So, we’re sitting in the Wilde Theatre at South Hill Park, talking about how bare the stage looks and waiting for the show to begin.

A friendly-looking woman in a black suit, apparently an usher, wanders past and stands at the front of the stalls, presumably about to ask us to make sure our mobile phones are switched off.

Then she starts talking, introducing the show in an “Are you sitting comfortably?” kind of way. I start to think I’ve made a mistake in coming to see this production. Clearly, it’s going to be a children’s play.

Then the woman leaps on to the stage, only to reappear dressed in a robe and carrying a stick, which she uses to spear a fish. So far, so baffling…

A family, a father and two children, trudge along in the background, dressed in what looks like Biblical garb.

More foreboding. I’m pretty sure I’m going to HATE this show.

Within a few minutes, though, my misgivings have begun to subside. And before long, I’m starting to think: “I’d really love to see this show again.”

The Last of the Lake, created by Rough Fiction Theatre Company, is a piece of drama that defies categorisation and goes beyond the boundaries of a conventional, traditional play.

It’s so visually strong that the experience is comparable to reading a graphic novel. A series of almost dream-like tableaux pass before the eyes of the audience, telling the story of two sisters who are both, in different ways, the victims of primitive superstition.

Verity (Tessa Parr) has been chosen at birth to be adored and worshipped, while her twin Mentira (Leah Muller) is a reviled outcast, living in a shack and spending her days gutting fish. Students of language will pick up the resonance of Verity equating with truth and Mentira with lying. But in this story, little is as it seems.

A succession of cleverly designed backdrops and a subtle but emotive soundscape provide the settings for a journey the sisters undertake to fulfil their destinies. They’re accompanied by a talking fish in a bowl, a detail which makes perfect sense in the context of this production.

The company is completed by William Donaldson and Jan Shepherd, both of whom get to show off their versatility by playing a range of different roles. In Shepherd’s case, this includes a masterclass in “I’m so out of breath I can’t speak” acting, which brought appreciative laughter from the audience.

The production lasts just 75 minutes but the impact of this dreamy, trippy theatrical experience is one that stays with you long after the curtain call. (Incidentally, contrary to my initial impression, there’s plenty of adult language, so this is definitely not a show for children.)

Killing Alan