AT one point in this play – loosely based on Laurence Sterne’s book Life And Opinions Of Tristram Shandy, Gentlemen – a character remarks that it’s all a bit of mess, being “obsessed with testicles and all that dodgy innuendo”.

How true. The opening exchange goes as follows: Him, as a pregnant woman dressed as a 18th Century skivvy, puts a plate of what look like meatballs on the table: “Something smells nice”.

Her: “Testicles”.

And there you have Richard Hurford’s play and Damian Cruden’s production on a plate – it’s a load of testicles. If I’ve resorted to Carry On humour that would be the influence of the script, a word I use loosely as even Cruden admits in his programme notes that “our production makes no sense whatsoever”.

A book considered unreadable has been turned into a play that’s unwatchable.

Words like brave and ambitious would normally be applied to any show that dares to be different, but words like unfunny and ill-conceived seem more appropriate here.

As befits a book famous for having no beginning, middle and end, this production rambles around from testicle jokes to the Muppets theme song without rhyme or reason with an emphasis on bawdy humour and naughty schoolboy words. By constantly reminding us it makes no sense, the play thinks it’s being clever, but is only alienating the audience further.

The starting point is a meeting of a book club to discuss Sterne’s book, but soon descends into a free-for-all where anything goes (including half the audience at the interval if they’re not careful).

The actors give it their all, but are fighting a losing battle. Wednesday night’s pitifully sparse audience (under 100 people in the main house) stuck it out, laughed occasionally and applauded at the end. More out of pity than praise, I suspect.

  • Until May 11. Box office – 01904623568 and yorktheatreroyal.co.uk