The Shitheads - Royal Court ★★★★

In The Shitheads, Jack Nicholls‘ audacious debut play, we are transported back tens of thousands of years to a bizarre tale of survival in prehistoric times. “We think this is based on a true story,” the audience is told, and what a weird and wonderful story it is.

Early humans Clare (Jacoba Williams), a strong-headed alpha female, and Greg (Jonny Khan), excitable yet inept, meet whilst hunting an elk. The opening scene is captivating, with the majestic elk dominating the small stage. A truly impressive piece of puppetry with its ragged fur and huge antlers, expertly designed by Finn Caldwell and Dulcie Best, and captained by Scarlet Wilderink, its snorts and cries resonate around the theatre. “What kind of dog is this?” Greg asks, wide-eyed, sparking the first of many laughs. But don’t be fooled by this light-hearted moment of absurdity – things are about to get much deeper and darker.

There are two tribes in this prehistoric era: the Shitheads, who are nomadic, heading south to warmer climes when winter arrives in Britain, and the cave dwellers, who stay put, hunting and hunkering down. Who’s the cleverest? Who will survive?

Clare lives underground with her energetic younger sister Lisa (Annabel Smith) and their father Adrian (Peter Clements), an ailing tyrant who peddles his myths about the Shithead people. They can’t talk, he insists. They’re stupid. Is he trying to protect his daughters, or are his prejudices part of something more menacing? There are familial tensions, though overall a feeling of domestic harmony prevails. But when Clare invites Greg’s partner Danielle (Ami Treadrea) and her puppet child to shelter in their home, the dynamic shatters and survival turns

Co-directed by Aneesha Srinivasan and David Byrne, the Royal Court’s resident and artistic directors, respectively, the production is inventive and absorbing, with moments of violence rendered with choreographic precision. The puppetry is magical, and the performances lively and buoyant, the actors committing fully to this quirky material. Williams is on stage for almost all of the 1 hour and 40 minutes, her character vacillating precariously between friendliness and malice. Smith is a comic standout, her inquisitive mind and inappropriate interjections consistently stealing scenes.

Anna Reid‘s anachronistic set – a playful collision of cave paintings, skulls, lamps, rugs and armchairs – heightens the absurdity. Similarly, costume supervisor Evelien Van Camp blends animal pelts with leopard-skin-print tops and cut-off cargo trousers. Alex Fernandes‘ lighting is subtle yet effective, and Asaf Zohar‘s eerie flutes and banging drums add to the overall unpredictability and tension.

Despite being set at the dawn of time, the narrative brushes up against contemporary anxieties: climate crisis, the “them and us” mentality, and fear of the outsider. Nicholls’ writing is raw and bold but sometimes perplexing, occasionally wandering off its path. Yet as an original piece of new writing, it is confident, funny, and tragic all at the same time – and a little bit bonkers.