With the papers devouring news of plummeting McDonald's profits since Morgan Spurlock's Supersize Me, it seemed a fitting day to see Slaves Of Starbucks.

Commenting on the "absurdity of Americana". Peter Aterman's one man show took us through time and space, from the molecular musings of a pair of boxer shorts in a roof-top Jacuzzi to an ominous glance at an Aztec priest moving money markets by sacrificing teenagers.

The eclectic soundtrack (from Italian tum-te-dum classics to a pan pipe version of Louis Armstrong's It's A Wonderful World), coupled with a preoccupation with hallucinogenic drugs, gave the play a hypnotic quality with highly sinister undertones.

The relentless message was that Americans are stupid, uncultured control freaks who "if you don't consume...will consume you".

The Italian tourist guide shouting furiously "pizza in Italian is PIZZA!" at an imaginary group of holiday-makers (you can almost see the bum-bags) is a high point.

But the repeated American tourist gags wore a little thin and making light of suicide, war criminals and drugs seemed an uncomfortably topical plea for cheap laughs.

That said, Aterman's fabulously schizophrenic performance was masterful as he grappled with accents from Celine Dion to a German shampoo collector.

The scarcity of props demanded stage presence, which he steadfastly delivered through mime, movement and Orvil-esque puppeteering.

The play, regardless of over-stereotyping in parts, was disturbingly funny and, at times, quite heart-breaking.