Rosie Kay mixes dance, theatre, music and wit in a retelling of Joseph Moncure March's 1928 poem The Wild Party, a tale of wayward behaviour, alcoholic excess, infidelity, and late-night brawls.
It's possibly not so different from the experience of some of the amateur thesps romping through this year's Fringe, and the parallel isn't lost on Kay. In this version, the performers slip in and out of character and Kay's company end up unravelling as quickly as their alter-egos.
Two lovers trapped in a destructive relationship think they'll solve their latest stalemate by throwing a party, but the revelry soon degenerates into a gin-soaked orgy where passions and jealousies flare.
Kay herself is the dynamic epicentre of the show as vaudeville dancer Queenie, who is sassy blonde bombshell one minute, wide-eyed naïf the next. She rockets across the dancefloor, sweat and mascara running down her cheeks, and creates sparks with partner Vinicius Salles.
You can feel the friction burns as the couples spar, bodies thrusting, sliding, pouring over each other. OK, so it's a bit rough around the edges, but the live jazz trio keep the atmosphere fizzing even when the party begins to wane. And just when you think the whole thing is begging for some sort of climax, boy do we get one. A wild party indeed.
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