Oedipuss in Boots
Venue name
THE Wardrobe has done it again. Oedipuss In Boots is the best fun you can have with your clothes on this Christmas season, an adult festive delight that finds the specificity in silliness and comes across like a mix of Monty Python at their zaniest and Trey and Matt Parker at their filthiest.
In past years the Wardrobe Theatre have thrown franchises together – Die Hard and Muppets, Tarantino and Cats – this year they tackle just the one tale, the Greek myth of Oedipus, destined to kill his father and marry his Mum. As Fate sultrily tells us “if anyone knows their Greek theatre, bodies will be piled up by the end”.
By only having to focus on one throughline, this time they can focus on the laughs. By my reckoning Oedipuss hits a belly laugh about once every 15 seconds. Over 85 minutes? By my calculations somewhere around 340 guffaws. It’s no wonder some have complained about aching ribs on the way out.
Director Chris Collier, composer and lyricist Kid Carpet and the fourstrong cast have obviously had a ball making this show. As the patricide destined and mother loving moggy, Adam Blake’s shaggy hair exterior blends right into his puppet made body. He blends teenager gormlessness and attitude to perfection, as kitten turns into big cat. This moment of transformation, with Andrew Kingston’s Jocasta, may be the most graphic sex scene I’ve ever seen upon a stage, it certainly is the funniest. You have been warned. Jannah Warlow is a slinky chanteuse fate, while the ever funny Harry Humberstone threatens to steal every scene.
So if you want to ‘bah humbug’ Christmas Carol and Cinderella, this is probably the show for you. Just be prepared for your sides to ache for days afterwards.
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