THEATRE / Last one out, turn off the lights: Rhoda Koenig on a Big Night Out at Nottingham Playhouse

IMAGINE that, like Sandi Toksvig, you are an actress who also writes plays. What sort of part are you likely to write for yourself? A charmer who says what she thinks, does what she likes, and is admired and envied by all? Or perhaps your vanity takes a more idealistic form. You might decide to portray someone who fights injustice or sacrifices herself for a loved one. Toksvig, however, plays an overall-clad usherette in a decrepit seaside cinema. She is timid, often apologetic, and is constantly upstaged by a glamorous, dynamic woman whose material is more pleasing to the audience.

Toksvig may lack the conventional sort of female egotism, but she is amply supplied with the self-indulgence typical of bad playwrights. Big Night Out at the Little Sands Picture Palace is ostensibly a farce, but instead of incessant and high-spirited action, Toksvig gives us a play that stops dead while the actors have curious moments of pathos or swing on ropes and tumble on to a mattress, like kiddies in an adventure playground.

Although Molly (Toksvig) and her two colleagues outnumber the audience at the former Variety Theatre, she is determined to save it from the manager, Jack, who is about to sell it to a company that will tear it down. Grace, a sour, middle-aged widow, is on her side, but Barbara, a dim-witted masochist, wants to convert her desktop romance with Jack into something more permanent, and welcomes the money. Meanwhile, the theatre's ghosts, a buxom singer and a troupe of tap-dancing acrobats, stage a final performance.

Now, ghosts can be welcome apparitions, especially when they are livelier, more attractive, and better dressed than everybody else. But, to be believable, fantasy has to follow an even stricter logic than reality. These spirits move the scenery about, duel with the usherettes, and form a chorus for Toksvig's musical number, yet the characters never remark on their presence.

There is a similar pointlessness to the living characters; Molly mentions her guilt at not saving her baby sister from drowning many years ago, Barbara announces that she is pregnant, but no further reference is made to these revelations, and they have no effect on the action.

At the end of the first act, Barbara accidentally stabs Jack, and the second act is devoted to hiding the body from his clergyman brother - or, rather, wheeling it to and fro on a trolley behind his back. Any hope that the comedy will resemble that of Loot, or even Arsenic and Old Lace is dispelled by the consistently half- hearted nature of the proceedings and the unchanging level of wit. The ranting, Bible-quoting brother shouts 'Ezekiel says - you bastards, I'll get you for this]' Barbara, having understandably gone mad during the interval, weeps, shrieks, and makes improper advances to the priest. Pip Broughton directs with a leisurely pace that suggests we ought to savour every line and gesture.

One performer keeps you from wanting to chew the seat: Beverley Klein, as the vocalising ghost, appears in one sumptuous gown after another to sing Cole Porter and Harburg-Arlen tunes in a way that suggests an Ethel Merman who has lost her harshness and taken a few opera lessons. Her enunciation is a bit too stately for these standards, putting in final G's that were dropped for a good reason, but her strong, sweet, vibrant tones are all that saves this from being an infinitesimal night out.

'Big Night Out' continues at Nottingham Playhouse (Box office 0602-419 419).