And there is a man sitting at a desk, welcoming us to the theatre and opening a folder. And the folder contains a sheaf of paper that the man proceeds to read. And the more the man reads, the faster he goes. And the man hits such a speed we realise why he did not learn this script: it would be too prodigious a feat of memory.
And as if to emphasise the pace, the man is soon accompanied by a percussive score by Carmel Smickersgill, which has a jazz freedom as well as a sense of urgency and is rather good. And as the story rattles out, so Han Sayles’s lighting design closes in on the man, who is the writer Sam Ward in this solo show by his company YESYESNONO and he seems to be going faster still.
And the story he tells is of a woman who discovers holes appearing in her garden and they are emitting a sound she cannot quite recognise. And as she tries to figure out the reason they are proliferating, she finds herself in a bank where there are next to no employees and even less money.
And she is taken under the wing of a private detective straight out of Raymond Chandler who only adds to her sense of disorientation, as do all the other strange events: the cave and the rooftop forest and the enigmatic messages telling her to look for the horizon.
And as it plays out, you wonder whether this is a dreamlike odyssey with some insight to share – about what: uncertainty, alienation, the futile search for meaning? – or just a shaggy dog story that, for all the cool polish of its staging, goes around the houses for its own uncertain ends.
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At Summerhall, Edinburgh, until 31 August
