Writer/director/star Robbie Aird must be commended for his meticulously delivered production. The play sat perfectly, and symmetrically, within the Playroom. Two actors were bound to each of the two walls with chains, allowing them to collectively dominate the entirety of the stage, except for the front most corner, where the enticingly glowing bottle sat. The free roaming Aird was the only exception to this. The lighting was suitably eerie, but the real talent lay with the make up, who had managed to make all the characters appear disturbingly emaciated in the dim light, and also add to their overall individual characters.

The acting was, for the most part, impressive – Olivia Emden’s sage like Thanatos the most engaging, with her twisted limps and tortured features. Her wry comments, coupled with arch brows and the knowing swing of her pocket watch gave her the presence of one distinguished by some higher knowledge. She was also the only actor to really make full use of the chains themselves, where the others saw them only as restraints or obvious props, appeared like a puppet – constantly aware of their presence. Jon Porter’s Bios, whose gummy, primal screams begun the show, was effective as the least surreal of the characters, appearing in his early, more comedic moments as slightly camp and overly theatrical, but settling down into his position as the apparent leader. He was outshone, however, by Tim Squirell as Paroinikos – a slimy, conniving beast of a character, who spent the play jumping frenetically from lip smacking, bug eyed, bellowing madness, to a shuffling, pleading puppy dog. Griffin however, was somewhat disappointing. Her attempt to match the others’ eccentricities reduced her performance to an overused and unsubtle tick, which entirely dominated all physicality. Her delivery was also slightly robotic, resorting to stilted sentence structure in an effort to convey madness. Aird, as the mute, was effective but not as impressive as the rest of his cast – hardly surprising given his lack of comparable stage time.

As for the play in general, Drink Me sat slightly too consciously within its genre for my liking. The spontaneous breaks into tango or other dance like moments, were understandable at points, but otherwise seemed to be there just for the spectacle. Not enough was actually made of the mysterious drink. All the characters clambered in unison to have their thirst quenched, but the different reasoning behind this need was never explored and the majority of the play seemed to focus on actual escape rather than relief from thirst. As for the forewarned ‘extreme violence’, apart from fisticuffs, the play was virtually devoid until the final, rather gratuitous oral castration of Aird. This felt forced and designed specifically to shock, rather than have a higher meaning. Likewise, masturbation was overused throughout – comic when performed by Squirell, with Griffin it was unnecessary and inappropriate for its own sake. The plot was, nonetheless, generally coherent – the characters representing, in some way or another, the different aspects of a psyche, possibly Aird, possibly somebody else, although Griffin’s character was the only one that seemed to have a real, base emotion as her driving force.

I was left feeling that Drink Me took itself a little too seriously, confusing the spectacle for philosophy and thinking itself perhaps more impenetrable than it turned out to be.