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In an old Bermondsey biscuit factory, another of the intriguing, cavernous spaces with which London theatre has had such fun over recent years, something is going on. Quite what that something is I — and, I suspect, most other audience members — couldn’t begin to tell you. What I do know is that it has something to do with the legend of the Minotaur and something to do with architecture. Beyond this, it’s really anyone’s guess.
These reclaimed spaces can frequently turn out to be performances in and of themselves, so fruitful are they to explore. Punchdrunk has led the way in this and the Shunt performance collective, architects of The Architects, have also worked their way around a selection of offbeat venues. The problem is that almost all of Shunt’s devised work has necessitated better shaping, to marshal their fizzing handfuls of ideas into something approaching coherency.
It starts so promisingly. We make our way through an extensive wooden labyrinth, occasionally lit by neon lines of red thread, to a huge ocean liner bar, complete with portholes looking out onto a choppy sea and a large stuffed bull with translucent stomach. A Danish family, the Biscotts, are the architects of this “six-star ocean palace”, which turns into a kind of crazed Butlin’s as the action swiftly descends into meaninglessness.
It doesn’t help that the space is so bitterly cold I felt as though my vital organs were about to shut down. Shunt has certainly built something here but few will feel at home.
Until February 2 (020 7452 3000, shunt.co.uk)
