The Fringe throws up some odd but good things, some odd but bad things, and quite a few thuddingly normal and bad things. Justine and Tony doesn't seem to exist for any reason at all. It's a comedy set in the van of a Mancunian odd-job man Tony as he drives his wife Justine to an audition. There are doubtless meant to be funny lines. They passed me by. We might be expected to laugh at Tony's shell suit and 80's wig. We do not. Perhaps the miming to classic rock tracks was supposed to entertain us. I don't know. The writing doesn't go anywhere, establishes nothing but the most commonplace of wife/husband bickering, and is thunderously unfunny.
There is a whole lot of bad miming of car doors, the steering wheel taped to the front of the set is ridiculous, and it is consistently improbable that anyone could drive a van whilst behaving like Tony in this. It is unclear what the writers of this play wanted to achieve, and it aims so low that even reviewing it seems a little unfair, like excoriating a nativity play. Writing plays and acting in them is clearly harder than anyone involved had imagined, and more effort will be required next time.
