Review: A Game of Crones

As the winds of Storm Dave battered the windows of the Traverse Theatre this week, a different kind of tempest was brewing inside. A&E Comedy, the formidable duo of Abigail Dooley and Emma Joy Edwards, brought their latest quest, Game of Crones, to Edinburgh, arriving with a last-minute 18+ age rating warning due to nudity and “strong language.” For a show that leans into the visceral reality of the female experience, the warning felt less like a deterrent and more like a battle cry.

The production is a spiritual successor to their previous hit Enter the Dragons, pivoting from midlife transitions to a surreal, madcap defiance of the “third age.” While the title tips its hat to George R.R. Martin’s epic, the similarities begin and end with the opening bars of the theme music. From there, the audience is plunged into a kaleidoscopic odyssey where our protagonists attempt to defeat Cronus, the god of time, as a middle finger to the societal invisibility of ageing.

Wicker Man Aesthetics and the Quest for Visibility

Visually, the show is an immediate assault on the senses. The performers appear in costumes designed by the talented Jess Eaton, described aptly as a cross between The Wicker Man and The Wombles. These tactile, earthy ensembles transform a minimalist stage, occupied primarily by two versatile, cloud-like structures, into a mythic landscape. It is a testament to Eaton’s skill that such bizarre attire can lend both comedic weight and a strange, pagan dignity to the performers as they navigate their “Road Bridge of Tears.”

The narrative follows a singular “protagonist” (the term “heroine” is dismissed as a cliché), played alternatively by Dooley and Edwards. This shifting identity reinforces the communal nature of the struggle against time. As they quest through a wild terrain populated by all sorts, including “old bags” and mutant seers, the show grapples with the heavy lifting of emotional baggage. One standout moment involves a mystic atop a mountain who forces the hero to weave a bridge from her own sorrow, a poignant metaphor for the resilience required to reach the later stages of life.

Anarchic Pacing and the “**ck It” Anthem

The strength of Game of Crones lies in its charisma and its chaotic, sometimes madcap energy. The performers are professional “clowns” in the technical sense of the term, utilising surreal plot devices, such as being trapped inside a computer screen, to facilitate an intermission. This “haywire” pacing is where the show finds its most interesting juxtapositions, notably a mashup between circus ringmasters and plastic surgeons – a sharp, satirical commentary on the societal pressure to either age naturally or fight the clock through clinical intervention.

Musically, the show hits high notes, particularly with the infectious “**ck It” song. While the notoriously reserved Edinburgh audience offered polite clapping rather than a full-throated singalong, the lyrical wit was undeniable. The show isn’t always smooth; the narrative can feel a bit too chaotic, making it difficult at times to track the exact trajectory of the quest. However, for a 50-year-old male reviewer who doesn’t necessarily fit the “primary” demographic of menopausal exploration, the emotional connection remained surprisingly strong. The frustration of “creaky knees” and the tragedy of becoming “invisible” simply because one is busy caring for everyone else are universal truths delivered here with a sharp, comedic sting.

Overall

Game of Crones is a quirky, ferociously funny, and defiantly feminist piece of theatre that thrives on the chemistry of its leads. While the narrative gears occasionally grind under the weight of its own madness, the sheer charisma of Dooley and Edwards carries the day. It is a messy, brave, and surreal celebration of the “third age” that proved well worth braving a national storm to witness.