Common Tongue acknowledges our inherited awkwardness about the Scots language and refuses to squander the words we’ve been given (Fringe review) 4 Stars ****

 Could you name a Scottish poet other than Robert Burns? (‘The only Scottish poet!’) How old were you when you first learned what ‘Auld Lang Syne’ actually meant? Bizarrely, for Bonnie, it wasn’t until university.

The protagonist of Fraser Scott’s cracking debut Common Tongue is wild yet never witless. Or silent. She loves to talk, and she loves language, especially Scots  – but she knows a whole lot less of it than she would like. Fraser Scott’s script is elastic, and so is Olivia Caw’s one-woman performance, bouncing and bending between Papa and snooty school friends who spend the summer holidays at Disney.

Caw is as convincing as an American classmate as she is in the main role, bringing a fluidity to Bonnie’s accent as her vowels shapeshift through life. I found myself, like many I’m sure, relating to Bonnie. Raised on an educational diet of Burns suppers and addresses to mouses and louses and haggis, the curriculum is stuffed with Scots, yet it still seems so elusive. We rightfully feel pride for our country, for how we talk – but how many of us can actually speak it? How many of us hedge our words, slow down, speak neater when the situation seems to call for it? 

According to the 20th century Scottish Education Department, Scots was deemed deeply uncultured and utterly useless in terms of educational value. While times have changed, Scottish is often still treated as slang, improper. A joke. 

While Bonnie starts the play unfiltered, she sizes down at uni. She makes herself ‘proper.’ As someone from a working-class background, this was too familiar. In years past, I too equipped the ever-dreaded ‘Glasgow uni accent.’ (Much to the delight of my mum.) Part small-town Scot, part someone else entirely, Bonnie ends up feeling like a stranger when she goes back to her own home.

Thankfully, her Burns-loving, pipe-smoking Papa is there to remind her who she is. If Common Tongue has one flaw, it is the scope. Scott’s script rarely stays in one spot for too long, skipping over several topics and locations, happenings and themes. Although this contributes to its quick, attention-grabbing pace, some subjects are done and dealt with quickly. 

Still, Common Tongue’s heart, communication, is expressed well. Caw demonstrates a great enthusiasm for the script. Her performance is tender and relational. Truly charming, she commands the room exceptionally. What might have come off as overtly didactic with well-trodden themes is lively and fun, thanks to her authenticity. Caw’s stage presence crackles with confidence, and allows the audience interactions – such as collectively professing ‘cunt’ and crossing arms to sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ – to feel seamless and natural. 

For all our grit, our country can be quite self-deprecating. Mirroring this, Caw readily pokes fun at herself; she is defined by love and respect for her language, and language in general – all the different dips and divots in how Scots people express themselves.

The final monologue at the end is wonderful. It is imperfect, unfiltered, entirely Scottish, and entirely Bonnie. Common Tongue acknowledges our inherited awkwardness about our language, yet refuses to squander the words we’ve been given, and calls on us to do the same.

Common Tongue, Scottish Storytelling Centre, 7th till 31st August 2026