Dinner at the Twits, The Vaults, London, theatre review: 'For all its culinary novelty, this show leaves a bland taste in the mouth'

To mark the centenary of Roald Dahl’s birth, theatre company Les Enfants Terribles joined forces with Bompas and Parr to serve up his 1979 children’s book as an immersive theatrical dining experience for adults

Cartoonish vulgarity was not as edgy as it could have been (Rah Petherbridge)

My worst fear was that they would play games with scale and that we would find ourselves wandering through the matted jungle of a blown-up version of Mr Twit's beard, forced to pick off and consume all the disgusting morsels of old meals stuck to the hairs. Not that I would want you to think that I’m faddy about food or that I haven’t eaten some pretty rugged brands of muesli in my time. But, let’s face it, there are limits. As it happens, the beard-ordeal is one you are spared here – though, in the bar, you can purchase a “Mr Twit’s Beard Old Fashioned” which has freshly plucked bits of his favourite foodstuffs (sardines, cornflakes, Stilton etc) floating around in it.

To mark the centenary of Roald Dahl’s birth, the theatre company Les Enfants Terribles has joined forces with culinary whiz kids Bompas & Parr to serve up Dahl’s 1979 children’s book as an theatrical dining experience for adults. No chiddlers are allowed in a show that is clearly targeted at people who have fond memories of being deliciously disgusted by the Twits and all the revolting food references (wormy spaghetti etc) when they were little and who now have pockets deep enough now to afford the hefty admission prices (a standard mid-week ticket costs £81.50).

The Royal Court made an unsuccessful stab at staging The Twits last year. This new version by Anthony Spargo and Oliver Lansley encounters the same difficulty. The situation – a couple who thrive on playing sadistic practical jokes against each other – is brilliantly grotesque but it doesn't have much mileage as drama. The Court padded the evening out with a story-line invented by Enda Walsh. Here, in a show that invites the audience to attend the renewal of the Twits’ wedding vows, the disappointing paltriness of the narrative (which has a twist about the true identity of the monkeys) is camouflaged by Samuel Wyer’s wittily macabre environmental design (the Vaults are the ideal venue for this piece) and the warped inventiveness of the food and drink menu.

While you wait for the Twits to arrive, you get to quaff nettle gin and tonics in the junk-littered Ghastly Garden where nervous monkey-waiters offer you an assortment of canapes, including Bloodied Hearts, and where you notice worrying items of children’s clothing dangling from the glue-oozing tree. Chris Barlow and Lizzy Dive are cartoonishly vulgar and stupid as our hosts but I don’t think you ever feel at their mercy or for a moment unnerved.

I had expected an experience that combined the least appetising features of being a dinner guest of Ma and Pa Ubu and of appearing on I’m A Celebrity... Get Me Out Of Here! But though she looks like a depraved parody of a Goya Infanta with her mad, door-blocking coiffure and rotten teeth, there's a raucous affability about Dive's Mrs Twit as she visits the tables of punters scoffing Bird Pie, Muddied Spuds, and Six-Legged Slaw (with lurking insect surprise) in her windowless dining room.

There’s potential here for much edgier comedy and a more forceful circus finale. For all its culinary novelty, this show leaves a rather bland taste in the mouth.

To October 30; 0844 248 1215