Sex, Lies and Eurovision

Practical Magic are the Scottish theatre company behind last year’s visceral and effective Trainspotting. By comparison, Sex, Lies and Eurovision presents a considerably lo-fi addition to their repertoire. The comedy-drama tells an ambling and reassuring tale of the mild mid-life crisis of likeable journalist Neil, leading him to reunite with old flames, investigate suspected love children – and apply to represent the United Kingdom at the Eurovision Song Contest with his once-promising '80s pop band. 

Sequins and lycra make inevitable cameos but forget the kitsch. Writer Alan Bayley’s best achievement is accurately transcribing the cadences of friendly banter midst crowd-pleasing one-liners. “If I’d let go of my dreams, I would never have got to meet Barry Chuckles,” Stevie, the ‘mental’ one, spouts philosophically. Modern living for the band's four 40-year-olds may offer the joys of Ikea meatballs and dehydrated raspberries in breakfast cereals, but there’s also that odious “sort of person who likes to take his laptop to coffee shops.”

The acting never falters and though accents are at times impenetrable you can tell from the intonation when to emit a chuckle of "Aye, those were the days." It’s to the cast’s credit also that the creepy subplot in which teenaged Gemma dates her mother’s male friend only seems sweetly ludicrous. Gently appealing right to its predictable uplifting musical finale, Sex, Lies and Eurovison is rather less rip-roaring than its title suggests – more like a comfortable pair of leopard-print slippers.