Review: Dinner at the Twits (The Vaults)
Bloodied chicken heart anyone? Rotten eggs? Worm spaghetti? Rodent goujons? On paper, the menu for Dinner at the Twits sounds, for a Roald Dahl creation, suitably revolting. In truth, it’s not half as bad as all that – the rodent goujons are chicken, the eggs are quail eggs, the spaghetti is just spaghetti with something called ‘worm salt’ sprinkled on and the hearts, well, actually the chicken hearts are just chicken hearts. And they are pretty gross.
Mad food scientists Bompas and Parr have teamed up with theatre company Les Enfants Terribles on this new adult adaptation of Dahl’s classic The Twits. In the winding, vaulted tunnels of Waterloo’s trendy underground theatre, they have staged a dinner party. It’s time for Mr and Mrs Twit to renew their wedding vows and we’re all invited.
The first section is a garden party, where you’re handed a huge gin and tonic, garnished with thistles and nettles, which actually will sting your lips. A fairly high number of people are supposed to fit into this garden, even though it's pretty small, so it's very cramped. But in each corner, and being handed around by the Twits' monkey waiters, are the starters and canapés. Everything tastes a little weird, with one or two offerings – the ‘burnt bangers’ which are covered in poppy seeds – that are actually very nice. It’s hard to get a proper sense of Sam Wyer’s designs in this room through all the people, but from what I could make out, the garden does feel like a garden the Twits might have. Everything is dirty, grimy, dingy and covered with junk.
Then the Twits turn up to welcome us to dinner, in their best posh accents. Chris Barlow as Mr Twit and Lizzy Dive as Mrs Twit are huge, hilarious and gruesome in Wyer’s costume designs. Mrs Twit’s mad eyes (including her glass one) and mono-brow are ghastly, while Mr Twit’s beard is like a dark, terrible forest. Wyer's scary, sad, clown like designs for the Muggle Wumps are also very good: everything hints at a circus gone very, very wrong.
The Twits lead us through to the dining hall, where we take our seats at an allocated table and Dive, Barlow and their monkeys – Alice Bounce, James Keningale and Tom Moores – perform around us inbetween the courses. All this entertaining is a ruse and we begin to discover that we might be next on the menu. It’s the monkeys – ‘we’re not really monkeys! We are humans! I’m from Surbiton! My name is Derek!’ one exclaims – who hatch a plan for escape.
Secretly I was pleased at how eatable the food was. I am not one for chomping down on insects and though there were a couple of icky touches – a cricket or two in the salad – they were easy to avoid. It wasn’t a delicious banquet either, a simple pie, coleslaw and potatoes mix with a trifle to finish. The weirdest – and funnest – culinary experimenting was definitely done in the garden.
In Dinner at the Twits the food to theatre ratio is about 50/50, which means that each side is a little undercooked. But there are some great surprises in Emma Earle’s production that are just about enough to satisfy while you wolf down your bird pie.
Dinner at the Twits runs at The Vaults until 30 October.
