If a nightmare can be funny, Nigel Charnock's Asylum (which played at the Project for two nights until yesterday) would be a hoot; but this is clearly something more than that. Perhaps it is a satirical look at the world and pretensions of psychiatry, one in which doctors and patients exchange opinions and identities. Or it may be a model of the real world's lunacies, with emphasis on the eternal confusion between love, sex and human tensions.
It begins in a storm, from which five fugitives take refuge in a mental home. Influenced by their surroundings, they psychoanalyse each other on Freudian lines. They quarrel, talk wildly, sing and dance. There is a jagged logic in what they say, a stream of subconsciousness that often defies understanding, and a pyrotechnical eruption that raises the humble pun to a level of word-wizardry.
About halfway through there is a sudden change of scene to an open space dominated by a huge rock. By now the quintet's exchanges have become more violently sexual and confrontational, a trend which continues to a dramatic ending which sees them, after another storm, continue their journey to a new place which promises to contain all the old problems; a never-ending cycle. It is, however, by no means a dull or solemn affair. Apart from the wit and verve of much of the writing, the players sing, solo or together, and it is always easy on the ear. And they dance to a professional standard.
Because of its innate obscurity, I should think this work would probably appeal only to a minority of theatregoers. But I hugely enjoyed the parts that I understood, and still got a satisfying frisson from the rest. The sheer pace of the production, and the impressive talents of the cast, kept boredom well at bay.