Traverse till 27th (not Mondays)
If anyone had ever asked, I would have said I was as fond of an extended verbal and visual metaphor riffing on arseholes and shit as the next woman, but apparently not.
The lights come up on the bare bottoms of performers Zoe Coombes Marr, Ursula Martinez and Adrienne Truscott, perched on a desk as talking heads representing theatre critics talking out their arses. It’s a bold opener and genuinely funny for the first few minutes but for me after they had mined the rich vein , or crack as they would have it , of arse related punnery to the core, it became tedious.
The performers read excerpts from reviews of their own and others’ shows expressing their frustration at the cavalier way their work can be dismissed and disrespected by a few clever clever remarks by professional theatre critics , a situation with which I have a great deal of sympathy. They go on to imagine reviews of the show they are currently performing in where they are slated for both the vulgarity and the self knowing pretentiousness of their act and how they would react to those, and from then on it all becomes so meta it hurts.
By anticipating and mocking the potential criticism of their work they deflect it. Interestingly it seemed to be an audience of two halves. One half who laughed and tittered at the talking bottoms picking their noses and another who chortled at the theatrical in jokes. Oh and that third half who seemed bemused throughout looking like they had seen the naked emperor.
There are some genuinely clever funny moments particularly when the women read genuine reviews of their own shows where the critics have been spectacularly ignorant but unfortunately for me some of the imagined criticism “ The show appears to have been cobbled together by three people who never met till the day before production” and “ the show appears to be 8 hours long” seemed too close to truth for comfort.