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This quartet of amiable zanies whisk us on a not uneventful journey through surreal comedy’s treacherous labyrinth, where what looks fine on the page can frequently fall flat in performance.
To a background of lewd but indulgent audience banter, Barratt and Fielding the show’s protean pace-makers, goof around in a scat-talk mode that is both droll and dull in sketches predicated on an episodic childish level.
Yet my indulgence towards this undeniably quaint pair and their friends frequently faltered and I found myself spasmodically studying my choc bar wrapper with more than usual diligence.
The cryptic structures of many rag-day style tableaux defeated me as gorillas, turbanned mystery men and other frenetic delinquents unscrewed logic in a search for a magic ruby, mixing snow with sombreros and laughter with irritation, as we switched from the Arctic to Spain.
Still, during an evening where even a scrap of paper dropped inadvertently produced ululations of an orgiastic nature, the audience was certainly intent on having fun.
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