Nothing was as it seemed. Not for a minute was it likely that this six-room tour of The Basement was in the large suburban house advertised, which was neat and tidy, well-maintained, with shrubs and a rockery for a front garden.
Rather than the work of a single company, the six performers are individuals with their own particular set. While we never knew quite what to expect behind the next closed door, if disruption of comfort was the goal overall it was disappointing.
If the six had all been uprooted and thrown together in an open space, the very juxtaposition of the naked man in a steamy bubble bath (Martin Lewton) and mum (Bryony Kimmings) doing an ironing job in the living room while her kids weigh out coke into wraps for her punters, might have been more provocative.
As it was, we tramped down dank, dark corridors to get to each one, following our guide’s torchlight to avoid tripping.
There were some surprises: it turned out we were the punters Kimmings was expecting. Watching Grace Schwindt’s film The Chair – a series of images of a chair – while listening through headphones to a woman relate, in German, her horrific experience of being raped by Russian soldiers in Berlin during the Second World War was a provocative mix of family history.
The Two Wrongies’ breakfast sketch was a fun start and nothing that followed was more worrying than sitting in their kitchen, in line for the cleaver had it missed the grapefruit.
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