Ten Plagues

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The atmosphere in the Traverse tonight feels more like that of a stadium gig than a Fringe play. Despite the calibre of Ten Plagues' composer (Conor Mitchell), designer/director (Stewart Laing) and librettist (Mark Ravenhill), this audience seems to be here for just one person: Marc Almond. The British singer and artist might be best known as the former Soft Cell frontman but he has also been celebrated for his large catalogue of solo work. And many of his fans have turned out in Edinburgh to see this new opera, which takes the Plague of 1665 as its departure point and in which he is the lone star.

For the most part, Almond delivers. There are a few clumsy hiccups as he navigates his way around the people of Plague-ridden London—represented in Laing's sparse design by carefully placed stands laden with sheet music—with fear and disgust. He and the on stage pianist show impressive stamina in sustaining this gory, grim tale through its full hour.

Ravenhill's writing is perhaps the biggest triumph of Ten Plagues. Using eye-witness accounts of the Plague, the award-winning writer behind Shopping and Fucking has crafted an affecting and emotional tale that transcends the boundaries of time, while remaining aesthetically rooted in the language of 1665. Frustratingly, the pace lags in the middle section. But the story, along with Mitchell's generally even-keeled composition, crescendos at the end in a haunting refrain that stays with you for long after, acting as a frightening reminder of the impulses of men in times of despair.