Or[f]unny

The blurb promises a story which 'asks something of everyone: to rediscover the meaning of our existence'. Whether this is indeed the most obvious question raised by Or[f]unny is perhaps a matter of opinion, but if you want to psychoanalyse, there's certainly a superabundance of material here.

We're in a room with no doors, inhabited by a boy and a girl and some basic living equipment, there to watch them as they perform a series of attention-seeking role-plays for us and for one another. It's physical theatre and there's little dialogue. They are brother and sister, but they’re posturing determinedly at the boundaries of sexual propriety – she sits reading in one corner, he masturbates furiously in another. By the end of the performance both are covered in food, we've had screeches of Oedipal anguish ('Who will be my father?'), and genitalia have been delivered up with full pomp and pageant.

You wouldn't necessarily recommend Or[f]unny to the mature adults of your acquaintance, but the choreography and the set are good, and if you're in the right mindset it's a diverting, possibly thought-provoking way of breaking an evening.

Run ended