You'll notice, from the fact Hungary is wearing fishnets, Chile has patent lapels and a lounge band is stationed just next to the presentation screen, that this is no ordinary meeting of nations.

A collaboration between Brighton Festival, Suspect Culture and National Theatre Of Scotland, Futurology imagines what really goes on between delegates at a global conference. And for some reason, presumably because the ten-person cast includes a tango dancer, a contortionist and one of the clowns from Slava's Snowshow, the conference is presented as a sort of musical revue.

Gathering to agree a response to climate change, the delegates present their countries' agendas in the form of embarrassing cabaret turns, which bear no apparent relation to their home culture. Trinidad and Tobago are a ventriloquist and dummy, New Zealand is a torch singer and Lithuania is an interpretative dancer who, in two of the show's most baffling moments, barefoots it to the top of a chunk of set in order to illustrate the fate of the tiny Sandwich Isles by waving her legs in the air.

The Sandwich Isles' inexperienced representative is new to all this so she hasn't prepared an act herself. Big-bosomed and big-hearted, she struggles to communicate her country's plight and produces her delegate's pass from between two slices of bread.

The event is compered like a camp Billy Connolly by the mayor of the imaginary host city of Bauxite, whose dictatorship is under threat from an angry off-stage mob.

There are random flashes of wacky whimsy in the writing - endangered polar bears are described as "settling on the seabed like giant snowflakes" and the Pakistani representative asks whether there will be a cure for hay fever in the future so he can roll around in the grass. And when it sticks to sending up the conference format, Futurology can be smart and funny.

But just as the mammoth meeting amounts to nothing (as a result of all the pontificating, Germany pledges to wash out more tin cans and everyone else says they might look into putting their names down for an allotment), here three years' worth of creative workshops appear to have converted a timely and original concept into a show which is at once predictable and perplexing, overcrowded and strangely diffuse.

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