WITH A PRINCEof comedy such as Paul Whitehouse giving it his regal endorsement, you would expect The Chicken Show to be quite a treat, writes Andrew Richardson.

But within minutes of the lights going up, I was wondering how on Earth he ever got involved with such trite material.

The Chicken Show is the type of play your granny would probably really enjoy. Eryl Maynard gives a soliloquy about a woman and her obsession with chickens, performing both as ditzy Hampshire housewife and ditzy housewife’s collection of strange Hispanic hens.

Having decided that dogs aren’t enough to keep her company, she brightens up her days by indulging her flightless bird fetish, while her husband undergoes wayward fertility treatment. And that’s about the sum of it. Hardly a recipe for a thrilling theatrical hour is it?

Maynard moves about the stage, wittering away like someone who has just been released into the community, attempting to imbue the audience with the quirky charm of her vacuous tale.

There are some risible attempts at comedy, none of which raises more than a polite chuckle and I am left wondering just what is the point?

However, when I wake up, Maynard’s monologue is reaching a climactic denouement that is completely lost on my attention-deficient self.

The lights dim dramatically, the tone of her voice changes and as the show finally draws to a close with a few profound lines, there is an audible grunt of satisfaction from the crowd’s more mature members.

Like I said, it’s the type of play your granny would probably really enjoy…VENUE AND DETAILS:Until Aug 26, Pleasance Cellar, (V33), 60 The Pleasance, 13:00 to 13:55 £7 to £8, £6 to £7 concs. Tel: 0131 556 6550

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