Somebody should send in the trades descriptions inspectors. Gyles Brandreth's musical version bears as much relationship to Shakespeare as a deep-fried Mars bar does to a Sachertorte. It is a pantomime in every sense, which largely seems an excuse for Brandreth to dress up in stockings and suspenders and sing Thank Heavens for Little Girls as a French Huguenot Malvolio, sporting an accent that would make a bicycling onion-seller weep. Throw in a Caribbean Maria and a redundant mermaid and you have a show that is all Greek.
Twelfth Night could certainly survive a makeover that includes the insertion of popular songs. What it can't survive is this relentless facetiousness. The play is not just a high-spirited romp - of all Shakespeare's works it is the one most touched with the melancholy of the violet hour when all love and hope is lost.
It is the insensitivity that narks here, as much as the woeful production and the inadequate performances. This is the kind of opportunistic, silly show that gives the Edinburgh fringe a bad name.
· Until August 28. Box office: 0131-226 2428.
