Way up north, in the middle of nowhere, it's the longest, coldest night of the year. To mark the occasion, Peter is having a dinner party. The guests arrive decked out in heavy coats and guns, apparently to take care of marauding polar bears, and though nothing more is made of this, it sets up a brilliant sense of absurdity.
But as the meal progresses and the story unfolds, not that there is much of one, it's revealed that rather than a tale of the extraordinary, this is a reflection instead of the everyday, albeit seen through a gloriously inventive mirror.
Played out on a single set on which the audience gaze though large glass windows, the actors are mostly silent, instead using body language to convey the story. Only a ghostly narrator gets to speak and while not always essential for the narrative, this brings another level to the show.
A story of common wants and needs, moments of social awkwardness and sexual desire are painfully observed and as the characters gel and camaraderie builds, the whole sticky mess that is our humanity is disclosed.
All the performances are beautiful, heightened enough to create comedy and pathos but niftily avoid ever tipping into mime, with the award for the most spectacular set piece going to Video Killed The Radio Star.
The banality of our existence is finally driven home as the narrator reveals how all the characters will end their days, which shouldn't be funny but, in this sparkling world of Interiors, it undoubtedly is.
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