Edgeland

Before we get started, let's just doff our caps to the Theatre Royal for having the vision to put on a show like Edgeland - not that I can bring to mind any other show like Edgeland. Ambitious in scale, complex in delivery, and just a bit bonkers, it's the kind of sight-specific production that one mjght expect to experience at the very fringes of the Edinburgh Fringe. It’s a testament to the Royal’s commitment to experimental theatre beyond the staples that, I appreciate, pays the bills and should be applauded. But was it any good?

It's a show that greatly benefits from the element of surprise, as both the presentation and the narrative confounded expectations. With the benefit of hindsight, even the company's introductory blurb gives away more than it should. So, if you're reading this with a view to seeing the show, you might want to stop reading now. I came to Edgeland in blissful ignorance, ill-prepared for its fourth wall busting trickery, and the experience was consequently greatly enhanced. I initially thought the guide really was a volunteer, however naive that makes me sound, though in fairness this was due in no small part to the excellence of Sarah Johnson's performance. She did that thing that actors seem to find hardest of all - pretending to be a normal person. Guileless, nerdishly keen and just the right side of officious, our guide for a nature walk at Sweet Briar Marshes proved to be deaf and blind to what we saw along the way, as flora and fauna sprung into life with the help of the production's community cast.

We had barely started our walk before whispers via headphones tipped us off that nothing was quite what it seemed, while our guide fretted over left luggage. Curiouser and curiouser, as the saying goes, only adding to the unsettling atmosphere kick started by being bussed out of Norwich in the first place. There is something inherently dislocating about being dropped off into unfamiliar surroundings, and bearing in mind that the Marshes are open to the public, the distinction between fiction and reality blurred, encouraging the participants- audience doesn’t seem quite the right word - to view everything through the prism of artifice. Is that man with the parasol part of the show, or is he just a man with a parasol?

Some of the vignettes that opened up to us were more obviously constructed - early on we were treated to a whimsical scene that gave a whole new meaning to the idea of a kitchen sink drama, while the bizarre costumes worn by the supporting cast brought to mind old school Doctor Who. In contrast and in parallel, and seemingly disconnected, was an aural drama, played out in bite sized pieces over our headphones, about Amanda's bad day. It proved an odd combination that required several sharp gear changes. Fortunately, the drama was very well performed, while the visual imagery was arrestingly odd, so that flip flopping between the two engaged rather than frustrated. You wanted to know where the story was going, but also what was going to pop up from behind the next bush.

I think I should add that artistic intent aside the logistics of the performance were faultlessly executed. If my mind occasionally wandered, it was only having been beguiled by the supporting cast's fleet of foot, as they scampered unseen from one scene to the next. To say as much might seem the equivalent of admiring the scenery, but this wouldn't have worked at all had we seen the joins. As it was, a magical, almost hallucinogenic, effect was achieved as we jumped down a rabbit hole populated by strange creatures positioned in increasingly weird ways, juxtaposed by our guides grounded, yet oddly compelling, commentary.

As the tour progressed it was pleasing to realise these disparate strands were converging, as a denouement worthy of Inside No 9 bore down on our guide, her guilty conscious manifesting through more lost luggage and brief exchanges with whoever - like the conch - was holding the flapjack. When we eventually find out what happened to Amanda, it was frankly a little underwhelming - I can't help but wonder if an earlier, more visceral conclusion was originally intended. But perhaps expecting a big pay off misses the point. The abiding message was the longevity of the natural world, notwithstanding its perilous state, and how ephemeral is the part we play in it. The logical conclusion of that message, of course, was to look beyond the performance and appreciate the setting in which it was held. What, after all, was more remarkable - the actors dressed as March Orchids having a picnic or the actual March Orchids that surrounded the scene? I imagine it must be a dichotomy the company wrestled with – I know I did, standing there with my earphones on, with author and sound man Ben Samuels skittering about while a bloke with a heavy duty camera filmed us all.

What the company certainly did, however, is conjure a world apart that, on the bus journey back into Norwich, seemed to dissipate as quickly as a fever dream. Folk, denuded of their headphones, chatted amiably about the curiosity now behind them and then, no doubt, about whatever else was now rapidly filling their minds. Such was the show’s unworldliness that, much like a dream, the specifics started to slip from my mind, leaving an indelible, but diffuse impression. Given time, I might even ask myself how much of that really happened, where it not for fruit flapjack I later discovered in my pocket.