The Dumb Waiter[author-post-rating] (3/5 Stars)

Advertised as a classic with a new twist, Spartan Ensemble’s reimagining of Harold Pinter’s one-act play focuses on the relationship between two professional killers, all the while asking: how far will obedience take us?

Ben and Gus are hit-men. By fixating on the ambiguity and absurdist humour of their interaction, Pinter explores how they reconcile their job with their humanity. His answer is somewhere amongst the glaring ironies they miss, both are appalled at stories of murdered cats and pensioner-crushing lorries (courtesy of the appropriately emotive copy of The Metro this production sees Ben holding). Or perhaps the answer is to be found in the coping strategies they employ, which include speaking in codes and euphemisms which confuses characters and audience alike.

Unfortunately, the aforementioned “new twist” is more of a gimmick. The performance occurs in the kitchen basement of the New Town Theatre. It’s little more than a room with several sinks (it might even have met Pinter’s own standards of minimalism, though unlikely), however being in the room with both characters imparts the essence of eavesdropping on their conversation.

This atmosphere undeniably owes as much to the performance of both actors as it does to the basement setting. Ian Watt as Ben, the senior hit-man, conveys perfectly how the man who buys into professionalism, who takes pride in his work right down to polishing his gun, is capable of far colder stuff. Any audience member who feels this production neglects the play’s post-Nuremburg context need only glance at the toothbrush moustache Watts sports to make the Nazi connection. Paul Comrie is equally convincing as Gus, the hitman losing his zeal. His visibly flustered demeanour is not harmed by the sweltering conditions of the basement. He doesn’t fake the sweat.

While Pinter originally demanded that the pair be cockneys, this production has them speaking with Scottish regional accents. This is a pertinent variation (we are in Edinburgh, after all) which only really affects the shell of the nut. That their voices are colloquial is the kernel. It establishes that these men could be literally anyone; a point which makes their slavish obedience to authority, even to an unseen deity communicating via a kitchen’s dumb waiter, all the scarier.

An additional “twist” is the selection of a soundtrack for the opening and ending, a notion which would surely horrify realism-king Pinter. The intro is accompanied by a blaring revamp of The Sugar Hill Gang’s ‘Apache’ which sounds as though it could have been snatched from a high-octane spy thriller. That it accompanies two characters fidgeting in a grotty kitchen bedsit seems deliberately facetious, but before the dialogue begins, it is disrupted by a loudly-flushing toilet, a Pinteresque motif which occurs with the regularity of a snare-drum following a bad joke. The track over the denouement, Dirty Pretty Things’, ‘Bang Bang, You’re Dead’, is sloppy, implying something that the cliffhanger ending is otherwise unwilling to.

The show is altogether sound. It does justice enough to Pinter, despite questionable deviations, but the true highlight is the performance of both actors, which is faultless.

The Dumb Waiter is playing at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival until 25 August. For more information and tickets, see the Edinburgh Fringe website.