This gleeful Kiwi satire finds comedy in mayhem and debauchery, writes reviewer Paul Simei-Barton.
In an age that has seen it all, it is no longer possible to fulfil the avant garde imperative to "shock the bourgeoisie", but as the enfant terrible of New Zealand theatre, playwright Thomas Sainsbury remains determined to give it his best shot.
His principal strategy is to find humour in acts of unspeakable cruelty. But this device has become a staple of popular entertainment and audiences have no problem accepting ironic representations of the most horrific violence as just another comedic convention.
Of course there is nothing wrong with using conventional forms, and Sainsbury does bring a gleeful exuberance to his lovingly crafted images of psychotic mayhem and casual debauchery.
Sunday Roast serves up a wildly hallucinogenic satire on the great Kiwi ritual of family cohesion, and the climactic scenes generate a kind of frisson as audiences find themselves laughing out loud at actions that should be causing revulsion.