It was bladdy flippen cold when I went to see Planet B this afternoon. It was bitterly, miserably cold, and I’m sure  that that is why there were only forty of us in the audience at St Andrews Hall.

There were some really, really cool things in Planet B (although there were a lot of things that were hellse derivative). It’s an apocalyptic, waterless desert world 29km outside of Jozi. There is a hermit, bandit tent owning man. There is a nomadic, aggressive and very strange thief nomad girl. They are literally thrown together, with a chicken called Jerry in the mix.

I loved the set. I loved some of the relationship. But then she took a shower on stage. A real one. And that was it
for me. The actress spent the rest of the show in a wet vest and broekies. And I could think of nothing else. All action, moments, effects, story, message disappeared. I was obsessed with the actress and her freezing wetness. I could think of nothing else. I shivered on her behalf. I was totally distracted by her wetness and coldness. This made the show long and dreary. It was just too cold.