You'll go and see this - if you're lucky, it was already sold out on its first night - and you'll tell your friends with great enthusiasm about the uniqueness of the staging. The way the headphones the audience are issued with allow Complicite's Simon McBurney not only to broadcast his one-man show directly into your ears, but create an immersive soundworld that knocks you out of the theatre. The way that a few props, a single backdrop and some lighting tricks transform the stage into a jungle, a river, a London flat. The way the rhythms of the piece are so carefully crafted to guide you through its hallucinatory journey until time seems to have as little meaning for you as it does for its central character.
They'll ask you what it's about, because that's a reasonable thing to ask. And you'll sigh and struggle for a bit and eventually, grudgingly admit that it's 'about' the story of a photographer getting lost in the Amazon jungle in the late 60s, and being adopted by a hidden tribe.
Because, in a very loose sense, it is. It's adapted from Peter Popescu's Amazon Beaming, the tale of Loren Macintyre and his time with the Mayoruna people. Following them into the jungle in an attempt to capture their lives on camera, Macintyre found himself gradually entwined in their rituals and their world-view - and in particular their wholly alien ideas about time and its ability to help them escape the encroaching and very real threats of the modern world.
But in a deeper sense it's not really about that at all. The story is a framework for dealing with much deeper things. The strangeness of time and memory. The way our brains are not the reliable interpreters of the world we imagine them to be. The idea that if consciousness structures our way of being in the world, then to be in the world in a different way is to alter consciousness. The frightening - but ultimately hopeful - possibility is that such alterations are possible, that they might even provide a kind of exit strategy from a contemporary environment grown unbearable in ways we rarely admit to ourselves.
But you can't really say that. You know how it will sound. So you don't. But hopefully your friends will go anyway, and they'll have the same surprise that you - that I - did as this powerful work unfolds.