There has been kitchen-sink drama and in-yer-face theatre; now Yasmina Reza, who wrote Art, offers us little-black-dress theatre. Little-black-dress theatre is for people who like to dress up to go to watch other nicely dressed people on stage just like them emote very beautifully and maybe with a touch of comedy, but certainly not for too long, so there is time to have supper and a glass of Chablis afterwards.
Reza has made a fortune with little-black-dress theatre and, judging by this personal memoir, she leads a very black-dress sort of life, where the lighting is always flattering, the emotions always beautiful and a Beethoven Adagio is forever tinkling in the background. The writing keeps straining towards the beautiful but ends up sounding only precious. Presumably we are supposed to be enchanted by this portrait of the artist, but in fact Reza comes over as unbelievably self-obsessed and vain as she tells us what she wears to visit the dying and how she cuts off a friend because she asks him whether he likes her necklace and he is honest enough to tell her that it is ugly.
Clothed only in a little-girl voice and the requisite little black dress, Susie Lindeman turns in a finely etched performance as a woman who has made an art out of success, but is clearly none the nicer for it.
· Until August 26. Box office: 0131-226 2428.
