La Femme est Morte or Why I Should Not Fuck My Son

Seneca's ancient Greek tragedy Phaedra done as a satire on American celeb and macho cultures, with pop songs and boxing - frankly this should have been a complete mess. Well it's not.

It's a constantly exhilarating, entertaining, surprising show, and the biggest surprise of all is that what you end up with is a powerful reading of Phaedra itself.

She's married to Theseus who is away fighting to impose American masculinity on wrong thinking infidels. In the meantime she falls in lust with her stepson Hippolytus ('I'm not his mother', 'She's not my mother'), under the constant gaze of a chorus of paparazzi. Then Theseus returns and it all turns very nasty indeed.

Throw in liberal use of a blood gun, boxing, mincemeat, the best mobile phone joke ever, terrific dancing, dialogue that switches from rhetoric to dude-speak in an instant and musical presentation that would grace any West End or Broadway stage and you have something very close to the top of my Fringe treat list.

You also have a company of eight, all of whom produce physical and vocal performances that are pitch perfect in tone and style from the very start to the very finish. Kim Gainer is a brittle, sexy Phaedra; Joe Cumutte a wondrously virginal dude Hippolytus; Atticus Rowe a frighteningly upright Theseus; Jen Taher glorious as the spin doctor from hell and Craig Peugh as best friend X powerfully delivers the traditional bad news messenger's speech while moving through the audience.

Last but most certainly not least are Joey Williamson, Laura Lee Anderson and Marissa Lupp as Tiresias and his paparazzi chorus, zapping out their musical numbers with precision of movement and terrific musicality.

Outstandingly well directed by Shoshona Currier, this young American company delivers one of the most successful mixing of theatrical style I've ever seen. It's a blast.