Marie is in mourning for her boyfriend, Ben, who she believes was killed in a distant war. Josh is an inward looking drifter also living in the broken down house owned by Marie's father Charlie, a failed writer. Then up pitches Lizzie, a tart with a heart who claims to have known Ben. She is soon followed by Ben's accountant brother.
Soon we are hearing about who slept or didn't sleep with whom and why Ben wasn't quite what he seemed. Then some people sleep with or want to sleep with each other and everyone has a little shout and cry and soon they all feel a tiny bit better.
Open House is probably not the worst show on the Fringe, it is just a very bad example of its type. Its type is the kind of play where lots of not very interesting, angst-ridden, ill-defined characters sit around drinking and smoking and telling us how unhappy they are.
I suppose that Chekhov did this kind of thing, but Chekhov does it much better than Helena Thompson, a writer who is not without talent (she did an ingenious Bluebeard's Wives a couple of years back) but here seems to have absolutely nothing to say. The actors do their best with the material, but the result is just - well - depressing.
· Until August 30. Box office: 0870 701 5105
