Check food is piping hot before serving<\b> World Theatre Day. That's a thing that exists apparently. I may have only heard of it for the first time about 13 hours ago, but it's made me feel smug as fuck all day long. I, entirely coincidentally, had booked to see three performances today. I was THE BEST at World Theatre Day. Pretty sure I get a gold star from Patrick Stewart or Dame Judi or someone now. All three of today's shows were good, but one was GREAT. I'd never heard of Anton Mirto before, and if I'd read the bit on her company's website about "interrogating the human condition" before I'd booked, I might've spent that tenner on washing tablets or something. Darling, please<\i>. Show me a piece of art that doesn't interrogate the human condition. But I won't throw darts at their academyspeak. THIS SHOW HAS BEEN KINDLY SUPPORTED BY BACOFOIL. For real. The programme is a whole bunch of thank yous: for all the crowdfunders, the development feedbackers, the mums and dads, lighting designer blah blah, and then BACOFOIL. Stuff like that makes me smile so much. "Erm, yes, hello. You may think this is a strange call but my name is Anton Mirto and anyway I make visual art kind of with a performative language at its core, so yeah I was wondering, anyway I guess HOPING that you could sponsor my show with some free tinfoil? I'll need about 7 rolls for each show and it's on 5 nights next week. I can put your name on our freesheet...?" The whole thing is basically just a bunch of really, really beautiful dancer types sitting at a table, wrapping themselves in tinfoil and holding poses, but it's so striking, such a sparse aesthetic, funny and strange and kind of grotesque all at once. I mean, how can they breathe? And the shells that they make, from their faces but also arms and upper bodies too, are shed like skins and piled up on the floor like these weird grimacing horror stories. Like Goya and HR Giger and the citizens of Pompeii and a mass fucking Auschwitz grave, but then also a bit like the Video Killed The Radio Star video, or something by Devo. It's deadpan and ridiculous and a bit like an actual advert for Bacofoil has gone horribly wrong in some atomic-era, Red Scare, brainwashing sci-fi B-movie. And that's even before they start writhing. Five beautiful dancers are writhing on a table, svelte and lithe and all those French-sounding dancery words, all dressed in black but with these terrifying distorted tinfoil faces, each making their own SILENT SCREAM. Amazing.