Edinburghs raunchiest strip club of the Fringe opens with a warning from one of the several bouncers allocated, who decree Move around, follow the action, but do not touch the women. The gorgeous feast that follows, complete with classy choreography and mental music, makes this show one of the most radical and immersing in Fringe history.
The performance has it all. It is sexy, sassy and seductive, and it makes the audience play the most erotic version of Follow the Leader as the action shifts quite literally from pole to pole. The dialogue serves to confirm what the body language already so emphatically suggests that the girls are in control, with the men playing the subservient role of poacher chasing gamekeeper, desperately crying What is your name to the strippers, as if it mattered.
What little storyline there is feels unimportant. The combination of lighting, a multimedia-fuelled set and a cast that believe in their characters fulfil the shows criteria of personifying pure, unadulterated lust. Its hardly tasteful, but nor is it filthy more an artistic creation of the temptation of the human body, for which the gentlemen (not just the actors, but many in the audience) will so passionately fall.
Finally, a warning. I attempted to remain as neutral as possible when writing this review; however, being a young, impressionable and testosterone filled male, I fear that sheer eroticism alone may have in part impacted upon my unrelenting praise (particularly as a girl nearby whispering THIS IS AWFUL was enough to briefly disengage me from my trance). However, this show deserves to be seen for pure aesthetic beauty, clever use of the space available and a propensity to thrill. Feel free to indulge.
