There are many famous couples in world drama: Didi and Gogo, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. But I can't think of any pair so inseparably bonded as Tito and Beatrice in Giuseppe Manfridi's Cuckoos. They are permanently stuck in an act of anal intercourse in which there are endless comings and no goings.
It sounds spectacularly rude, and as we watch Tito's father, a hearty gynaecologist, turn up with a retractor to extricate his son's instrument, we are not far from the world of Carry On up the Khyber. But, as it progresses over the course of 80 minutes, Manfridi's play turns from sexual farce into domestic tragedy. It becomes a metaphor for a society riddled with hypocrisy - in family-worshipping Italy, Manfridi sets out to destroy the household gods.
You see the intention; making it work is another matter. But Colin Teevan's translation neatly combines English puns with Euro-absurdism. Peter Hall's production not only keeps the action moving - which is tricky when much of it takes place under a silk parachute - but also faultlessly captures the transition from sophomoric excess to Sophoclean pain and reminds us this play is about self-discovery as much as sex. Commendations for bravery and skill to Kelly Hunter as the long-suffering Beatrice, Paul Ready as the tumescent Tito and David Yelland as the pride-swollen medico. The play sounds sensational; in the end it is a savagely sombre work about the incestuous inwardness of the nuclear family.
Until April 22. Box office: 0171-229 0706
