It is a truth universally acknowledged that a male prostitute commanding £500 an hour must be in want of a protege. At least I assume that's the moral of Bridget O'Connor's charmless comedy about a jaded gigolo and his cunning apprentice.
Tyrone is metrosexual, urbane and - not surprisingly - just a little shagged out. Marty is the garrulous chav who nicks his briefcase. Yet instead of shopping the little squirt to the police, Tyrone takes him under his wing.
At first Marty has a lot to learn: what to wear, what to say and, most importantly, that the client must always come first. He is assisted in his efforts by the enthusiasm of his fiancée Kelsey, who views her intended's unusual career as a useful little nest egg.
The frustrating thing about O'Connor's script is that the rich, potential comedy of Marty's on-the-job training is never shown. Instead, by becoming as cynical as his boss, he misses out being the play's single redeeming feature.
The process is as awkward as it is predictable. At one point we are supposed to accept that several years have gone by, yet all that happens is that Kris Deedigan's initially likeable Marty suddenly walks into a scene, minus his Geordie accent, and starts berating the hapless Kelsey (Emily Aston) for her slovenly appearance. And, despite an apparent hankering for structural symmetry, O'Connor leaves loose ends unaccounted for. Whatever becomes of Kelsey's announcement, for example, that she's pregnant?
Jeremy Herrin's production is not aided by some unsubtle gestures. When Marty makes his initial handshake with his mentor, the stage is flooded a diabolic red. I'll be damned if I know what that's supposed to mean.
· Until November 19. Box office: 0191 232 1232.
