This is theatre as spectacle, but the slapstick, condiment-throwing, drag act, masturbation and, finally, cannibalism never feel gratuitous. It is the explosion of post-Wall euphoria, which all too quickly turns sour.
Luke Treadaway, whose career so far has mostly been on stage, has greater physical precision, whereas Harry who has done much screen work but here is making his stage debut, is more fluid and natural in his movements.
The result is fantastically clever and ingenious.
