'The Parting Glass' Review: The Jar and the Butterfly

When I first heard details about The Parting Glass, directed by Eilidh Read, I was pessimistic. A three-hour-long, entirely student-written play that jumps across a decade and features more than 150 lighting and sound cues seemed, to me, a little overambitious. I’ve seen student productions crash and burn with far less material, and as I took my seat in the Barron, I feared I was about to witness The Parting Glass shatter into a million pieces. Instead, when the three hours came to a close, I had tears running down my face and a feeling of certainty that I had just borne witness to the best that St Andrews student theatre has to offer.

I don’t often find myself in the position of reviewing a play after its run has ended, but I’m very glad that’s the case this time—because I am very, very eager to talk about this play’s incredible story. Set across the entire 1990s, The Parting Glass follows Caroline “Caro” Novak (Kiera Joyce) as she retreats into her childhood memories to escape the horror of her younger sister’s accidental death at a 1999 New Year’s Eve party, hosted by the highly dysfunctional Huntley family. As mentioned, the narrative jumps around in time, making it a little challenging to write about in a linear fashion. To avoid confusion, this review will be a walkthrough of my experience with the play—starting at the beginning and ending at… also the beginning. Trust me, it’ll all make sense later.

Act 1 of The Parting Glass was noticeably the weaker of the two halves. This is not to say it was bad by any means — more that it had a lot of convincing to do. Right after the play’s ominous and melodramatic opening scene — the funeral of Caroline’s sister, Vivien “Vivi” Novak (Margo Anderson) — the audience is thrust into a confusing web of characters, years and background information. This confusion settled after about twenty minutes, but in that time, I found it difficult to become immersed and really believe in The Parting Glass’s world, characters and timeline.

And then, all of a sudden, things began to click. I got used to the jumble of characters and dates, scenes grew longer and more intense, and I could finally begin to see what The Parting Glass was trying to show me. This was due in large part to some truly excellent performances — namely, Kiera Joyce’s Caro Novak (whose performance I’ll discuss in depth later) and Libby Mullen’s Octavia Beaumont. Octavia’s tragic story of a love smothered by an oppressive father before it can truly begin is brought to life by Mullen’s emotive and powerful performance. Every volley she slings at those closest to her, strikes a perfect balance between fury and utter, debilitating sorrow. It’s an absolute tour de force of Mullen’s acting chops, and she should be proud.

I’d be remiss not to mention the other factor that helped The Parting Glass land with me: the lighting and sound. Willa Meloth and Annalise Roberts truly had their work cut out for them — and from beginning to end, they met the challenge. The lighting shifts with the years, with the Novak sisters’ younger days imbued with a warm, comforting glow that grows colder and more unforgiving as time goes on. The sound succeeds on two fronts: subtle background and environmental noise was perfectly utilised, keeping me immersed throughout. While the songs were familiar, they were integrated into the narrative in a way that made them feel almost new. This might be Meloth and Roberts’ finest work yet.

By the end of Act 1, I was very optimistic about Act 2. So many compelling plotlines had been set up—from Octavia’s crumbling marriage to Michael Beaumont (Jacob Coutts), to Caro’s growing romance with the youngest Huntley sibling, Addie (Donna French). As the lights dimmed and Act 2 began, I hoped The Parting Glass would stick the landing.

While Act 1 certainly had no shortage of intense, emotionally charged confrontations, it felt rather like a British drawing-room comedy in comparison to the emotional devastation of Act 2. Edison Huntley, played with unexpected brilliance by Buster Van der Geest, runs off with his lover Toby (Elliot Read), but not before one final, explosive confrontation with his sister Octavia—made all the more heartbreaking by the collapse of her own romance with Francisco, poignantly also portrayed by Read. Addie and Caro finally kiss and express their feelings, a romance we already know is doomed thanks to Act 1’s final scene. And, most heartbreakingly, Vivi Novak falls to her death, leaving Caro — who essentially raised her — alone and devastated.

Now to discuss Kiera Joyce’s performance. At the beginning of the play, Joyce plays Caro as aloof and composed, taking on a strict, maternal role towards Vivi, carefully avoiding the heartbreaking moment to come. There is so much nuance in Joyce’s performance. As Caro’s world withers in the lead-up to Vivi’s inevitable death, she becomes increasingly untethered — losing control of the narrative and being forced to face her worst nightmare. Joyce screams, cries, flails against this inevitability — and when she finally breaks down after Vivi’s death, I found myself crying too.

This brings me to my final point of praise: Eilidh Read’s writing and direction. Even during the slightly shaky start to Act 1, it was clear that Read had a cohesive, one-of-a-kind vision for this play — something that only became more apparent as it progressed. The exact moment I realised I was witnessing something special came during a scene in Act 1 where Vivi and Addie catch a blue butterfly in a jar. Caro protests, saying the butterfly should be free, but Vivi refuses to release her grip on what she loves — leading to the butterfly’s suffocation and death. This brief scene serves as a perfect encapsulation of many of the play’s themes — namely, the damage that a misguided, suffocating love can do — and the subtlety and creativity on display continued in every scene thereafter.

I’ll admit I’m unsure how to end this review. If the play were still running, I’d close with a very strong recommendation to see it. But since its run has ended, I’ll simply say this: every single person involved in this production should be immensely proud of what they’ve created. I hope whatever they do next is just as spectacular — even if I won’t be around to see it.

Photos by Lila Patterson