Ceilidh at M&T Bank Exchange by Audrey Brown
By Scott Gilmour & Claire Mckenzie
Wednesday, September 14th, 2025
Written by Audrey Brown (@audrey.e.brown)
Banner graphic from the Ceilidh website
Immersive theatre is having its moment. With the buzz around Masquerade, the immersive—and to this point, very hush-hush—Phantom of the Opera experience, it seems that more and more theaters are embracing making a full *experience* of it all.
I’ve been greeted at the doors of Cabaret at the for-now-renamed, even on Google Maps, Kit Kat Club, formerly the August Wilson Theatre, with a shot of alcohol and ushered through a beaded curtain into what transforms the entire performance space into a Weimar-era cabaret. I’ve seen Jonathan Groff spin on the tables of fellow theatergoers in the “basement of Wicked,” the Circle in the Square Theatre having been converted entirely into a dinner theater fit for a midcentury audience enraptured by Bobby Darin. At Arena Stage in Washington, I literally attended a set of audience members’ wedding that turned the entire post-performance space into a reception, complete with refreshments, a “first dance,” and general camaraderie among former strangers.
” ..I can lay claim to those people’s psyches because the outcome of the show was, as promised, to feel a sense of companionship to strangers—I can attest that its success is felt regardless of background.”
But no show has mastered the immersive experience like Ceilidh. Yes, I was predisposed to enjoy this show because, as an Irish dancer and someone who has been to a verifiable cèilidh in Edinburgh, I felt especially connected to the subject matter. However, having been an audience member among those who were less inclined to have as precise of a penchant for the story—and I can lay claim to those people’s psyches because the outcome of the show was, as promised, to feel a sense of companionship to strangers—I can attest that its success is felt regardless of background.
It makes sense that this particular story was translated to this particular venue: Scottish cèilidhs are, as Ramsey, played by book writer Scott Gilmour, explains, traditionally informal gatherings of large groups who come together to learn dances and share in merriment. So why not let the show’s patrons feel like they are included in the tradition, bringing them to the stage to dance as though they’ve not only sat down to learn this family’s story but become part of it?
As one enters the space at Baltimore’s M&T Bank Exchange, outfitted here to look like a large dance hall where a mid-budget wedding might be hosted, they are greeted by the heartening sounds of fiddle-on-accordion as a set of the actors partake in an onsite seisiún—a live music gathering punctuated by improvisation and conversation. Performers filter in alongside the audience and join in the seisiún, swapping out instruments every so often and enjoying one another’s company in a way that makes the gathering feel as natural as if it were to have been a spontaneous bar session.
Gilmour takes to the stage and welcomes the audience to the space, shouting out Baltimore as being the perfect venue for this story (in online interviews, he’s called Baltimore the “Glasgow of America”). From here, the audience is hooked into the fantasy: Gilmour is the down-to-earth Ramsey, son of the famed cèilidh caller Leo (Euan Morton), gathering the audience, among a motley group of friends, in, inexplicably, the first cèilidh the village has had in a long time. We’re taken through a brief, comedic history of Scottish arts and dancing, watching the bodily movements be misremembered and translated through time in a generational game of telephone reminiscent of TikTok “dance telephone” trends. Tony-winner Sam Pinkerton has choreographed the movements (besides, of course, the large group dances, which do come from traditional cèilidh steps): having moved on from Civil War-era America, his choreography in this scene does, sometimes veer toward the slapstick humorous rather than reflecting a true, researched history of Scottish dance traditions.
Ramsey, son of Leo, has gathered the audience to participate in a return of the village’s cèilidh tradition. Who exactly is Leo? Good news: much of the piece focuses on his life story, as told through his son. At first a member of a motley crew of creatives, he sets up in a chip shop, ready to host an impromptu dancing session with its patrons, one of whom is the English Euna (Courtney Bassett), both unfamiliar with the cèilidh and uncomfortable with unwanted attention. A few skips and leaps later, and all it takes is Leo asking Euna to “give him her bonny hand”—the recurring musical theme throughout the musical—and not only is she convinced of the dance, but of Leo’s attraction. The pair don’t meet again until years later, when Euna’s best friend Yvonne (Emma McGlinchey) marries Fiddles (Charlie West)—conveniently, the musician who had accompanied Leo to the chipper in the first place. Clearly, the magic was in the cèilidh that fated day; soon enough, another wedding strikes, then baby Ramsey is born, and the rest is history.
Throughout, the story is populated with audience participation in the form of group dancing, from learning alongside Leo as he calls a group for the first time to joining into the wedding dance. Some post-show research has placated me in knowing that we were being taught mostly true-to-form Scottish traditional dances, even if simplified for a flat-footed American audience. As I said, I’ve learned traditional Irish dances for the past twenty years, so my expertise lies in pointed toes and skipping ‘round with gusto and spring. The general-public-compatible version of the dancing, whether Irish or Scottish in nature, invests a lot more in the upper body holds and general angling of groups or pairs, anticipating that the dancers will march along generally in time to get from point A to point B. Still, in Ceilidh, the tempo was still upbeat enough and the movements modifiable enough to fit varying levels that I was still challenged. Plus, my seat (and the fact that I was third-wheeling my parents) was such that I was more than once approached by cast members, partnered with whom I was able to show off my quick pickup skills and my ability to jump, not walk, in time.
“Moments like these perfectly captured a Scottish sense of humor—or at least one made palatable for an American audience—with just enough nods to the Irn Bru of it all to get a special laugh from the straight-outta-Scotland woman behind me but not to alienate the Baltimoreans.”
Regarding the playing of the script, Pinkerton’s adeptness at perfecting humor was paired perfectly with a few darker, more bittersweet moments. The silliness of the concept was not overdone, even when it may have been seen as cheesy: an unseen door literally opens up into a chip shop where an impromptu cèilidh causes two couples to fall in love, and yet the tenderness of the moment is still appreciated. Moments like these perfectly captured a Scottish sense of humor—or at least one made palatable for an American audience—with just enough nods to the Irn Bru of it all to get a special laugh from the straight-outta-Scotland woman behind me but not to alienate the Baltimoreans.
A particular triumph comes in the second act (after the audience has indulged in both allegedly real and vegetarian, which I opted for, haggis samples), where promotional imagery of two men’s hands interlocked comes into meaning. Ramsey has an American boyfriend (David Rowen), and he’s secreting him away from the cèilidh inside to make sure he doesn’t embarrass himself, instead of taking on his first chance at calling his own dance. Leo discovers them, and rather than leaning into the tension of the moment—there must be a reason that Ramsey is hiding from his parents instead of embracing himself inside—he only acknowledges the reality that in cases with two partners of the same gender, the dance should reflect that fact rather than conforming to traditional binary partnerships. Thus follows “Strip the Willow,” where the audience gets the chance to try on this new handhold for size in a group dance.
In the end, perhaps more than it is a musical, Ceilidh is a dance show—or at least a show entirely informed by, and dedicated to, the love of dance. I, for one, left the M&T Bank Exchange having danced and sung with everyone in the room, remembering that to learn something new in the company of others is a joy, not an embarrassment. The second act of the show takes on questions of family and belonging in thought-provoking, and sometimes tear-jerking, ways, concluding, as every good Scottish gathering should, in a standing circle where everyone sings “Auld Lang Syne.” And yes, perhaps this moment was special for me because I got to hold hands with and hear directly into my ear harmonies sung, especially for me, by Euan Morton, record-holder for longest time spent as King George III in Hamilton…but regardless, the song was a necessary form of community, release, and stillness after having spent the last hours holding the same strangers’ hands while in motion.
This moment solidified the power of the immersive concept: where else would I feel on equal playing field with the actors whom I had just seen live through their entire lives than in a moment formed through true feelings of community and togetherness? I feel lucky to have seen Ceilidh in its infancy and to have witnessed what I may go so far as to deem the inception of a new era of immersive theater, complete with intermission haggis served on what looks like a church hall’s catering cart hastily adorned with party store table dressings. Not only was the plot tight and acted through wonderfully and emotionally, but I had the chance to build connection to the story by dancing through it myself. And that’s what the piece, at its core, is about: Ramsey introduces the story by instructing the audience that the Old Scottish meaning of cèilidh was “gathering,” and embracing the feeling of gathering and togetherness help bring the whole piece to fruition.
—————————–
Audrey Brown (she/her) (@audrey.e.brown) is a mover and writer native to the D.C. region. While currently working in communications at a nonprofit in D.C., she gained experience in the nonprofit sphere from CityStep, a dance and community engagement organization based in New York City. Audrey spent much of her early life exploring the Washington performance scene, from small dance shows to the National Opera.
-0 Comment-