Some tarot cards, a jewel-encrusted skull, a pineapple: an eclectic set of props, fit for a thoroughly eccentric show.  They’re waiting there on a table as we file into the theatre, but they offer few clues about what will transpire once actors Rikki Howard and Roman Bloodworth appear on the stage.  In the event, only the pineapple is pressed into service – in a part-musical, part-physical show, which deconstructs itself so comprehensively it threatens to implode.

It’s clear that we’re not supposed to take this seriously… but even so, I confess that I’m confused about exactly what I saw.  Is it improvised, as it claims, or a fully-scripted parody of a shambolic improv routine?  My best guess is part-way between the two, but it doesn’t really matter: whether planned or not, the constant corpsing, inaudible mumbling, and crashing over each other’s lines give the impression of a performance which hasn’t found its way.

Still, the set-piece scenes are funny enough to justify a little indulgence.  It starts well, with a dance in black morph suits – just ludicrous enough to make it obvious that we’re allowed to laugh – and segues into an earnest confessional from Howard, who plays the over-anxious liberal very well.  A closing scene, where Bloodworth tries to steer Howard away from an unwise diversion onto the EU referendum, is hilarious too.  And there are other highlights sprinkled throughout the hour, including a sharp critique of expressive dance and an overblown musical number on the topic of shame.

Less successful for me were the extended essays on youth and age, which didn’t play to the show’s “taboo” theme and seemed to be there solely because the actors are of different generations.  Part of the problem – with apologies for getting personal here – is that if Howard really is 60, she looks a lot younger than her age, while if Bloodworth’s really 22 he comes across as pretty mature.  There are subtler angles, such as Howard’s real-life cynicism contrasted to Bloodworth’s straight-outta-RADA naivety, which could prove more fruitful here.

All in all, then, this wilfully chaotic show needs to get a whole lot tighter before it makes the trip to Edinburgh.  If it genuinely is improvised, then it would feel more comfortable if the audience shared in that process; on the one occasion when a man in the front row shouted out a response to a question, it seemed to catch them unawares.  If it’s scripted, on the other hand, then they need to crack on more briskly, stick more tightly to their theme, and – crucially – give us more reassurance that the frequent blunders really are all part of the game.

There’s a genuinely intelligent concept underpinning this show and, if Howard and Bloodworth can raise the whole piece to the level of the start and the end, then it could be a cracker.  The potential’s there, and I certainly found myself rooting for this likeable duo.  But sadly, I can only review what I see in front of me – and on the night I attended, it just wasn’t focussed or disciplined enough to recommend.