Oladipo Agboluaje's tale of a Messiah in Brixton ends by advocating nothing less than armed revolution by Britain's black underclass. "Call the Lord Chamberlain!" I hear you say. In fact, such a controversial turn strikes as just another incomprehensible twist in a distractingly fantastical tale.
The story of how mental case Omo becomes the black Jesus seems to be, if anything, a satirical parable, peopled by exuberantly played types intent on chasing sex and money.
But parables are tight and clear. This piece is packed with random event and superfluous verbiage. Oladipo dwells for ages on Omo's ineffectual preaching, a mix of Biblical rhetoric, novice socialism and African magic that never makes much sense. Meanwhile, the six-strong supporting cast overwhelm us as they attempt to create an impression of teeming Brixton.
In the last half-hour, Omo performs a miracle and everyone changes opinions and personality instantly. You wonder why Oladipo spent so long just to start again from zero.
As Omo stands up for whatever he stands for, the plot turns ludicrous, resolving itself with the sudden introduction of a mass-murderer MI5 agent who despatches most of the cast.
Bizarre, and not in a fun way.
Until 23 June(0870 429 6883);www.sohotheatre.com
The Christ Of Coldharbour Lane
Soho Theatre
Dean Street, W1D 3NE
