There is a man is an oversized, cartoonish lion costume centrestage. He introduces himself in cod-Scots: he is Lionel McLion. Just glimpsed in the darkness of his mouth is a second mouth, human: this is performance-maker Mamoru Iriguchi. But it’s no naive design flaw that discloses his presence, we can see Mamoru because he’s just been eaten. Whole. And now he and Lionel are going have a chat and about what just happened, and what happens next.

Eaten is a playful piece of performance for children (6+) that demonstrates, through ingenious and comic design, and dramaturgy that’s tight as a drum, some of the raw science of food chains. Its two performers, Iriguchi alongside Suzi Cunningham, introduce a series of unlikely characters though transformations, costumes and puppets. A food web of interdependence, with a little bit of dance,  against a backdrop of Boys Own-style adventures in the Serengeti, is born. The show proceeds through the relentless logic of the child’s imagination: no performance choice is left unexplained. All of its bizarreness and absurdity exist within a complete system. It is immensely satisfying and very silly, using Iriguchi’s friendly costume designs to animate into vivid life the circle of life (to coin a phrase) that runs through and between our bodies and their world.

Despite the apparent simplicity of its central premise, Eaten never talks down to its audience, ensuring that they remain in on the joke, which of course makes what could have felt for children like a sticky, even babyish subject much funnier and more interesting. There are some smartly managed bits of audience interaction, during which it becomes clear that Iriguchi won’t be rushing to meet his audience half way, which the children clearly love. Eilidh MacAskill’s direction is cool and clear and lets the costumes take centrestage, creating a series of highly memorable images. This is a very funny performance that vividly brings to life a strangely taboo and emotive subject – grown up performance for young audiences.

Photo by Manuel Vasson