Chantier-Musil, Playhouse, Edinburgh

Surtitles are unusual in dance productions. The Covent Garden board allegedly considered them at one time to explain the mime scenes. In the case of François Verret's Chantier-Musil, the text shown high above the stage is an English translation of extracts from Robert Musil's novelThe Man Without Qualities, which is read in French (adapted from the original German) throughout the piece.

This is a considerable distraction, not only from the stage action but also from two further screens at ground level on which are shown drawings and, sometimes, dancers' silhouettes. Add that the pictures shown are often vague, that the larger, more central screen is somewhat out of focus, and that sometimes an artist's hand obscures the picture anyway. All together this is not much help.

And the work needs all the help it can get. There is, as I heard people complaining on the way out, very little recognisable dance in it, although a sequence for the only woman performer (Irma Omerzo) shows remarkable invention on Verret's part in devising an apparently interactive duet between her and a dummy meant to represent a corpse.

But apart from that, much of the movement consists of acrobatic stunts, somersaults, and the like. There are no real relationships, even when two people undertake similar exercises in the same space. And there is little apparent connection between the movement and music by Jean-Pierre Drouet and Fred Frith. This again is disjointed, including on-stage percussion, recorded dance music, and what I can best describe as the sound of machinery in pain.

The vast Edinburgh Playhouse is not the best place for this show; acres of unsold seats having a depressing effect even before it starts. The venture needs a more intimate relationship between performer and spectator. Yet Verret occupies so much stage space with his metal platforms and vertical rods, his ropes that descend to be swung against, his screams and his instrumentalists, that you simply could not fit it into a small building.

So what is it all about? Well, Musil's book has become a cult novel after years of perhaps understandable neglect. It contains, we are told (I've not read it and these samples do not tempt me), much in the way of philosophical, psychological and political commentary on the Hapsburg empire of 90 years ago, and what Verret concentrates on are the author's comments on the disrupted way we experience space and time.

Some may think the outcome pseudo-psychological claptrap, and I would not argue with them. The question then arises of what this is doing among the dance programme of a leading festival. Presumably Festival director Brian McMaster wants to show that his interest extends beyond classical ballet, but if this the best example of experimental work he could find then heaven help us.