The Dogstone: ***
Nasty, Brutish and Short: **

Presented as a double-bill as part of the Traverse Theatre’s Debuts season, these two new plays "take an unflinching look into the darker side of Scottish families."

According to the publicity material, that is. In reality, one wonders if the word "fresh" can really be attributed to Kenny Lindsay’s The Dogstone or Andy Duffy’s Nasty, Brutish and Short.

The Dogstone explores the crumbling relationship between an alcoholic father and his long-suffering son in the small town of Oban. The set is minimal, taking the form of a crude bed-sit; one of the more successful aspects of the piece, the set is easily adapted for all scenes, from a family home to a dirty hotel kitchen, to the dingy flat where the father, Danskin (Andy Gray) spends the last of his days. Both players forge a believable relationship on stage, with Scott Fletcher acting as both son and narrator of the play, although the son’s colloquial language at times jars significantly with the more authorial, structured narrative writing. Andy Gray brings Danskin to life, portraying skilfully the tragic eloquence of a once learned man who has lost everything.

It is nothing groundbreaking or particularly original; the format and storyline contain little which has not been done before. But it displays no major shortcomings and the work is an accurate depiction of the destruction of family life which can occur when alcohol intervenes.

Duffy’s Nasty, Brutish and Short similarly struggles to break any new ground or offer an audience much in the way of food for thought. The issues of urban poverty, teenage pregnancy, domestic violence and gun and knife culture come together in this chaotic drama to create what is, in the moment, an engaging and visually striking spectacle. The characters and plot, however, fade from memory too easily after the performance.

What lingers in the mind is Naomi Wilkinson’s stunning set design. The stage collapses to reveal a stagnant pool of dark water beneath, an island is formed from a pile of books, a chair sits half submerged in the blackness, and an electric fire perches just above the surface of the water wonderfully heightening the dramatic tension of the piece. It is this precarious set (significantly in pieces by the end, much like the characters), alongside Lizzie Powell’s razor-sharp lighting effects that saves a script which otherwise comes dangerously close to being nothing more than a banal imitation of an Irvine Welsh novel.