Oh hollow man. He stands on stage, smiling. He's charming, vacant, a reflection of ourselves staring back at us, a teasing smile playing across his lips. Toying with us, appearing to engage and pulling back, reaching out a hand that has no substance. He is simply a memory of person who was once there, of the child he once was. The child is in retreat, damaged and hurt. All that is left is a performance. It is a magic trick, a disappearing act that leaves behind the shell of a human being. A little walking, talking dust.
New York playwright Will Eno is an original, a maverick wordsmith whose weird, wry dramas gurgle with the grim humour and pain of life. Eno specialises in the connections of the unconnected, the apologetic murmurings of the disengaged, those who have suppressed their humanity to survive.
It is vicious stuff, written in a language so deceptively innocent, so full of platitudes, that you don't realise it has cut you deep until you feel the warm seep of bloody despair. James Urbaniak's astonishing performance makes it hard to watch and even harder not to. There are two people on this stage: him and us.
· Until August 30. Box office: 0131-556 6550.
