The Corstorphine Road Nativity

The Primary Three nativity is being held in Corstorphine Road Primary—lines are fluffed, props are tumbling, and a stick insect called Andy Murray is on the loose. Thankfully, this is not an opening-night hell for the Festival Theatre: all is completely right. Tim Firth—writer of Calendar Girls, currently flourishing in London's West End—has wrought a decidedly Scottish twist to his 1999 Christmas TV special, The Flint Street Nativity.

Originally filled with a sizeable cast of famous-faced young tearaways (Jane Horrocks, Neil Morrissey), this stage adaptation is largely faithful but improved by a tidier structure and fewer characters. What Firth creates is a fantastic pastiche of school life: one where Joseph is a football-mad Question of Sport fanatic—played with charming boyish humour by Ryan Fletcher, seen most recently in the Lyceum's excellent production of Confessions of a Justified Sinner—and Mary practically squeaks with every goody-two-shoes step; Julie Wilson Nimmo, most famous for her role as Miss Hoolie in children's TV show Balamory, is an inspired choice.

The golden couple are not without their enemies, however: from the Innkeeper barring Joseph, to the fallen Angel Gabriel hell-bent on becoming Mary. Firth's observational humour in terms of playground politics is spot-on: whether a snooty, "Let's not talk to Shamima," or a teasing, terror-inducing, "Dare ya", each character is so familiar that the audience's own infant memories will inevitably flood back in a haze of cringe-worthy recognition. The festive setting and unorthodox casting makes it easy for the writing to be dismissed as tinsel-light fluff, but this isn't pure panto. Amidst the slick comedy, and usually hidden within a lyrically-altered Christmas carol, is a bittersweet social commentary on contemporary family life. A duet between our Mary and Joseph about their pushy, workaholic parents, set to the tune of 'Once in Royal David's City', is enough to make snow melt.

One thing that fails to translate as well as the TV version is the final scene, where the actors double-up as their children's dysfunctional parents. Its addition is understandable, but the scene drags and needlessly betrays the innocence of the rest of the piece. It also goes against the mysterious silence of the only other adult of the piece—their teacher, Miss Mochrie, who is not seen and not heard, despite her presence being quite literally giant. Thus, to actually show the children's parents is to over-egg an otherwise enchanting pudding.