Gilded Balloon Tivot’s adaptation of Mike Daisey’s infamous manifesto against corporatism is an evangelical dramatic monologue which attempts to tackle our apathy towards the means by which our goods are produced. Revised after litigious action by Apple, the piece remains a clarion call, intended to jail-break us from our own ignorance. It begins as a love letter to Apple but, throughout the course of the dramatic monologue, quickly spirals into a heartbroken lament for its behaviour. This is cleverly wound together by two simultaneous plot strands. One strand tells the story of the tumultuous relationship between Steve Jobs and Apple, with gems such as “the thing about a coup d’état is that you wanna win, because if you don’t win then the next day it can be so… awkward”. Delivered in a playful tone, it is littered with impressions of Misters Steve Wozniak and Jobs. It maintains an awestruck tone, championing Apple’s superiority to Windows, celebrating Apple’s slick design alongside jokes about the Comic Sans typeface and redundancy of MS Powerpoint, and entertaining with stories of the megalomaniac micromanager – nay, “nano-manager” – Steve Jobs. It is essentially the fun side, establishing a rapport with the audience, buttering us up. This is necessary, because other strand is much more intense. It outlines Daisey’s own disillusionment with Apple following his journalistic investigation into Foxconn, who produce 50-percent of the world’s electronic goods. He tries not to clog his monologue with things that we could have discovered elsewhere, say, from a good book on the subject or from reading The New York Times over the past few years – or even using our imaginations; Daisey confesses his investigation did not unearth anything that he did not already suspect. He obviously wanted this piece performed theatrically, rather than writing a book or article, because its impact is bolstered as a strong sermon. What a relief, then, that Grant O’Rourke takes the role of Daisey, playing him with the religious enthusiasm of a nerdy Apple-convert. At one point he holds a Macbook aloft as a purple beam of light hits him, like Moses with a stone commandment. This religious tone makes his transformation into an anti-corporate orator seem all the more prophetic. Staged against a black-curtained background, with an iMac on a desk and a man in jeans presenting, the whole thing resembles an Apple-unveiling; all that is missing is a turtleneck sweater. Instead O’Rourke dons a black t-shirt with “think differently” emblazoned across the torso, like an anti-Apple-genius. This performance does not command you to throw your iPhone into the Firth of Forth; it simply urges you to “think differently” about your consumer habits. There is no good reason not to watch it; as enjoyable as it is edifying.[author-post-rating] (3/5 Stars)

Gilded Balloon Tivot’s adaptation of Mike Daisey’s infamous manifesto against corporatism is an evangelical dramatic monologue which attempts to tackle our apathy towards the means by which our goods are produced. Revised after litigious action by Apple, the piece remains a clarion call, intended to jail-break us from our own ignorance.

It begins as a love letter to Apple but, throughout the course of the monologue, quickly spirals into a heartbroken lament for its behaviour. This is cleverly wound together by two simultaneous plot strands.

One strand tells the story of the tumultuous relationship between Steve Jobs and Apple, with gems such as “the thing about a coup d’état is that you wanna win, because if you don’t win then the next day it can be so… awkward”. Delivered in a playful tone, it is littered with impressions of Misters Steve Wozniak and Jobs. It maintains an awestruck tone, championing Apple’s superiority to Windows, celebrating Apple’s slick design alongside jokes about the Comic Sans typeface and redundancy of MS Powerpoint, and entertaining with stories of the megalomaniac micromanager – nay, “nano-manager” – Steve Jobs. This is essentially the fun side, establishing a rapport with the audience, buttering us up.

This is necessary, because the other strand is much more intense. It outlines Daisey’s own disillusionment with Apple following his journalistic investigation into Foxconn, which produces 50% of the world’s electronic goods. He tries not to clog his monologue with things that we could have discovered elsewhere, from, say, a good book on the subject or from reading The New York Times over the past few years – or even using our imaginations; Daisey confesses his investigation did not unearth anything that he did not already suspect.

He obviously wanted this piece performed theatrically rather than writing a book or article, because its impact is bolstered as a strong sermon. What a relief, then, that Grant O’Rourke takes the role of Daisey, playing him with the religious enthusiasm of a nerdy Apple-convert. At one point he holds a Macbook aloft as a purple beam of light hits him, like Moses with a stone tablet. This religious tone makes his transformation into an anti-corporate orator seem all the more interesting.

Staged against a black-curtained background, with an iMac on a desk and a man in jeans presenting, the whole thing resembles an Apple-unveiling; all that is missing is a turtleneck sweater. Instead O’Rourke dons a black t-shirt with “think differently” emblazoned across the torso, like an anti-Apple-genius. This performance does not command you to throw your iPhone into the Firth of Forth, it simply urges you to “think differently” about your consumer habits. There is no good reason not to watch it; as enjoyable as it is edifying.

The Agony And Ecstasy Of Steve Jobs is playing until 26 August. For more information and tickets, see the Edinburgh Fringe website.