sung as the songs are, the lyricism unfortunately drags down the entire musical aspect of the show. Each song returns to describing the same ideas and feelings in the exact same phrasings. By the second hour, I did start to wonder if some time God had stuck me in some eternal loop, chained to my seat in the Byre Theatre, destined forevermore to listen to the same three songs about the world of men being one of “metal” and “destruction.”
The poster for the show has a tagline that reads “Have you ever wondered where the moonlight goes to sleep” – yes, without a question mark at the end. Have I ever wondered where the moonlight goes to sleep? Not particularly. Does the show answer that question? Also no. The writing overall relies too heavily on pretty words and enticing imagery that certainly sound good if you don’t think about what it means too much.
 |
| ID: Maeve Murray as Calanthe being forced into a wedding dress. Credit: Francesca Jeffs. |
For all my frustrations with the writing, it would be unfair to not point out that the production did have some truly wonderful moments. These came down to the great talent of the cast. Dylan Swain’s performance as Nerakhis was fantastically foreboding (though he could have done without the Adventure Time-esque get-up). Maeve Murray, too, carried the show with a performance that never once held back: emotionally raw and physically committed, it was impossible not to feel Calanthe’s pain with her.
Callum Wardman-Browne gave a show-stealing performance as Fugo, coming in for a single song during the second act. The audience went wild; I half-expected a standing ovation for the one number alone. Tonally, it was bizarre: introduced out of nowhere, Wardman-Browne delivers an exposition-heavy song that breaks the fourth wall and includes an orgasmic reaction to a saxophone solo. My mouth was agape! Where was this theatrical electricity in the rest of the show? The show would have benefited from much more comic relief (specifically, much more Wardman-Browne). Marco Gil Harris, as Alea’s human love interest, was also a comedic highlight.
 |
| ID: Marco Gil Harris as Reikwald. Credit: Francesca Jeffs. |
I think the best tragedies make you forget that you’re watching a tragedy. Romeo and Juliet is at first a comedy – kids joking, bickering, and flirting – before it devolves into murder. The Tears of Nerakhis, by contrast, rarely allows space for anything but sorrow, jealousy, violence, and abuse. More tonal variation, perhaps in the form of comic relief, would not have undermined the tragedy. It would have made the effect of those elements stronger in contrast. Besides, audience members were laughing anyway (a memorable example: we loudly heard an actress backstage ask, with a switched-on mic, where the hell her dress was). Tears of Nerakhis, laughter of the audience: if they’re going to laugh, it might as well be with you, not at you.
Watching The Tears of Nerakhis is strange: a project so ambitious and lovingly created, yet one that does not quite seem ready for the world it is trying to enter. Rumours of a film, music videos, and an Edinburgh Fringe run suggest this story is still growing. The performances this week felt less like a finished product than a step along the way – a work with great potential, still in the process of ironing out its wrinkles.
By bel (she/her)