Confessions of a Justified Sinner

On one hand, there will always be those who bristle at the very thought of a beloved novel being adapted. On the other, it must generally be assumed that those doing that adaptation are themselves fans of the original work.

It’s difficult to tell which audience will feel most dissatisfied with Mark Thomson’s production of his own adaptation of James Hogg’s 19th-century gothic page-turner: those who have read it, who will likely be bored; or those who haven’t, who will likely be very confused.

The basic plot of the novel can be summed up briefly: believing himself to be one of God’s elect, a young man raised by fundamentalists takes to murdering people. The sinner's sense of justification is spelled out very clearly. Indeed, it’s hammered home for laughs when an alarmed character declares: “You’ve taken your ideas of predestination and the elect far too far!”

The details, including the influence of the mysterious, shape-shifting Gil-Martin, are far less clearly communicated. One gets the strong sense that Thomson is too familiar with the tale to realise that the supernatural concepts so skilfully evoked on the page cannot be effectively conveyed with a couple of twists of a rotating set and a few puffs of smoke.

A bit of confusion could be forgiven if his production was a fast-paced thrill-ride that captured the creepy tone of the tale, but it really isn’t. In fact, it is so laden with dull, self-righteous speeches and so short on excitement that it feels almost like a sermon itself.

Further allowances might have been made if the script even attempted to draw parallels with the religious fanaticism that has led to indiscriminate murder in the 20th century. Surprisingly, and despite the fact that scenes set in the present day book-end the action, there is no such attempt. It could be argued that there is a crucial difference between the belief that one may commit murder with impunity and the conviction that such crimes will lead to heavenly rewards, but that might at least have be an interesting argument to start.

Young actor Ryan Fletcher has demonstrated an impressive range over the last 18 months, but here he is woefully miscast as the sinner Robert Wringhim, rendered bland when he should be infuriating and repulsive. Iain Robertson, by contrast, turns in an admirable performance as the charismatic Gil-Martin, and John Kielty strikes exactly the right note as Robert’s strikingly handsome brother George. If Thomson had opted to explore the dimension of homosexual repression some have read into Hogg’s novel, things might have become considerably more interesting.