Standing in the Shadows of Giants ****

The sister of a famous pop star, Standing in the Shadows of Giants is Lucie Barât’s personal story – and it’s not quite what you might expect.

Barât recounts her adult journey through drama school, auditions, fending off predatory industry suits, an unfulfilled career and part-time jobs. Her brother Carl has formed an indie band, The Libertines. History recalls how they find fame and an endless stream of parties, launches and media hype ensues. Frontman Pete Doherty’s drug addiction was public knowledge, but the pills, drugs and alcohol simply went with the territory – and our protagonist was along for the ride. Barât’s life spirals out of control, in and out of rehab, and bailiffs at the door. At a rehab event, she is asked to write her own obituary. However, it’s 2025 and she is still here, baring her soul at Edinburgh Fringe.

Barât takes to the stage and begins to sing a song, but after a technical hitch she stops and appears to go into unrehearsed explanations about the production – although this is, of course, scripted. The upshot is that it gives Barât a harder battle to regain the audience; the uncertainty and the struggle may be an allegory for her life, but it is perhaps a production choice to revisit. However, once she hits her stride, her tale is adeptly revealed.

She recounts, iteratively, the myriad poor choices: the bottles of vodka, the cocktail of pills and drugs – all against the backdrop of her brother’s success. There is no hint of envy, just a nagging sense of their close relationship drifting. Touchingly, when she boards an 11-hour flight to South Africa to enter a somewhat unforgiving rehab centre, any apprehension is tempered by her joy at having alone time with Carl.

Her acting career never really gets off the ground, save for the occasional minor stage play or advert. She catches a break though – she lands a gig working with a Hollywood A-lister, but her self-destructive undertones kick in and she makes a mess of everything, quite literally.

Lucie Barât tells her truth here at Traverse, warts and all. She exposes the abandonment issues, the neuroses, the anxiety, the ego, the misogyny, the resentment, the fury, the sense of a life unfulfilled and, above all, her vulnerability.

It must have felt like her adult life was spent in the shadow of her famous brother – and indeed, at times, she was little more than an accessory to the band. However, the touching denouement reveals that Barât has survived and thrived, finally finding her own identity and voice and, as she says, “feels good”.