Paul Bright's Confessions of a Justified Sinner. By Untitled Projects with support from NTS and Tramway and various other people.

I expected to hate and despise this show. I was feeling uncultured and un-theatre visited when I booked it. Culture starvation created an appetite where none had existed previously. 

On booking, I was promptly reminded that I'd slept through the production of the same name at the Lyceum. But I have a big giant soft spot - maybe like a puddle or a small loch - for creators of this venture Untitled Projects so I figured I might not like the story but I would, most like, find the whole spectacle very worthy of interest.

The allotted Saturday arrived and - how appropriate - it was a filthy lashing day. Perfect for a gloomy play about miserable sinners. 

Summerhall looked particularly mean and moody. But at least afforded shelter from the rain. 

The show began and we were herded to "an exhibition". I stumped around full of the sulks, moaning like a child about the impending drear, dashing impatiently from room to room, wishing the show was scheduled to last ten minutes and not two hours. Until I saw...

And that's the trouble with writing a review of this production. Saying anything much more than that sort of gives the game away. And the game is what makes this show a little cracker.

Mark Fisher does a nicely oblique job in The Guardian. Joyce gives away a little more but still keeps a little flesh concealed (in contrast to the actors at Untitled Projects' last soul (and body) baring experience, The Salon Project). But I would urge BS, my sole reader, to seek this out before reading anyone else's covert coverage. 

It's not at all what I expected - and I can say that despite at least six small sleeps throughout - and it's all the more fun for it.