The art of the one-man play is seldom perfected, but Matthew Zajac’s The Tailor of Inverness comes close. The title may have a Beatrix Potter-like ring to it but there’s nothing whimsical about this story, in which Zajac undertakes the heartwrenching task of playing his now dead father – a Pole who served in the British army and settled in Scotland after the Second World War.
The play is a stunning realisation of the one-man form, crafted beautifully from the embers of Zajac’s own deeply personal, life-changing discoveries of his father’s pre-war existence. Accompanied by a sole violinist and a series of Polish voiceovers, Zajac flits between performing as his young father, his elderly father and finally himself with deft exuberance and implicit humour, captivating the audience at every turn.
Visually, The Tailor of Inverness is breathtaking in its simplicity. Facing the audience on stage is a wall plastered with white shirts – a mesmerising setting for the tailor’s place of work but also a weighty tribute to the bodies fallen in conflict. Props are cunningly used to denote both time period and character, with little breath spared between scenes.
Music also plays a vital role; Eastern European folk songs and violin tunes pepper the action, alternately soothing and mystifying us as it complements the narrative’s slow accretion of details. These elements combine to form a kaleidoscope of overwhelming memories, presenting us with a searingly honest discovery of one man’s battle for survival and an aching portrait of the pain—and sometimes joy—that family secrets can bring.
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