In an airless basement room, Wright and Grainger weave a gentle story laced with gold. One man may fall asleep in the front row, but the rest of us are rapt in the delicate details of this old story made new. Alexander Wright is our gracious, slightly rugged host. His words swell with wonder.
Wright and Grainger tell Greek myths as if they’re taking place today. Their 12-track gig-theatre show, The Gods The Gods The Gods, has toured the world over the last year. Now, Phil Grainger’s music becomes an understated underscore to Alexander Wright’s spoken-word story. In Helios, the duo turn their attention to the myth of Phaeton and his father, the god of the sun.
In the original fable, the sun god drives a chariot across the sky each day, before his son steals it for an illicit, fatal ride. Wright hauls the characters into the company’s home, rural Yorkshire, to a time when Walkmans reign. The storytelling focuses on the tiny, tangible details of Phaeton’s life. Helios is now a pilot, his planes pulling the sunrise up every morning. The stolen chariot is now a glistening Ford, the promise of driving it fuelling Phaeton’s teenage years. The world-shifting decisions of gods are now replaced by tentative friendships, childhood dares and broken familial bonds.
The room is lit with gold, a beaming lamp serving as a sun that Wright moves around. He reads at a rapid pace off egg-yellow sheets, inviting audience members to read other roles. He is generous with those of us who help, the telling of the story full of sweet exchanges. Through it all, Grainger’s lo-fi melodies lull us into Phaeton’s days, the breathy chords sounding like little rays of light. The show’s approach is so soft that its wider purpose is sometimes lost along the winding country roads, but with quiet intimacy and boyhood wonder, Helios is a tender tale sweetly told, the ancient strands of story shining through.
• At Summerhall, Edinburgh, until 27 August
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