Turbo Bear

Since the media and political debates around Scottish identity appear to be stuck in some bizarre atavistic war-cry about football and colonialism, the theatre thankfully offers a more reflective take. A Play, A Pie and A Pint frequently serves up a menu of Scottish fusion, allowing authors and directors to highlight aspects of our shared history and assumptions.

Bear on a Chain by Sue Glover could easily slip into the heritage industry. Set out in remote, romantic Fife, it homes in on Sandy Selkirk, the inspiration for Robinson Crusoe and the epitome of an adventurous man torn by his longing for travel and the charms of his rural retreat. This Selkirk returns to the heart of the kirk and community, only to impregnate a local girl and wind up his family before escaping the timid boundaries of Fife's closeted coastal villages.

Aside from digging up the dirt on the man behind the myth, Bear does a solid job of picturing a community threatened by this overpowering hero, while expressing his frustration at his peer's lack of vision. Although it nicely deconstructs the romantic visions of Crusoe, it does little to dispel the cliche of a Presbyterian Scotland, chained by virtue and uptight. By glancing backwards to ask questions about the tension between community and individual, it remains a diverting yet inconclusive hour.

Turbo Folk, another entry in Alan Bisset's raid on the stage, is contemporary and comic. A Scottish musician, sliding into a conformist corporate career, visits New Europe. This undisclosed country has been torn by civil war and British occupation: the rock star soon learns that his distinction between British and Scottish is empty in a nation where even the record company's PR has a guilty past.

Turbo Folk is straining with ideas – perhaps too many for an hour. The meaning of folk music in different cultures; visions of masculinity; Scottish self-identification as the friendly people of Britain when they remain associated with the imperial past; the naivety of the Brit abroad: Bisset throws them all in, unwinding the tragedy through fast, comic scenes.

The message is clear: the idea that Scotland can easily shed its history as part of the UK is a myth as profound as Crusoe. The musician tries all the cliches to prove his Scottishness: folk songs, tight on the drinks, the friendliness of a puppy, a garish sense of entitlement and expecting acceptance as a fellow marginalised ethnic. In a land where national identity has been debated with the gun, this is exposed as childish.

Both plays take a hard look at the way Scotland is defining itself: if Bear is sentimental in its final image of the "women left behind" and a compromised past, it refuses to follow the simple line that Scotland is a victim of England, and that it bears responsibility for its own history; Turbo Folk pokes at the lazy assumptions of contemporary separatism. It's a shame that a few more MSPs didn't turn up. It might have given then a bit more material for the next bunch of stand-up routines in Holyrood about the national team.