Reality TV is beyond parody. It is compelling both on its own terms - the who, what, when, where and why of human behaviour - and in its own ludicrousness: the more outrageous the scenario, the better. That's why Jerry Springer - the Opera is affectionate tribute rather than satirical send-up: you can't lampoon a show that already relishes its own absurdity.
All the same, David Farr's Danny Crowe Show, first seen in 2001, is a worthy attempt at analysing the human cost of the true-life TV format. For Danny Crowe read Oprah, Jerry or Trisha - the hosts who lovingly exploit the everyday anguish of their trailer-trash audience for easy entertainment. Except that here the guests are as wise to the demands of the format as the programme-makers, and both sides are vulnerable to the tragicomedy of human experience.
So it is that when the apparently psychopathic Peter approaches the show's producers with his tale of parental abuse, blood-lust and murder, he exposes more about their insecurities than his own. This is cleverly revealing about our complicity in the reality TV phenomenon, but Farr's play requires a lightness of touch that is painfully absent in Graeme Maley's production.
Rather than playing it as a broad, cartoonish comedy - a pantomime of exaggerated characters, each more driven than the last - Maley pitches the play as a suburban tragedy in which conviction counts higher than gags. As a result, Farr's comedy often falls flat, good jokes squandered in favour of impassioned performances that reveal no more than a set of two-dimensional characters.
It's a trying interpretation that does none of the actors any favours. A few good laughs sneak through, but it's a slow, uncertainly pitched production.
· Until November 22. Box office: 01382 223530.
