Iain Finlay Macleod’s new play for the National Theatre of Scotland both is and is not Whisky Galore. Compton Mackenzie’s 1947, English-language novel, and the 1949 Ealing comedy it inspired, are based on true events during the second world war. The SS Cabinet Minister hits a rock off the shores of the fictitious western Scottish island of Little Todday. Her cargo? Fifty thousand cases of whisky. Will the bilingual Gaelic-English islanders outmanoeuvre the English Home Guard tinpot dictator and anglophone revenue officer to keep their salvage?
Here, the time is today. A newcomer to Little Todday enters the Cabinet Minister pub. Marie, it transpires, is the granddaughter of a central couple in the novel, looking for her roots. Her arrival, along with a wartime-like dearth of “the water of life”, sets young locals remembering old tales. The island’s poet begins to conjure long-gone characters and encounters, directing the landlord, barmaid, a local historian and Marie herself in re-enactments. Past and present ebb and flow.
Gloriously, the performance is in Gaelic (with English surtitles) – a rare treat on the Scottish stage. However, Mackenzie’s anarchic narrative is run against 21st-century issues of identity and the ownership of stories. The battle between islanders and authority figures is submerged. Complex characterisations are jettisoned, replaced by cartoons. Not all is lost though. Macleod’s script is likably humorous, with a suitable whiff of whimsy. Guy Hollands’s direction is playful and his energetic cast adept at morphing into multiple roles.
