'The Skriker' - Tiring but not tiresome.

We're sat on the stage of the Royal Exchange theatre, the large circular area that is usually bordered by the stall seats. Tonight, though, those seats have been removed and the whole area is part of the set. Three pairs of trestle tables form spokes from the centre of the stage to the doorways through which the actors will enter and exit. We are sat at one of the tables.

I wasn't expecting this but then again, I have no idea what 'The Skriker' is going to be like or about. I understand it's going to be "immersive" and - uh-oh - challenging. The Minx and I are here with my friends Nigel and Janet, and the trepidation about this evening's entertainment is split along gender lines: Janet and the Minx are both looking forward to the play, although perhaps less certain now that we find ourselves sat on the props.

The lights go down and the cast burst enthusiastically out onto the stage, resembling a mash up between 'Mad Max' and 'The Kids from Fame'. From out of this melee Maxine Peake appears, seizing attention with her incredible stage presence, and launches into a lengthy monologue, stuffed to the gills with freewheeling word association. It's so impressive, I find myself back in the room, wondering just how the hell she learnt her lines. ("How does it taste? Like toxic waste paper basket case!")

After a few minutes, this calms down and we enter the narrative. I think - and I could have this completely wrong - that a normal person (not one of these elfin folk) has some kind of relationship with Maxine's Skriker. And somehow she novates this relationship/obligation/debt to her pregnant friend. Or sister. I'm not sure. 

The play progresses along these lines: periods of artistic anarchy punctuated by scenes that seem to make some sense. One of the friends enters Skriker's world, is held there for years, to return only to find no time has passed at all. A passerby walking along the tables, throws a coin to a busker playing tablas, only to spend the rest of the performance dancing, without interacting with any other character. One of the friends is off stage but when I turn to look at her she is stood in character, peeling a carrot which does not otherwise feature in the play.

The experience is like a theatrical version of Einstürzende Neubauten's music or perhaps Holger Czukay's 'Hollywood Symphony'. It's entertaining, bewildering, occasionally coherent, and, actually, quite tiring (but not tiresome).

We emerge back into the Manchester Twilight bemused but, I think, not disappointed. If anything, it was just a bit hardcore for me. I think I need my plays to have a little more narrative to them. But, on balance, I'd say I enjoyed it. All of the participants were amazing and it was a hell of an experience, and I suspect someone will a greater love and better knowledge of experimental theatre than me might have enjoyed it a lot.