Alice’s experiences down the rabbit hole were surely not nearly so disorientating, discombobulating and downright weird as this. It’s a crazed theatrical wonderland – a whirlwind tour through a series of perfectly sealed, seamlessly realised immersive scenes, peopled by a cast of 70, in which you are the starring actor. There are no other audience members. And nobody’s thought to tell you your lines.
The element of surprise is too key to the experience to give away its secrets, but suffice it to say that the health and safety officers’ advice, to keep your scarves tucked in and your arms close to your chest whenever you find yourself in a wheelchair, is well worth heeding. As is this: don’t take your mouthguard out. And don’t take your mum unless she’s very game and not averse to crawling through tunnels lined with duvets.
But, at fifteen pounds a pop, 20-odd minutes of theatre feels way too short, and, wild and thoroughly wonderful though it undoubtedly is, it leaves a slightly unpleasant aftertaste. The moment you begin to find your bearings in one nightmare scenario, you’re whisked off to the next. And the punchline to every joke is your own confused inadequacy, which feels a deeply ungenerous ethos to walk away with. But if you go armed with enough dauntless bravado and a stout refusal to be peremptorily hustled, this queasily revelatory, uniquely surreal theatrical ride is well worth taking.
