The Terrible Tales of the Midnight Chorus

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As this ragtag group of ghostly virtuosos skilfully weave their harmonies, it is undeniable that there is great beauty in the grotesque. In a performance fusing theatre, live music and puppetry, The River People have created something that inspires breathless awe from its audience. There are no cheap tricks here, just an ethos of performance that stays true to the storytelling traditions of the past and injects it with the sort of innovation that is sometimes hard to find at the Fringe.

The puppets and actors work side by side; interacting in such surprising ways that it’s easy to forget that one is controlled by the other. As scenery is dropped into place on the miniature set at the centre of the stage, one witnesses a multi-dimensional performance: the human-sized actors drifting between planes as they narrate, sing, or control the much smaller puppets. The singing here is no incidental detail: the clarity and beauty of the voices are of such a high standard that the stories are allowed to tell themselves without distraction.

While the tales themselves are a mixture of the sublime and the ridiculous, treading a line between childlike innocence and ominous philosophising, it is the moments of beauty that stand out rather than any narrative excellence. As an old man holds onto the moon for dear life and drifts around the stage, the suspension of disbelief seems effortless. The audience is silent, captivated and moved.