Ventriloquism would seem a hard sell; it’s not been cool for grown men to play with puppets since…well, ever. But Paul Zerdin might just be spearheading a revolution. His one-man, three-puppet, post-watershed comedy show is so sharp, slick and knowing, he blasts any potential end-of-the-pier tawdriness clean out of the water.

The voice-throwing is in itself astounding – as he demonstrates, he makes a disconcerting companion in a lift or overseeing the cooking of lobsters – but it’s the script that really carries the hour. The characterisation of his cast of sponge-based friends would be impressive in a sitcom. Grandad Albert is a sweet, faltering old dear who muddles up his suppositories and hearing aid and tries to duet with his dead army buddy; cheeky Sam is the boy who says the sort of rude things we all wish we could, while Baby (admittedly, this one’s creepy) gurgles, murmurs and covets audience members’ breasts. Zerdin’s rapport with what is, and this is hard to remember, his own voice, is electric. When he puts Sam away, the audience boo in sympathy for this piece of sponge.

A born showman, Zerdin ends on a brilliant set piece – turning someone from the front row into a human puppet– an utterly mesmerising if disconcerting finale to a spectacular show. Just don’t linger backstage when the lights are out.