Virtually anything I'd write about this performance piece by curious.com, the American-British duo Leslie Hill and Helen Paris, would wreck the surprise upon which much of it relies. For a start, it's very much of the genus of Desperate Optimists. Indeed, Christine Molloy (from Desperate Optimists) appears on a video monitor in the foyer, wearing her usual puck-Teutonic deadpan, as she dons a baroque cowboy suit and sparks up a Marlborough with a pistol lighter. s. But the show is anything but. Partly it's about The show is partly about undermining the conventions of performance and ritual, while the artists enact fragmented, semi-autobiographic musings on transitoriness and personal desertion.

Entering the space is extremely disorienting. It reminded me of the Monty Python sketch about the milkman lured by a lady into a bedroom, where a host of previous, cobwebbed milkmen were locked up.

When their routines overlap, Hill and Paris line up almost as butch and femme, from Hill's long-jump into a bed of salt, to Paris's horrific (particularly in light of the Kursk) rant on drowning in the desert heat.

Deserter zips together all sorts of unrelated ideas in a way which is, by turns, impenetrable, hilarious and wistful. The constant soundtrack is a colourless, odourless ambience of sampletrip-hop and jungle-beats, and you come out feeling as if you've had a strange and cultish experience.

Closes tomorrow; booking at 1850260027