Had Samuel Beckett been driven by class hatred instead of existential angst, Vladimir and Estragon would have turned out like Phil McCann and Spanky Farrell. The central duo in John Byrne's the Slab Boys are like a malevolent music hall act, their deathly deadpan delivery equalled only by their deathly dead-end jobs.
Working in the paint mixing room of a Paisley carpet factory circa 1957, these teddy-boy teenagers, in drainpipes, brothel creepers and duck's arse quiffs, do anything they can to escape the boredom of the job. In true west coast style, their chief weapon is stony-faced banter, their rage channelled into cruel, cutting repartee. Despite rattling out gag upon gag, Paul Thomas Hickey as McCann and Iain Robertson as Farrell crack a smile just once in the whole of Roxana Silbert's production - and then only after the vicious humiliation of one of their workmates. The disappointment in this revival, however, is that the audience doesn't crack a smile often either.
Of course, you can't fail to be impressed by Byrne's play, a massive hit for the Traverse in 1978 and still crackling with life and energy, none of which - bar the odd period reference - has dulled with time. The actors, too, have a fine measure of Byrne's characters who sit on the borderline between archetype and cartoon, and are all the funnier for it.
Despite this, there's something muted about the production, which marks the theatre's 40th anniversary and has two instalments of the trilogy to come. There should be more rage, more danger and more pace. We need more bewilderment at Byrne's surreal leaps and more moments when we're laughing so much at one joke that we miss the next two. It's not just about laughs: in a less polite atmosphere, McCann's rare scenes of emotional exposure would find sharper relief and greater poignancy.
· Until January 24. Details 0131 228 1404.
