Miyazu - The Little Mermaid

If you can imagine a Scottish theatre company taking a Scottish-set version of Cinderella across to Japan, along with artisan hand-woven kilts, trained highland dancers, a kick-ass ceilidh band and an unsubtitled script, you will go some way towards understanding both the appeal and the drawbacks of Miyazu - The Little Mermaid.

Japanese culture swirls throughout theatre company HIBIKart's piece from the moment we enter the theatre, each of us gifted with a delicate origami crane. Exquisite silk kimonos drape the cast; gongs and Taiko drumbeats split the air. Dance from pole-twirling martial artists and classically-masked peasants is tightly done and carries with it an air of traditional reverence.

Why the company have made the decision to keep the Japanese script—which comprises much of the show—without translation, is anyone's guess. Either the story needs text or it doesn't. As it is, it feels as if we are missing out on detail and nuance, kept in the dark about a large chunk of the narrative, as it shifts from under the sea to the cherry blossom wedding of the mermaid and prince.

There is, however, one moment when the action becomes graphically lucid: the mermaid's transformation from fish to woman. Stripping off layers of kimonos, she turns from kaleidoscope blue to white, via violent red, suggesting the literal splitting of her tail. A turbulent storm blows up around her, a fierce whirlwind of dance. It adds a sharp edge to an otherwise fairytale-tame production. Some symbols need no translation.