If anyone who’s at the Joyce Theater for Burn, a one-man dance-filled theatrical salute to Scottish poet Robert Burns, can name a single poem by Burns, I’d be shocked.
I’m not here to lit-shame anyone; I certainly can’t pretend to know anything about Burns’ work. But let’s be honest: The draw of Burn is Alan Cumming, and theatergoers will jump at virtually any chance to see the chameleonic performer on stage. The 18th-century Scottish poetry lesson is just a bonus.
Cumming, who was born in Perthshire, Scotland, created Burn with choreographer Steven Hoggett (Black Watch, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child); the pair previously collaborated on the National Theatre of Scotland’s The Bacchae, which featured Cumming as Dionysus. Here, the duo layer Burns’ letters and poetry with dance (Hoggett and Vicki Manderson did the choreography) and original music (by Scottish composer Anna Meredith) to present a sort of Burns bioplay. In other words, this is his life.
A 1998 Tony winner for his turn as the Emcee in Cabaret, Cumming might not be a came-up-through-the-chorus-line, tap-your-troubles-away kind of dancer, but he dances beautifully. More important, he can convey a story and character through movement, which is what’s required of him here. One of his first actions involves reaching into his chest and pulling something out, opening himself up to the audience.
“My name has made a small noise in this country, but I am a poor, insignificant devil, unnoticed and unknown,” he says. Interestingly, Burns wasn’t born with quill in hand, but rather with dirt under his fingernails. As a youth, he worked with his father on a farm, and he later even partnered with his brother to purchase their own (not-very-fruitful) bit of earth. “But I live in humble decency and might have a spare hour now and then to commit the idle sin of… RHYME.”
Once our hero starts talking of poetry—or “poesy,” as he calls it—the show burns more brightly. There are a couple terrific visual flourishes, such as flying note cards (very Harry Potter). And Cumming does a fantastic job conveying Burns’ giddy emotional highs—cue the Highland dancing—and anxious, cloud-filled lows. At one of his lowest points, the poet laments: “I am so poorly today as to be scarce able to hold my pen and so deplorably stupid as to be totally unable to hold it to any purpose.”
Unfortunately, it’s nearly impossible to get a real sense of Burns’ life from this 60-minute piece. Backdrop projections—which move chronologically, slideshow-style, accompanied by a strobe (a little of that, incidentally, goes a long way) helpfully fill in some historical blanks, such as his children’s names, but those details are few, and flicker by too quickly.
The character’s tumultuous dance toward death—the choreographic equivalent of the cinematic montage—is undeniably captivating, buoyed by Tim Lutkin’s terrific lighting, and Cumming is a commanding presence amid the onstage chaos. But by the end, Burns is almost as much of a mystery as he was at the start. However, should the need to name one of his poems ever arise, you can cite what’s probably his most famous: “Auld Lang Syne.”
Burn opened Sept. 20, 2022, at the Joyce Theater and runs through Sept. 25. Tickets and information: joyce.org
