Wen Hui, still silent, calls a halt to this protest by turning off the machine. The crisis is over and daily life goes on – but who’s going to clear up the mess?n At the ICA, London SW1 to 25 June (0171-930 3647). In the end, the work of the welder is revealed as a forest of metal rods, on to which Wen Hui plants apples and tomatoes to create a stunning image of the man-made and nature oddly reconciled. Perhaps this is an allusion to the attempt of Maoist Communism to re-fashion human nature; in any case, just as the last rod is topped with an apple, a big old rusty wind machine is switched on and the two men furiously hurl fruit at it, creating a futile carnage of vegetable matter. Presumably, to talk about your father, as Wu does, is condemned as Western decadence, even though to us decadents the intimacy still seems rudimentary.
This context helps to sweeten the unrelenting formalism of the piece. Eight years later, the company can only perform abroad: it is still considered subversive to form a non-official theatre company, worse still to stage non-socialist realist work.

Xi Ju Che Jian was formed in 1987, full of democratic hope, the first independent theatre company in China since 1949. It consists of Wu Wenguang, a young documentary film-maker, standing in front of a workbench cluttered with ancient film spools, confiding in the audience in a direct and touchingly formal way about his lousy relationship with his father The welder is not the only interruption. As Wu battles valiantly on with his story, a silent young woman (Wen Hui) officiously switches on a tape recording of a poem, “File O” by Yu Jian, which inspired this piece of theatre. In the end the welder (Jian Yue) comes forward and, dogmatically reading aloud from scribbled notes the story of his first love, successfully sabotages Wu’s narrative In post-Tiananmen China, not everybody’s story can be heard. There’s something comforting about watching others going about their work while you talk to a third person, like hearing adult voices when playing as a child. Not so in File O, by Peking-based Xi Ju Che Jian (Theatre Workshop), in which the crashings, bangings and showers of sparks from a welder on stage aggressively interrupt the action Action, admittedly, is here a loose term.

The crisis is over and daily life goes on – but who’s going to clear up the mess?n At the ICA, London SW1 to 25 June (0171-930 3647). Presumably, to talk about your father, as Wu does, is condemned as Western decadence, even though to us decadents the intimacy still seems rudimentary.
This context helps to sweeten the unrelenting formalism of the piece. In the end, the work of the welder is revealed as a forest of metal rods, on to which Wen Hui plants apples and tomatoes to create a stunning image of the man-made and nature oddly reconciled. Perhaps this is an allusion to the attempt of Maoist Communism to re-fashion human nature; in any case, just as the last rod is topped with an apple, a big old rusty wind machine is switched on and the two men furiously hurl fruit at it, creating a futile carnage of vegetable matter.

Wen Hui, still silent, calls a halt to this protest by turning off the machine. Eight years later, the company can only perform abroad: it is still considered subversive to form a non-official theatre company, worse still to stage non-socialist realist work. Xi Ju Che Jian was formed in 1987, full of democratic hope, the first independent theatre company in China since 1949. In the end the welder (Jian Yue) comes forward and, dogmatically reading aloud from scribbled notes the story of his first love, successfully sabotages Wu’s narrative In post-Tiananmen China, not everybody’s story can be heard. As Wu battles valiantly on with his story, a silent young woman (Wen Hui) officiously switches on a tape recording of a poem, “File O” by Yu Jian, which inspired this piece of theatre. There’s something comforting about watching others going about their work while you talk to a third person, like hearing adult voices when playing as a child.

Not so in File O, by Peking-based Xi Ju Che Jian (Theatre Workshop), in which the crashings, bangings and showers of sparks from a welder on stage aggressively interrupt the action Action, admittedly, is here a loose term. It consists of Wu Wenguang, a young documentary film-maker, standing in front of a workbench cluttered with ancient film spools, confiding in the audience in a direct and touchingly formal way about his lousy relationship with his father The welder is not the only interruption. The TV series looks a cert.n Tonight, Stevenage Gordon Craig Theatre (01438 766866); tour ends 29 Jun, Croydon Fairfield Hall (0181-688 9291). Most tellingly, there were back-to-back Rowan Atkinson steals – a schoolmaster wigging, followed by a vicar’s marriage ceremony – and a sketch that smacked of Newman and Baddiel’s “History Today” and even featured Barrie wearing an identical rug to Baddiel’s Few marks for originality, then. His comedy depends on some gifted impressions, honed over the years for Spitting Image but hardly up-to-the-minute – David “extraordinary” Coleman, Prince Charles, Ronnie Corbett and, yes, Sean Connery.His targets are just as soft-bellied – a Crimewatch spoof and a second- hand Lester Piggott tax-dodge gag for starters. “Number one.” “Brazil.” “Versus number 16.” “Mr Ian Wilmslow.” “Bit of a mountain for the retired local government official to climb.” And in the main, Barrie’s popularity steered him through – the success of his Red Dwarf character, the hopeless hologram Rimmer, had accounted for an impressive array of Smeghead T-shirts in the pre-show lager scrum.But somehow you expected more from the man who created the sitcom monster that is Gordon Brittas. With Barrie you felt that the sketches were destined for the BBC’s Lights Ents comedy skip.Not that it was all bad.