If a person dislikes a piece of theatre that tries to be avant-garde, there's a common tendency to label them as too thick to understand it. Presto is deliberately shambolic, with an intentional absence of structure or plot, but this does not render it immune to criticism. A nonsensical play like this has to be written, directed and performed impeccably in order to interest and relate to its audience, but this script went wrong before rehearsals even began. The idea of an anarchic lack of structure could have created an innovative world of excitement and intrigue where anything was possible; sadly, this promising premise staggered alive in a saggy, lacklustre effort that left the audience bemused and bored. While Presto imagines itself to be cutting-edge fringe theatre, it is simply a nonsensical meander through joke after uninspiring joke – and I quote: "I love fucking. There's no bullshit. You just need a big old cock." Not quite the ground-breaking comedy I'd first expected.

The production did have some potentially interesting ideas – multimedia interplay between film and theatre could have cleverly augmented the humour of the experience, but this was unfortunately wasted upon meaningless 'comic' parodies of film plots (think Avatar with shoddy blue face paint). In terms of acting, only Susie Chrystal delivered the kind of sparky energy required to sustain audience interest through a play with an almost entirely absent plot, but her efforts alone weren't enough to raise Presto out of the doldrums. And, yes, Adam Lawrence successfully pulled off a card trick or two. But this is the kind of show that glories in its own cleverness and experimentalism, and that always leaves a bitter taste in the mouth. The person opposite me, with the inordinately loud laugh, seemed to have fun. Maybe he was smart enough to understand it; maybe he was delirious.