Steven Berkoff’s Greek transports the Oedipal into the “wastelands” of contemporary Tufnell Park, brimming with as much violence, upset and corruption as ancient Thebes. No matter how many toga adorned travesties you’ve witnessed garnishing the railings of Cambridge this production is thankfully stripped of white linen. Instead we are greeted by a set of black brick, Greek graffiti tags sprayed haphazardly around – merely a nod to the ancients, and not a toga in sight.

This is Oedipus with a twist: think Sarah Kane meets Edward Bond. It’s almost impossible to wriggle away from the stream of ingenious insults that rule the play. However, the physicality of this performance often strikes with as much force and pathos as its verbal intensity. It is the staging that makes this play stand out. Physical theatre pervades the performance: four bodies become one large sphinx that breathes in and out with ritualistic urgency; men and women collapse into household items, split into many mirrored couples all eagerly waving their sons goodbye. These slick moments of unison inspire both cringes and gasps from the audience; as comedy abounds, the bodies teeter between absurd action and woeful immobility.

Sam Fairbrother’s Eddy makes an instant impression with his confident drawl, although at times it’s hard to tell if his relaxed disinterest is good acting or if he’s simply concentrating too much on getting the words out to care. First night wobbles and line quivers abound but these are minor stutters in the grand writhing shape of this performance. At times it’s hard to see how a character can deliver lines over the commotion of background bodies drowning the stage, relishing the commotion of everyday life.

Yet with Alasdair McNab’s assertive father figure at the helm the hubbub of the stage fades away before us: each line delivered with ease and sincerity, he steals the stage. Similarly Freya Aquarone as the robust yet wilting wife and mother captivates. She excels early on within the chorus, displaying a penchant for comedy before transforming, first to angered widow, then to blushing bride, the automated woman of Eddy’s dreams. Swept off her feet – at times literally – the collision of lovers is handled beautifully. By the time their union is revealed as incest, mother and child, husband and wife collide again, this time walking back to back, a simple movement yet achingly powerful.

If you dislike this production it will furnish you amply with elaborate insults with which to ridicule it; thankfully I found none were necessary to describe my hour in the playroom. The script is impeccable, the cast strong, the staging innovative: watch out Cambridge, there’s some fresh talent brewing.