One of the great things about the Barbican's BITE seasons is that they are not only eclectic but also offer work on many scales, from the must-see event theatre of Peter Stein and Robert Wilson to this little piece from Brazil, performed in Portuguese. It is barely an hour long, but for all its brevity and lack of pretension, there is something in Vau da Sarapalha's strangeness that gets under your skin.
The first thing that you notice is the noise. This is theatre that you can hear, smell, almost feel. The sounds are of a rural backwater waking up: crowing, barking, scratching, whining. A dog lies dreaming in the early morning sun.
In a tree sit Ribeiro and his cross-eyed cousin Argemiro, both shivering and sweating from the malaria that will eventually kill them both. Around them bustles Ceicao, an ancient village woman, who cackles and gabbles as she throws sticks and pokes the ashes of the fire, raising cinders like showers of fireworks.
There is a touch of Cold Comfort Farm transposed to Brazil in this world. Everyone seems to have at least one screw loose, and the something-nasty-in-the-woodshed is the secret love that Argemiro has been harbouring for his cousin's wife, Luiza, who long ago eloped with a passing herdsman.
Or maybe it is more a case of Waiting for Godot with added mosquitoes: day after day the men have been sitting in the tree and awaiting death, while Ceicao endlessly tries to prevent Argemiro from spilling his dreadful secret by breaking pottery. Judging by the shards lying around, this daily ritual has been going on for years. Only today is different. Today the secret is going to come tumbling out and the world will change for ever.
This world, created by director Luiz Carlos Vasconcelos and his cast, is alien, but it is also complete and fascinating. Even the dog, marvellously played by Servillo Holanda, is a completely realised character - right down to the very last flea.
