Panic ** TNT
Do you really want to know about the physical ailments of a middle-aged man with a flat overflowing with self-help books and a penchant for addressing the audience clad in nothing but black underpants? Does the prospect of the same paunchy male sporting a 6ft wicker phallus and indulging in a quick bit of chair-humping fill you with excitement? If not, there’s a fair chunk of Improbable’s latest devised, disjointed and superficial examination of the mythical Greek god Pan which will leave you cold.
On the plus side, there’s a videoed dreamlike sequence of rampant shadow puppets frolicking with abandon, a former aerialist swinging seductively over performer and co-founder Phelim McDermott’s supine form, and huge, sad paper tears dropping from a projected face. But the gentle effect of that particular image is spoilt by a final liquid squirt and, ultimately, the inventiveness is overpowered by the rough-and-ready feel of self-indulgence and a jumble of personal confessions (true, false, or partly fabricated?) delivered by McDermott and his three nymphs.
Pit at the Barbican, Silk St, EC2Y 8DS (020 7638 8891;barbican.org.uk/theatre) Tube: Barbican. Until 16th May. £15
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