Watching [THE UNHOLY BODY OF] Ignatius Grail is similar to watching an ill-reviewed arthouse film that gives you hope that something spectacular is going to happen ... if only you wait. Just wait.
Wait, what?
Are we watching the lead woman give a blowjob to a golden plastic gun? Did she just gorge herself on roast chicken, then spit chunks of the supermarket-bought poultry across the stage? Wait, is she completely starkers now? Maybe this means something? Truth is: we have no idea what we're witnessing, least of all what we're waiting for. Kudos to the actors — entirely embodied in their roles — but now we need a wine.
