Yokai

Loneliness and armageddon have never been so much fun. What feels at first like standard whimsical Fringe fare reveals a gritty, subversive edge in this physical spectacular by The Krumple, an international ensemble of Le Coq graduates. Disparate urban stories, staged with the kind of imaginative cardboard box puppetry and fairy-light wonder traditionally reserved for more “embrace your inner child” adventures, culminate in an apocalyptic vision that shatters any initial borderline cutesiness.

A fisherman devoured by a giant cod; a pill-popping, chain-smoking mourner at a graveside; and a wannabe reality TV pop star with her head quite literally in the clouds are a few of the characters who emerge throughout an inventive and often chilling series of visual vignettes. The ensemble cunningly play with scale, puppeteering miniature figurines and box-set scenarios before exploding and fleshing them out into full dramatic stagings of each story.

Sheathed in flesh-coloured bodysuits, these nimble performers wade through their doll's house-world like giants – perhaps their take on the monsters and spirits of Japanese folklore that give this show its title. The physicality is precise, muscular and often very funny, blended skillfully with the show's multiple other elements. It's a surreal collage of narrative fragments and ideas, but one that’s consistently engaging and not a little unsettling. As I overheard a child say to his parents while leaving the theatre, the floor around us strewn with masking tape and flour: “I don’t know what I’ve just seen, but I like it.”