The second most valuable commodity in the world is a traditional accompaniment to enlightening discussions. Recently estranged in Britain from its historical double act, the cigarette, it alone is now charged with the weight of the Western zetigeist. However, take care not to confuse the beloved beverage with Coffee?, a toxic brew of witless one-liners and misguided social commentary that will corrode the dignity of anybody who has ever seen the sun.
Labelled as a play that will be "hopefully too experimental for the Edinburgh Fringe," it investigates the chemical reaction between an obnoxious pedant and a vacuous corporate drone. Though at first she repels his attempts to win her heart (“what winks and fucks like a tiger?” - he winks), she eventually gives into his peculiar ways (“I lied about writing this book, but I will sign it anyway if you like”) and proceeds to effervescently tongue his face for five nauseating minutes.
While the script allows lead actor Misha Crosby to demonstrate his comic abilities, its dubious rendering of human dynamics leaves actress Carrie Marx looking permanently embarrassed. Neither of the leads seem convinced by the suggested formula for amorous bonding that the writer's pen has ejaculated.
With two decaf personalities driving the tale of two humans, Coffee? fails to deliver its promised dose of stimulation, and is a proposition that should be politely declined.