Screwtopia is the comedy equivalent of drinking twelve shots of espresso while listening to a souped up happy hardcore megamix on a strobe-lit fairground ride.

From the minute the Four Screws Loose team stride out of a cloud of dry ice clapping along to the music and exhorting the audience to join in, you have two choices. One is to be swept along by their energy and over-caffeinated enthusiasm, the other is... er, actually, to be fair there's only one choice. It’s virtually impossible not to jump on board, particularly if, like the unwitting Diane, you're immediately grabbed from the front row and thrown into the action.

A booming, Pythonesque voice of God announces to the Four Screws boys that Diane is in charge of the show and she's given a thought-processing helmet to help her beam her ideas directly to the hyperactive quartet before being sent back to her seat.

It's a nice idea, though as it's not an improv show it's not a terribly relevant one. Diane (looking radiant in her viking helmet) doesn't actually shout out ideas: she's just there so the boys can pretend the bizarre and engaging hotch-potch of sketches they come up with are the products of her diseased imagination. Who knows: maybe they are?


The first sketch, a version of Les Miserables set in and around the 'big four' UK supermarkets, certainly does feel like a fever dream. It's witty, strange and extremely well done. The vocal talents on display don't disappoint either, to the extent that you can't help but wonder whether singing about Iceland's frozen horseslurry burgers isn't a waste of some of their talents.

Other highlights include a very well done 'iTunes sponsors... James Bond' sketch that sees the troupe lip synch their way through a tightly edited iTunes playlist while taking us through the highs and lows of a typical Bond film. They have a million and one opportunities to screw up, but despite the pace the whole thing is as smooth and polished as Daniel Craig's chest.

There's also a very cheeky sketch that takes audience participation to a whole new level and which is only a single, strategically placed sock away from turning into a late night Channel 4 'documentary' about the sexual exploitation of innocent young Fringe performers.

Having said that, few things in life are perfect. A sketch featuring a wild-eyed woman called Morag underlines the fact that the lads really can't- and shouldn't- do Scottish accents. But on the whole, the rousing, fun, fast-paced and energetic performance is one of the most invigorating shows you're likely to encounter, until someone finally figures out a way to cross a coffee machine with a Waltzer.