Barflies

Pubflies might have been a more apt title for this staging of stories by cult American writer Charles Bukowski, which transplants anti-hero Henry Chinaski and some of his women to a Scottish watering hole.

It's never an entirely comfortable fit – indeed, when Keith Fleming delivers his first few lines there's a hint of the American accent that suits them better. The inflection soon evaporates, and what unfolds is a composite tale about four very different relationships and the impact they had on the writer and his work.

No-one does scene-setting like Grid Iron. The Barony Bar has been subtly transformed in ways it takes a while to fully appreciate; the actors (Fleming and Gail Watson) hurl themselves into character and simulate passionate love-making on the bar; and John Paul Jones provides a beautifully evocative soundtrack.

Unfortunately, the sweeping piano theme and the sexual gymnastics are more memorable than any line of dialogue, and the occasional inclusion of Scottish vernacular jars.

It all boils down to the age-old question of whether a certain kind of creative genius is inextricably entangled with a particular lifestyle of booze, brashness and borderline sociopathy. Director Ben Harrison's defence of Bukoswki against accusations of misogyny in the programme notes is unconvincing, and having Chinaski ask the audience to raise any objections to his physical assaults on women feels like a limp sort of disclaimer.

If he eventually gets his comeuppance after falling under the spell of a woman who gives him a taste of his own medicine, these surreal scenes feel disconnected from the battered and bruised hearts and bodies that have gone before.