The Boy Who Kicked Pigs – full-on flights of fantasy as one lad imagines leaving a lethal legacy (Bruiser Theatre Company at The MAC until Saturday 18 October)

Step into the world of The Boy Who Kicked Pigs. Kicking his sister’s piggy bank out the window isn’t nice. But is that the extent of Robert’s evil streak? Or is he capable of much greater carnage? It’s a delightfully dark premise into which Bruiser inject their physical comedy with rhyming dialogue, tight choreographed routines and slow-motion falls, character and costume changes quicker than an actor can turn on their heels, and madcap tomfoolery.

The cast’s movements are constant and breathtaking to watch. Garth McConaghie’s soundscape is complex, but less frenetic. Coastal birds tweet. Stabs of music play. Crossbows twang. The audience adds copious laughter.

Robert has established a secret lair in a dump, Stuart Marshall’s silvery set accessorised with a versatile back curtain and multipurpose stools. There are lots of props, but nearly everything seems to have more than one purpose. Everything is bathed blue and wide on cool white lighting (James C McFetridge).

Four talented comic actors – Gerard Headley (with an incredible gait when he moves around as Robert), Eleanor Shannon (who is brilliant as shouty sister Nerys), Jack Watson (a strangely qualified medic) and Mary McGurk (an unforgettable Pedro the Speedo-wearing lifeguard who could be arrested for smuggling budgies) – revel in Lisa May’s direction. You’d almost think they’d been drilled into doing some of the scenes blindfolded such is the confidence with which they can spit out the words, turn in tandem and hit every cue on an escalator that won’t let them set off or pause for a minute.

The Boy Who Kicked Pigs has been adapted from Tom Baker’s short novel. Yes, that Tom Baker, the fourth Doctor, the actor who revelled in skirting close to madness (with added jelly babies for sugary mirth). So it should be no surprise that the patronising piggy bank is named Trevor and speaks to Robert. (To be honest, you’d wonder which of them – boy or piggy bank – sustained the head injury falling out the window.)

For much of the 70-minute show, you’ll find it difficult to take anything about The Boy Who Kicked Pigs seriously. You’ll walk out of the theatre with a big grin on your face, remembering the terribly funny deaths and the sense of witnessing a life spiralling out of control from the safety of your theatre seat.

And then, as you meander down the street, you’ll wonder about the circumstances that enabled Robert to carry out his lethal actions. Why was Robert left alone with his imagination and his misplaced ideas about leaving a lasting legacy? Who missed opportunities to intervene? Who lacked enough love to be present in his life?

You’ll recall the radio reporters who were so keen to be first with the news that they failed to see the bigger picture. And wonder at the jaded newspaper journalists at the the Kent Clarion who’d figuratively chained themselves to their desks and railed against a supposedly overambitious newbie Peter who wanted to pursue actual stories. The four priests who’d lost touch with Jesus.

Amid the full-on flights of fantasy, you’ll notice real life themes, just magnified for effect. Trigger warning: a recorded is tooted in an aggressive manner. It’s important to the storyline, and frankly not the most disturbing aspect of this wonderfully grotesque piece of theatre.

The Boy Who Kicked Pigs finishes its short run at The MAC on Saturday 18 October. It’s another full-throttled production from Bruiser Theatre Company who revel in creating extraordinarily intense pieces of physical theatre. 

Photo credit: Carrrie Davenport 

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