If all goes according to plan, the Traverse's revival of John Byrne's Slab Boys trilogy will be followed later this year by a fourth instalment. That's a tempting proposition for two reasons. First, Byrne is a terrifically gifted writer whose ear for everyday language is enhanced by a rampant imagination and a jet-black sense of humour. Second, the third play, Still Life, which catches up with the characters of The Slab Boys and Cuttin' a Rug 10 years later, feels less like a satisfying conclusion than a ruminative middle act.
It is the one play of the trilogy that can't stand on its own. The first part, The Slab Boys, is complete as an encapsulation of a day in the life of a 1950s carpet factory, with a simmering subtext about class, sex, mental health, ambition and creativity. Cuttin' a Rug, which takes place that same evening at the staff Christmas dance, can sustain an independent life on the strength of its knockabout comedy and timeless observation of the mating game.
But the emotional resonance of Still Life depends on our knowledge of what has gone before. Set in a cemetery after a vicious murder of a former slab boy, it is a black comedy about the unpredictability of life. The play's central character, Phil McCann, has failed to carve out a successful career as an artist, while his less gifted friend, Spanky Farrell, is about to become a rock star. The past casts a bitter irony on the present as their old habits burst through their new pretensions.
It's a breezily funny performance, with Paul Thomas Hickey and Iain Robertson delighting in Byrne's linguistic games. What Hickey doesn't give us, though, is a sense of McCann's progression: he was the same moody nihilist in The Slab Boys as he is here, and it's not clear whether any of these life-changing events have actually changed him.
· Until January 24. Box office: 0131-228 1404.
