When Ian Saville first started performing this show in the Eighties he was the picture of socialism, all unkempt facial hair and witty anti-Thatcherite longing.
Apart from shedding the beard and adding some grey hairs, very little seems to have changed tonight.
Eccentricity darts in his eyes, complemented by a murderous smile and dodgy waistcoat.
For the first ten minutes he's nothing short of endearing, bumbling his way through a self-deprecating and uncertain diagnosis of the piece's history, his self-conscious depersonalisation a truly Brechtian product.
Most of his brilliant tricks revolve around symbolic themes such as class, capitalist idiocy and alienation, but sadly he wastes our attention on knowingly incompetent ventriloquism with a dummy of Brecht yoinked from a suitcase.
This scripting dissolved the charm his more spontaneous ramblings had uncovered, but it's not every day you see a magician trying to change the world.
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