Olivier; Donmar; Barbican, all LondonIn the centre of the Olivier stage is a pale disc like an enormous seed pod. Within it you can just make out a shadowy figure. It pulses, and the theatre reverberates to the beat of a heart. Serried ranks of bare bulbs sizzle, dip and flare, and out of the pod rips a pink, blotched, raw thing whose naked limbs have gone all wrong, as if they've been attached back to front: it slip…
SOURCE: The Guardian at 07:04PM on February 26, 2011