Roland Schimmelpfennig’s Arabian Night is an odd little play. It promises to be something quite special, but somehow never manages to rise above the level of whimsy. Given the history of engagement between Turkish and German cultures I was expecting Schimmelpfennig to have something interesting to say about the intermingling of cultures in his homeland. What he actually produces is a collection of odd little fantasies and some slight meditations on intimacy and loneliness.

Things are off to a promisingly odd start with a series of strange and seemingly unconnected incidents one moonlit evening. All the water in an apartment building is mysteriously disappearing on the seventh floor, much to the consternation of the building superintendent (Bryce Youngman). His investigations lead him to the apartment of two young women. Franziscka (Sarah Becker) is troubled by amnesia and narcolepsy. Her flatmate Fatima (Alice Ansara) has more keys than she knows what to do with. Add a Peeping Tom (Andre Jewson), a lover seduced by a building full of howling women (Elan Zavelsky), and a cursed kiss, and you’re all set for an interesting evening.

Schimmelpfennig prefers to have his cast narrate their experiences rather than act them out. This is one of the more effective devices in the play. It gives the audience the impression of being told a fairy tale. It also, with the differing accounts each character gives of the same event, emphasises the isolation and loneliness you can experience even when constantly surrounded by other people.

The show is full of unexpected twists and turns, some of which work (the whole fantastical background of Franziscka’s predicament), some of which are less than successful (a chase scene that was strongly reminiscent of vintage Benny Hill, momentarily destroying the surreal atmosphere). The cast are right into it, especially Zavelsky, whose panic at being trapped is both disturbing and comical.

Becker is suitably languid and sensual, in contrast to Ansara’s and Youngman’s no-nonsense interpretation of their roles. Extra special mention must go to Jewson, who tackles a character in particularly confusing circumstances and passes with flying colours. All this is done with minimal props and costuming. Director Eamon Flack has his cast facing their ordeal armed with only a few chairs and microphones. The actors have to work hard to produce maximum effect with minimal tools, and for the most part they are quite successful.

While Arabian Night is an entertaining piece of fantasy, it is a little dissatisfying. It never aspires to be more than a bit of fluff, and Schimmelpfennig occasionally seems to revel in weirdness for weirdness’ sake – with varying degrees of success. There is also a whiff of uncritical Orientalism; during a couple of pauses in the narration I could have sworn I heard Edward Said spinning in his grave.

None of this is to say that Arabian Night isn’t an enjoyable piece of ornamental fantasy – it is. But I left the theatre feeling that if Schimmelpfennig had tried just a little harder, he could have come up with something truly remarkable.