A lightning bolt splitting a table, a poet emerging from under a silver platter, and a cutlery boat sailing towards the West Indies — this is Robert Burns as you’ve probably never seen him before.
A Setting Steeped in History
The Georgian House in Edinburgh’s Charlotte Square, with its refined symmetry and 18th-century elegance, might seem an unlikely venue for theatrical experimentation. Yet, under Cora Bissett’s direction, its Robert Adam-designed interiors have been transformed into a living, breathing stage for The Burns Project.
Audience members don’t just watch; they share a table with Scotland’s national bard, here played by James Clements. The setting’s intimacy turns history into something almost tangible — you’re not reading about Burns, you’re sitting next to him, hearing his words, smelling the candle wax, watching shadows play across damask walls.
And then comes that streak of lightning. It slices down the centre of the table — a deliberate gash in the wood made for this moment — catching everyone off guard.
More Than a Museum Piece
This isn’t a tourist-friendly postcard version of Burns. Drawing on private letters, contemporary criticism, and a fair amount of creative risk-taking, Bissett shapes a portrait that’s as contradictory as the man himself.
Yes, Burns was the romantic genius who gave us “Auld Lang Syne” and “Tam o’ Shanter.” But he was also a man with a complicated love life, a restless political mind, and an uneasy relationship with the British establishment.
Bissett doesn’t smooth over the contradictions — she lets them clash in full view. One moment Clements’ Burns is flirting shamelessly, eyes glinting with mischief. The next, he’s sunk in political disillusionment, railing at the hypocrisy of the powerful.
The production thrives on these tonal shifts, finding the man in between the myth and the monument.
A Table That Tells Its Own Story
If the lightning strike is the table’s most dramatic moment, it’s far from its only role. Jenny Booth’s long, undulating design is part stage, part sculpture, and part mischievous prop.
At one point, Clements emerges from beneath a domed plate cover, dishevelled and bleary-eyed, as if waking from a whisky-soaked night of regret. In another, a miniature boat crafted from cutlery sets sail along the polished surface, heading metaphorically towards the West Indies — a subtle nod to the poet’s flirtation with the idea of emigrating there for work.
Elle Taylor’s lighting deepens the table’s shifting personality — warm and candlelit in one moment, stark and storm-split in the next.
Love, Politics, and the Man in Between
The Burns who appears here is neither saint nor sinner, but a complex mixture of charm, self-destructiveness, brilliance, and stubbornness.
In the love scenes, there’s a lightness — a quick wit, a sparkle in the eye that makes it easy to see why he was irresistible to many women. But Bissett balances this with a look at the strain such a restless heart placed on relationships.
The political side of Burns is equally nuanced. Letters and verses reveal his sympathy for revolutionary ideals and his dismay at government oppression. Yet he’s also a man employed by that same government, working as an excise officer, enforcing the Crown’s tax laws.
The contradictions aren’t explained away — they’re left for the audience to wrestle with.
Audience Close Enough to Smell the Whisky
Part of what makes The Burns Project so arresting is the audience’s proximity to the action. This isn’t a conventional stage-and-seating arrangement; you’re essentially part of the dinner party.
When Clements delivers a line, he may be leaning on the same table you’re resting your hand on. When the boat sets sail, it passes right in front of your wine glass. It’s immersive in the most literal sense — you can hear the creak of his chair, the scrape of his fork.
And that proximity has a side effect: it’s harder to keep the poet at arm’s length. Burns stops being a statue in Dumfries or a face on a banknote. He’s a man across the table, flawed and magnetic, full of contradictions that feel strangely modern.
The Guardian’s Critical Eye — and the Audience’s
The production has already caught the attention of critics, with Mark Fisher noting its blend of subtlety, imagination, and contention. He praises its avoidance of hagiography in favour of something more layered and provocative.
Audience reactions on the night I attended ranged from startled laughter at the table’s unexpected tricks to reflective silence during Burns’ more despairing monologues. For some, it was a rediscovery of a poet they thought they knew. For others, it was an introduction to the messy human being behind the romantic verses.
As one attendee put it afterwards, “I came for the poetry, but I stayed for the man.”
A Fresh Way to Engage With a National Icon
Productions about Robert Burns are hardly rare in Scotland — he’s a perennial subject for theatre, music, and literature. But The Burns Project stands out because it refuses to treat him as untouchable.
Instead, it pokes, questions, and plays with the myths. It uses humour without defanging the politics. It’s both playful and serious, occasionally surreal, and always rooted in the idea that history is a living conversation.
And in the end, that might be what makes it linger in the mind. Burns here isn’t a relic; he’s a dinner companion who’s just left the table, leaving you with a head full of ideas, a hint of smoke in the air, and maybe one too many glasses of whisky.
