Give me your bonnie hand, my dear…
Community.
Family.
Togetherness.
Joy. Celebration. Tradition. Catharsis.
When I attended the press-preview-junket and spoke briefly with co-creator Scott Gilmour, asking him to sum up the experience of Ceilidh in one word, the word he chose was ‘cathartic.’ Having romped around with the dancing and singing for an hour at that event, it seemed an odd word, but having seen Ceilidh in its glorious entirety now, I know exactly what he means in using that word to describe the experience.
I rarely feel as if I can speak so personally about a theatrical experience but the experience— because this production is so much more than a show, and even goes beyond being an immersive show, delving into this whole other realm of existence that it simply has to be experienced to be understood— of Ceilidh is one that becomes deeply personal. And while every person is going to have a different experience attending Ceilidh, they are all sharing the same experience, being i
n the room as its happening around them, to them, with them; there are not adequate words to wholly encompass such an indescribably extraordinary experience. Co-conceived by Scott Gilmour & Claire McKenzie, with musical supervision by Kris Kukul, Ceilidh is directed by Sam Pinkleton and is a true once-in-a-lifetime theatrical experience that runs the gauntlet of emotional expressions and will have you fully submerged in its essence, deeply steeped in its aura, and wholly flushed with its heart and soul by the time the production concludes.
To attempt to distill this experience into a summary would be both inaccurate and impossible, wholly offensive to the creative team, and it would ruin some of the emotional brilliance that’s flawlessly crafted into the show— much of which was kept from the media at the original preview experience. The show is joyful and enthusiastic and swimming with glee, teaming with up-tempo song and dance. But the show is also an emotionally blindsiding tornado that whips up unexpectedly, blows through without warning, and smacks hard in the heart and soul. I’ve never had a more challenging review to write because so much of the show’s impressive beauty, intentional evocative nature, and overall cathartic experience is wrapped up in the pathos of that storyline, but it’s threaded so seamlessly into the tapestry of the experience that I don’t want to talk explicitly about it for fear of ruining that experience for others who have yet to see it.
The show itself creates a much-needed, desperately wanted sense of community, togetherness, and unity amongst a group of mostly strangers— theatergoers, denizens of Baltimore. And the effect that the show has on this group as a whole is striking. The show is staged tennis-court-volley style, with seating banks on the lower level on opposite sides of the hall, with upper-tier seating in the three-quarters round as well; you’re immediately in the show without feeling like you’re being forced into the show. And there are brilliant things happening with the performers from the moment you come into the space— the live band is already playing— and as show time nears its starts, there are spectacular, albeit subtle, things happening with characters that if you twig or catch on to those things (my personal favorite being the most minute of actions between George Drennan and David Rowen) you get that much more of an impact out of the storyline as it unwinds in the second act.
The design components of the show which fabricate this exquisite aesthetic are sensational. Scenic Designer Rachel Hauck, Lighting Designer Isabella Byrd, and Costume Designer Sarah Laux have collaborated to create this authentic looking and feeling play-space that completely transforms the M&T Exchange Performance Space; there’s a hominess, a level of easy comfort in the space whilst still having rustic charm of being a place where something magic and ephemeral is about to happen. There are bars open and active during the performance (that’s just a bonus but also tastefully blended into the scenic structure of the space) and lighting is enchanting. It’s not overdone, it’s subtle, but there are definitely moments where Byrd’s use of warmed or cooled illuminations— colorful gobos reflected down directly onto the floor and her use of a mirror ball (who doesn’t love the mesmerizing effect of a mirror ball) are just so effective that your heart is giggling with glee over her choices. Laux features tartan and kilts as you might expect with a Scottish show, but it’s blended in with the modernity and timelessness of the performance; everything about the production components of the show is perfect (including the sound balance, microphone volumes, and the way the singing, live band, and spoken words are absorbed and carried in that space; a major cordon of praise is owed to Sound Designers Danny Erdberg and Ursula Kwong-Brown.)
Dancing is at the heart of Ceilidh. To watch and to engage in; this show has both. You aren’t required to dance, but given the number of people who leapt from their seats to engage in the some half-dozen dances, the experience is charmingly contagious. Director & Choreographer Sam Pinkleton has worked true theatrical magic into this immersive and engaging experience. “Something Like This” is one of the prime examples of dancing (where the audience gets to delight in watching it) as the tradition of how the dance-steps of various dances from various Ceilidhs have evolved through time. It’s such an uplifting series of choreographed moves and the enthusiasm runs rampant through the cast in that number; it’s a fiery sensation of joy and glee and cherishing the way things get reinterpreted through time. Like a dancing-version of that old game of telephone.
The ‘on-stage’ band (featuring Jane Cardona as the Band Leader/piano/accordion, with Hidayat Honari on guitar, Adam DeAscentis on bass, Jessie Linden on percussion, and Jesse Ofgang on pipes) is a stellar component of the production-experience as well. They play all of the songs giving the show its liveliness and energy. Mixed out in the ensemble of the performers are actor-musicians who engage with the audience as much as they do the other performers and the story; it’s thrilling. Two such— including ‘Fiddles’ (Charlie West) and Rowan (Rori Hawthorn) have this exceptional duel of sorts, “Duelling Fiddles” where they literally have a fiddle-off right in the center of the floor. It’s wild! Hawthorn has one of the most beautifully crafted moments of emotional tension in the show, from my perspective, when George Drennan’s character engages with her, asking her to play her fiddle. The whole dynamic of the room shifts in that moment, and the way the other performers respond to it is just tragically beautiful and haunting whilst simultaneously pulling at your heart. It is one of the ‘hits hard’ and ‘hits from nowhere’ moments that are peppered throughout the evening and it’s theatrical expression, human experience, and real connectivity between community at its finest.
The story itself, woven flawlessly into the experience of attending a ‘Ceilidh’, is one of family, one of tradition, one of acceptance, one of growth, one of sharing, and its unique in its existence while being universal. Everyone in the audience can relate to it, even if their exact experience of this narrative is a little different. And one of the most profound moments, near the end of the show, comes from Scott Gilmour’s character Ramsay, where he’s talking about how we as humans lose so much time trying to recover or get back what we’ve lost that we forget life is still happening and we have to move on with in the present so that we ourselves and our experiences and traditions don’t become lost. That moment— for me, in addition to all of the other things, particularly in the second act, that had me weeping openly and freely— knocked the wind wholly from me in this evocative, visceral, and yet wholly cathartic fashion. It’s this eye-opening moment of feeling and compassion, and understanding that in this struggle we are not alone; our friends, strangers, our family, our community, people on the street, have all been here in some way or other and can relate; we are not alone. I have never in my 15 years as a reviewing theatre critic or my 30+ years of attending theatre felt so utterly connected and seen as I did by the end of Ceilidh.
For my money, the two performers that took my heart were George Drennan and Annie Grace. I found myself inextricably fascinated with their interactions and their characters are seated on the sideline most of the time. Drennan’s performance in his role is so spot-on and so exacting to the person that he’s portraying it’s tragically beautiful and heartbreaking. Grace’s as well in her counterpart role to his character. Many of the actors stay on the floor at the conclusion of the performance— which involves having the whole house’s worth of people up on their feet— and having moments to speak with the both of them was truly exceptional and I felt humbled and honored to be able to do so; their part of this story was so moving.
It’s not a total emotional quagmire, I promise, because there’s also so much fun, laughter, love, light, gaiety, and goodness that you’ll find your belly sore from laughing (possibly also from the Haggis and whiskey but mostly from laughing.) You get performers like Emma McGlinchey, Anne L. Nathan, Charlie West, and Paul L. Coffey who pop up as these more comedically driven characters that just bring such delightful moments of silliness to the experience you’ll love every second they’re engaging with you. And then ensemble members like Parker Bailey Steven and Brandon Jackson who find themselves in the throng of every called dance, desperately trying to help the audience keep to the steps that are being called (and they’re such good spirits about it too!)
Ceilidh has stories of acceptance, of love, and expression, of tradition. There’s dancing, as mentioned, there’s laughter and tears to be had too. And naturally there’s singing. None more impressive than Courtney Bassett as Euna, near the end of the first act, belt-blasting her beautiful face off with this stunning, powerful rendition of “The Thistle and The Rose.” You know there’s going to be celebratory antics, you don’t expect there to be a powerhouse vocal sensation mixed in among it; she’s a true vocal knockout. And the meet-cute, burgeoning chemistry that develops between Bassett’s Euna and Euan Morton’s Leo is sensational. You get a little snippet of Morton’s dulcet singing voice as well and its glorious too. Watching Morton’s character evolve through the performance is one of the fascinating threads of this journey. And the moment when he’s attempting to coach Scott Gilmour’s Ramsay and David Rowen’s Lucas through dance steps for “It’s All About the Hold” is both hilarious and heartfelt. There’s a humor and an honesty that is just touching in that whole lead-up scene that spills into the number divinely. (Rowen is also the show’s dance captain and you get to see his high-flinging legs in action most vividly during “Something Like This.”
As for co-creator Scott Gilmour, he’s the harbinger of catharsis, the show’s emotional beacon and physical tour-guide, as it were, navigating the audience through the experience of Ceilidh while actively existing inside its narrative construct. It’s Gilmour’s sentiments and experiences as Ramsay, that at times become our own personal reflections of life and emotions and experiences, that open this theatrical experience up as a whole, letting the audience delve in, unabashedly and unapologetically. It’s remarkable. He sings and dances too. The emotional capacity he brings to the table for this production is intensely stunning and so very freeing; Gilmour and his character give the audience permission to simply be— to absorb the experience, to feel seen, to not feel alone, to feel accepted, to feel as if they belong; it’s a powerful and utterly magical skill that Gilmour is delivering.
The cast (Courtney Bassett, Paul L. Coffey, David Corlew, George Drennan, Scott Gilmour, Annie Grace, Rori Hawthorn, Brandon Jackson, Euan Morton, Emma McGlinchey, Anne L. Nathan, David Rowen, Parker Bailey Steven, Claire-Frances Sullivan, Charlie West,) become like family— to each other and to the audience. The experience defies description— I’m doing my very best with the limited medium of words and I still feel like I’m failing this show spectacularly because there simply is no true way to describe the immersible joy, the incomprehensible catharsis, the utter sense of belonging that you achieve by attending this theatrical experience; it’s sheer magic, honest emotional theatrical magic. It is a true once-in-a-lifetime experience that should at all costs be experienced. It’s limited run in Baltimore is not to be missed.
Ceilidh is an evocative experience that transcends all sorts of barriers and borders and is for everyone, Scottish or not, and must be seen, experienced, and heard to be fully appreciated, understood, and believed.
Running Time: Something like 2 hours and a bit more with an intermission? But it’s really hard to tell because it feels like an eternity and no time at all simultaneously.
Ceilidh starts performances on September 6th 2025 and plays through October 12th 2025 in the M&T Bank Exchange— 401 West Fayette Street in the Bromo Arts District of Baltimore, MD. Tickets are available in advance online.
To read the coverage article on Ceilidh, click here.
To read the interview with Baltimore’s own Parker Bailey Steven, click here.