Emissary was (on opening night) an abysmal array of erratic bullshit. 

A naked guy puts on a dress, tells nonsensical stories about strings, and throws shoes and bananas haphazardly about the stage.  It could be magic in the hands of a late postmodern German theatre director.  But it’s not.  It’s really just a lot of ramblings and blather that struggle to head anywhere and leave you wondering if the guy on the stage is entirely sane. 

To be fair, we were given a disclaimer at the start saying that due to technical difficulties the projector, an intrinsic aspect of the performance, had kicked the bucket and stopped working, although it’s difficult to see how much would have changed.  We would still have been subjected to a rubbish collection of oddities which could sometimes be funny but were more often than not simply downright bizarre. 

We were even despoiled by an indecent stripshow followed by Nic Sando pulling on a rather unappealing dress.  I laughed on the outside, but I cried on the inside. 

We at least have, thank the Good Lord, a theme running through the show.  The Sando draws material from his journeys online and produces some fascinating, if awkward, material.  A live journal entry graphically detailing a young man losing his virginity, for instance, has some great lines, and a transcript of Sando’s first experience of cyber-sex is quite humorous. 

But linking the show to the exploration of the wide and wonderful landscape of the internet soon becomes a stretch as strange stories about murderous strings become far too commonplace.  We are left with little ability to gain any insight or message from the show. 

The blueprints of a good act are present here: an interesting subject matter, an interesting performer, and an interesting venue.  But the bottom line is that the show’s creator needs to seriously rein in the exhibitionism if he wants his talent to be appreciated and respected.  And he is talented – it’s just hard to tell from this show. 

On the plus side, Emissary is much too erratic to have any consistency, meaning it will probably be different every night.  So if you suffer from the same morbid sense of fascination I do, then let this review be the nudge you need to get down there – although you are likely to wonder what’s hit you. 
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