IT seems an extraordinary misjudgment of ambition to continue

advancing claims to the British throne when there is the alternative of

a perfectly comfortable life of dissipation in Florence.

Yet we find Charles Edward Stuart's twentieth century counterpart in

the gin-sodden exile of Edward VIII in the congenial Bahamas. And there

are interesting parallels between this revival of George Rosie's play

and Snoo Wilson's more recent new play, HRH, seen at the Citizens'

during Mayfest.

Given the thanklessness of the job of monarchy in today's world,

surely no one would be masochistic enough to want to to hang on to it.

Perhaps the point of both playwrights is to suggest that the wives of

wayward branches of the monarchy harbour most of the pretending. At any

rate, both attract an unwholesome level of intrigue.

Certainly, there is an uncomfortably misogynistic undertone to both

plays, though Rosie might be entitled to argue that this derives from

the attitudes of his 18th century milieu.

The viciousness of his piece is by no means restricted to debunking

the not so bonny Charles. And despite the physical grotesqueness of the

figure he cuts once again in Robert Carr's fine performance, he pleads

for that sympathy due the victimised; this despite his recriminatory,

foul-mouthed paranoia.

The significant demonstration in this transfer, from tiny Netherbow

stage to the Lyceum, is how commandingly it holds the bigger space. And

Michael Vale's duplex design, with its screen cyclorama effect, is an

important factor in the success. It proves that new Scottish work for

under-subsidised companies, in this case Fifth Estate, can upscale

comfortably.