Review: We Are Not Here, Summerhall (Venue 26)

An uncompromising, edgy, adventurous and just plain baffling piece of work in the very best traditions of the Fringe, this ensemble piece from the Milanese Babygang company hovers between the sublime and the ridiculous without ever really committing to either. ***

In the marvellously raw space of Summerhall’s Demonstration Room, four characters dressed in black shirts, trousers and fedoras linger, wearing small chalkboards around their necks numbered one to four. They are, we are quickly told, waiting for Beckett. One of them jumps into a metal bin, declaring: “It’s the end of the world – kill me.” When they are joined by another presence, it’s a baby carriage labelled with a board reading “Godot”.

It’s that kind of play – frequently impenetrable bordering on horrifically self-indulgent, but with impassioned performances and a cultivated directorial style from Carolina De La Calle Casanova.

Some of the most perplexing set-pieces are the most enjoyable, for example the quartet responding to the phrase “he who laughs last…” by breaking into loud guffaws; some are difficult, particularly the revelation that one character is female, leading to an attempted sexual assault; and some are eventually rich in purpose, as when one bats chunks of bread into the audience and it dawns that there is life beyond the stage’s edge.

Until today, 5:15pm.