Edinburgh Round-Up: <br></br>Aunty and Me; <br></br>Jason John Whitehead - Immigrant; <br></br> Derevo - La Divina Commedia; <br></br>Maria Stuarda

Theatre: Aunty and Me, Assembly Rooms

By Sue Wilson

It may be the first time he's acted in a play since college, but Alan Davies's popular credentials, first as a stand-up and then a star of TV drama, have ensured full houses for his thespian debut. His vehicle is an award-winning black comedy by the Canadian author Morris Panych, which opens with the arrival of Davies's character, a thirtysomething middle-ranking banker, to visit his only remaining relative, a supposedly dying aunt he hasn't seen since childhood. However, the old lady, played by Marcia Warren, shows few signs of going gentle into that good night.

Warren's role is almost entirely silent, leaving the stage primarily to the nephew, who is gradually revealed as the misanthropic product of a loveless childhood and the son of an alcoholic mother and a manic-depressive, ultimately suicidal father. Small wonder, then, that his attitude towards his aunt's demise comprises equal parts brusque pragmatism and ill-concealed impatience, the source for much of the play's gallows humour.

Davies's part isn't a radical departure from his previous personae as a comic or on screen in shows such as Jonathan Creek and Bob and Rose. The faintly world-weary blokishness, the aura of underlying repression, the sardonic delivery, are all present and, although apt, are perhaps too familiar for his character to expand beyond the familiar. The show settles in better once it becomes clear that Aunty's days are less numbered than they seemed, and her nephew's sojourn extends from weeks into months.

Thwarted in his eager efforts to organise the funeral, and forced by her silence to improvise both halves of the relationship, he resorts increasingly to soliloquising over his childhood memories. The opening sequence of theatrical one-liners thus takes on added philosophical and psychological dimensions – reflections on mortality and on the forces that make us who we are, and our power to alter the consequences – and lends weight to the comedy.

Warren's largely gestural performance – she speaks about half-a-dozen words in total – is a thorough delight, her mannerisms and facial expressions writ large with ample relish to ensure maximum hilarity, but with a seasoned discipline and definition that precludes caricature. Davies, for his part, delivers an assured, well-drilled performance, peppered with plenty of piquant jokes, but the combination of middle-weight material and familiar character terrain does smack somewhat of playing it safe.

Venue 3, 16.00 (1hr 20min) to 26 Aug (0131-226 2428)

Comedy: Jason John Whitehead - Immigrant, Pleasance, Cellar

By Steve Jelbert

Yet another amiable colonial, this time from Nova Scotia, Whitehead's first full- length slot is a friendly ramble through his own experiences since moving to the UK four years ago. Where once he relied almost entirely on charm – and the gangling, dreadlocked Canadian is pretty cute, ladies – he has now filled out his set with some tight material and acute observations. From his early days as a supervisor at an Edinburgh ice-rink (national clichés abound) to more recent struggles at his local east-London post office, he seems to face all challenges with the same wide-eyed bemusement.

When he confesses to excessive weed use, tonight's somewhat middle-aged crowd seem to want to pat him on the head rather than chastise him. perhaps thinking of their own offspring. He confesses to an inability to snowboard (in Milton Keynes) despite his appearance, throws off a brilliant one-liner involving airport security and a pair of nail clippers, and continually pronounces the word "out" as "oat". God help him if he ever suffers from gout. Whether the world needs another wide-eyed comic is moot, but Whitehead is good to have around.

Venue 33: 21.45 (1hr) to 26 August, 0131-556 6550

Theatre: Derevo - La Divina Commedia, Assembly Big Top

By Nadine Meisner

Whatever you do, don't sit in the front row of Derevo's La Divina Commedia. You will be buffeted by wind machines, littered with cascading confetti and, if you're really unlucky (as I was), accidentally splashed with wine.

You will also be assaulted by deafening music and noise, but that will happen wherever you sit. La Divina Commedia is this Russian company's latest piece of phantasmagoria, enacted on a circular plateau that revolves like a mad merry-go-round of life.

Paradiso gets a brief look-in, consisting mainly of getting sloshed at a birthday party. Inferno dominates, with witches, demons and madmen spilling on to the stage: horrible hallucinations all held together by the ringmaster figure of Anton Adassinski, who is also the founder of Derevo (Russian for "Tree").

The language is mime, and all credit to the four shaven-headed men and women for their physical skills, as well as for lightening costume- changes to produce a miraculous multitude of characters and hectic action.

If Ken Russell had wanted to stage a mime show, it would have looked like this, its screaming volume rarely letting up, its nightmarish frenzy relentless. The small moments of comedy arrive as welcome relief, as does the normality of Edinburgh's streets on the way out.

Venue 145, 22.00 (1hr 30) to 26 August, 0131-226 2428

Opera: Maria Stuarda, Usher Hall

By Raymond Monelle

It has become traditional at the Edinburgh Festival to perform an opera based on a spoken play and to stage also the play itself. This year, Schiller's Maria Stuart will be done during the third week. For now, we have Donizetti's opera Maria Stuarda, in a concert performance.

Many Romantic operas show the suffering of a miserable and pathetic woman, but this one has two pivotal female roles, both queens. Anna-Caterina Antonacci was colossal, abundant and overwhelming as Elizabeth of England; Barbara Frittoli light, angelic, celestial as Mary Queen of Scots. Antonacci, unforgiving and imperious, threw out bitter fioriture like snakes; Frittoli, a victim, pure and inward, floated always into a soft quietude. It was a vibrant partnership.

Paul Charles Clarke was a bright and intense Leicester, boyishly heroic in the duet with Jonathan Lemalu, a baritone with colourful tenor glints, as Talbot. Sir Charles Mackerras conducted the Scottish Chamber Orchestra without wasting any time. It was all thrilling, even though Schiller's story is pure hokum, as any Scottish child knows.