“The Scots believe that life is pitiless and harsh, but that deep inside us all, there’s a churning sea of desire and optimism that’s usually suppressed by drink, stoicism and bravado.” — Justin Currie

In five acts, Shakespeare covered treason, murder, and supernatural evil as he recounted the fate of a Scottish king in his shortest tragedy MacBeth. Playwright and performer Russell Barr takes about sixty minutes to narrate the savagery of a more contemporary Scottish setting in his monologue Sisters, Such Devoted Sisters. The resulting performance is not for those of a nervous constitution.

The play was awarded Best Production when it debuted at the 2004 Edinburgh Fringe Festival, and after three sold-out runs in London was brought to New York in January by actor Michael Imperioli for a run at Studio Dante, the space he owns with his wife Victoria. Those familiar with Imperioli’s most notable role (as Christopher Moltisanti in The Sopranos) will appreciate his attraction to the piece: like the HBO show, it offers a dark view of a controversial lifestyle that is simultaneously cataclysmic and comical.

Barr plays a transvestite; his alternate moniker is Bernice. The play takes place in his bedroom, a set with meticulously laid details leaving no doubt as to time and place: the Smiths records, Return of the Jedi curtains, rollout writing desk and gaudy floral wallpaper indicate early ’80s; a can of Scotland’s national soda Irn Bru, a box of Cadbury’s Roses and a Rampant Lion flag designate what dismal, rainy island this is.

As Bowie’s farewell to glam rock “Rebel Rebel” pipes in, Barr rises from bed dressed in drag: spiked boots, skin-tight rubber pants, fur coat, wig, the lot. By final curtain, he has bid farewell to his alter-ego too, having undressed, removed his makeup and wig. What’s left is, simply, a man. A bald man. In striped pajamas.

Most of Barr’s tales are of a sexually deviant nature, involving illicit transactions, poppers, prostitutes… They’re usually uproarious, if uncomfortable at times. We are sitting mere feet from the stage, and he is not afraid of sitting in audience member’s laps (though thankfully not mine) as he recounts a sexual conquest, or to physically demonstrate a conversation overheard between two women in bathroom stalls as they take care of their business. Of course, the more he undresses, the more we wonder if and when he will stop.

In typical Scottish fashion, Barr is self-deprecating in his tales of drug-fueled misdeeds, maintaining a stoic sense of humor despite his decaying world in such a way that only a Scot could. But periodically Barr freezes, quivering, seeming to seizure, before abruptly changing tack, and it’s clear that more sinister details have yet to emerge. Barr is not just here to make us laugh at the follies of Glasgow transvestites; he’s slowly revealing the brutality of the men he runs with like a pack, men that call themselves sisters, but who possess a cruelty that can’t be hidden behind makeup and wigs. Ultimately, the façade of their so-called sisterhood unravels into a vicious betrayal against one of their own.

–Julia Clarke