Encountering One Day in Edinburgh is perfect. Before you even step foot into the theatre, the city has already done half the storytelling for you. Cobblestones and viewpoints, the soft romance of a place that feels both historic and fleeting. I spent much of the day knowingly tracing Emma and Dexter’s world through the city itself, making the transition from street to stage a seamless one.

Adapted from the book, and following its much-loved screen iteration, this stage version taps into something contemporary audiences are increasingly drawn to: authenticity. This is a story which resists spectacle in favour of emotional truth; one which understands the weight of time, of missed moments, and of the people who orbit one another for years before finally colliding. It is familiar, yes, but its familiarity is precisely what makes it land. One Day offers a deeply human story – hopeful, frustrating, and ultimately heartbreaking – all in equal measure.

For those unfamiliar, the narrative follows Emma and Dexter across St Swithin’s Day over the span of two decades. From their first meeting on graduation night, through years of near-misses, mismatched timing, and diverging lives, we watch as they circle one another before finally succumbing to something resembling fate. It is a story of yearning as much as it is of love – of friendships that shift and the devastation of time passing regardless.

Structurally, this is an immense undertaking. To chart two lives – separate yet intertwined – across twenty years, with only one performer per role, demands extraordinary precision. The burden falls heavily on direction, both in conceptualising the mechanics of dual timelines and in ensuring the gradual, believable evolution of character.

Under the direction of Max Webster, much of this is handled with remarkable clarity. Webster’s strength lies in his trust in subtlety, allowing characterisation to shift incrementally. Nowhere is this more effective than in the staging of overlapping moments. A particularly striking example sees Dexter preparing backstage for a live television appearance, while Emma simultaneously readies herself backstage for a school production of Oliver! – the two worlds coexisting through the simple placement of a shared dressing table centre stage. It is an elegant solution, visually clean and thematically resonant, allowing their parallel lives to sit in conversation without confusion.

The use of the space more broadly is equally considered. Staged in the round, the production leans into the universality of its story. This is not a narrative confined to one perspective; it is something to be witnessed from all angles, much like life itself. The immersive quality of this choice enhances the emotional accessibility of the piece, reinforcing the sense that this could be anyone’s story.

That said, not all directorial choices land with the same precision. The use of ensemble, in particular, feels at odds with the otherwise grounded tone of the production. While clearly intended to animate the space and facilitate transitions, moments of choreographed movement often verge on the unnecessary, occasionally resembling something closer to a GCSE contemporary dance piece than a fully integrated storytelling device. In scenes which should rest entirely on the emotional weight of Emma and Dexter – Pick Up, Em among them – the presence of a moving ensemble distracts rather than enhances, diluting what would otherwise be moments of genuine poignancy.

Fortunately, the strength of the performances ensures that the emotional core of the piece remains intact. Jamie Muscato’s Dexter is nothing short of mesmerising. He charts the character’s trajectory with remarkable nuance, moving from charismatic yet careless graduate to deeply flawed adult, before arriving at something resembling contentment, only to have it unravel once more. It is a performance defined by its emotional range; unafraid to make Dexter unlikeable, yet never allowing him to become irredeemable. The descent into grief, in particular, is handled with a restraint that makes it all the more devastating.

Opposite him, Sharon Rose delivers a beautifully grounded Emma. Where Dexter is volatile, Emma is steady, endearing, and intelligent. Rose captures this with a warmth that makes her instantly likeable, the kind of character you find yourself rooting for from the outset. Vocally, she is exceptional; Emma’s One Day, which closes Act One, is performed with a clarity and emotional depth that remains strikingly memorable.

Supporting performances add further texture to the piece. Dan Buckley’s Ian strikes a careful balance between insufferable and oddly charming, crafting a character who is both painfully awkward and genuinely sympathetic. Miracle Chance’s Tilly injects much-needed vibrancy, her presence offering moments of levity within an otherwise emotionally heavy narrative. Meanwhile, David Birrell and Josefina Gabrielle as Stephen and Alison Mayhew provide a devastating emotional anchor, their performances grounded in a sincerity that gives the production much of its heart.

Design elements work seamlessly to support the storytelling. Rae Smith’s set and costume design are both deceptively simple yet incredibly effective, allowing the narrative to flow without obstruction while subtly reinforcing shifts in time, status, and character. Costuming, in particular, becomes a key tool of characterisation: from Tilly’s vibrant aesthetic to Emma’s gradual shift toward more conservative, structured silhouettes, reflecting her personal and professional evolution. The set, meanwhile, remains fluid and adaptable, with props and pieces moved effortlessly by the ensemble. The final reveal of Arthur’s Seat is especially striking – its greenery cutting through the minimalism of the stage to deliver a moment that feels both visually and emotionally earned.

One Day is, at its core, a story about time: how it stretches, compresses, and, at times, betrays us. This production captures that essence with sincerity, even if certain stylistic choices occasionally disrupt its otherwise compelling emotional rhythm. When it works, it is deeply affecting; when it falters, it is never enough to undo the strength of the material or the performances carrying it.

A few elements could be sharper, cleaner, more restrained. But, at its best, this is a production that understands exactly what makes this story endure, and trusts it enough to let it speak to new audiences.

Image credit – Marc Brenner.