A London filmmaker wants his next film to contain authentic people, so his young receptionist has referred him to her gangster uncle Alf and his mate Burt. They now sit in his office with an over-keen assistant director. The director's in another meeting, so they have to wait. There's bit of arguing that almost forms a plot, but Irvine Welsh's otherwise lazy writing and stereotypical characters cause the story to flatline.
Burt and Alf are checklist 1960s gangsters – homophobic, racist and violent. They focus on money while hippy Crispin the AD talks about art. The resulting dialogue could be from any vintage gangster film and completely lacks depth or originality. They are so two-dimensional that character comedy is the only way forward, but the occasional one-liner encapsulating their stereotypes is the closest thing to humour the production has.
When Crispin informs them that the film requires nudity, things start to kick off. Alf is more receptive than Burt, which leads to a bit of bickering. Will they strip for the audition tape or not? More creative subplots start to develop, then fizzle out. Homosexuality is hinted at, then discarded. Blackmail is forgotten. Much more offensive is child rape being sorted out with the money and discussed no further.
These potential storylines could take the play in a number of more interesting directions, but Welsh's insistance on focusing on whether or not Alf takes his clothes off is the crux of the play, and a painfully dull experience to endure.