PERFORMANCE & COMEDY

St Georges, Bristol (Tue 18-Sat 22 Oct)

THEATRE The sense of anticipation tonight is so palpable you can almost taste it. With a hard-earned reputation for innovative contemporary theatre, Kneehigh's modus operandi is to push boundaries on stage. 'The Wild Bride', adapted from The Handless Maiden by the Brothers Grimm, certainly does that - and more. Essentially a tale of consequences about a father (a brilliantly stricken Stuart Goodwin) who is tricked into selling his daughter to the devil, it's a gloriously-spun fable of love, betrayal, hope and abject heartbreak, presented in typically vivid Kneehigh style.

Visually inspired by the Great Depression era, and musically by American blues icon Robert Johnson (who was famously said to have sold his soul to the devil), it finds Old Nick himself using his evil wiles to harangue and ensnare The Girl, beautifully played through her various ages by Audrey Brisson, Patrycja Kujawska and Eva Magyar.

Watching Stuart McLoughlin strut his imperiously dark stuff as The Devil, trailing the girl like a dog with a bone, is a real treat; with blackened eyes, attired in a suave 1930s suit and hat, he's a ball of nefarious glee - like James Stewart gone bad, and full of tricks. Hopping between various instruments and singing pitch-perfect blues, he terrorises the father into cutting off his daughter's hands, instructing him to get her 'as filthy as a beast, then I can put my filthy fingers all over her.' Duly muddied, he tips the poor lass upside down and plays her like a double bass; it's a moment of inspired choreography.

Not a beat is missed by the stellar cast; the pace is fluid, the dialogue sharp and rich with gallows humour. And as the daughter gone wild in the forest, Kujawska's physical leaps and jerks, fuelled by ululating emotion, are breathtakingly expressive. Doubling up as the Prince (later King) with whom she falls in love, Stuart Goodwin flicks effortlessly between whimsy and, much later, despair; his expression of zany, unfettered joy during the consummation scene is a total hoot.

The accompanying music that ebbs and flows throughout is perfectly judged and often achingly beautiful - performed live by the cast, songs thrum with spiritual zeal, and haunting, siren-like laments pierce the air. The poignant rat-a-tat-tat of Portishead's 'Machine Gun', symbolising the King being called to war, is like a swift dagger to the heart.

Wonderfully creative use of lighting, theatrical sleight of hand, sound effects and props add a magical sheen – Kujawska picks a light bulb 'pear' from a tree at one point and pops it into her mouth; further on, dry ice is unnervingly symbolic as the mustard gas of war. All told, this is about as epic, imaginative and dizzyingly euphoric as storytelling gets. (Velimir Ilic)

Copyright Velimir Ilic 2011