In 2006 Big Wow, Liverpool based physical comedy duo Matt Rutter and Tim Lynskey with writer Robert Farquar, burst onto the fringe scene in Edinburgh with their sell out, Total Theatre award nominated show Insomnobabble. Their work combines anarchic and slickly-written comedy with phenomenally skilful and detailed multi-roling that enables the cast of two to conjure a world of comic characters on a stage devoid of costume, props or set. Eight years on, with their fourth show, though their first time back to the Fringe, their unusual formula strikes another hit.

In many ways, The Art of Falling Apart mines similar territory to Insomnobabble. Matt Rutter reprises his role as a suffering protagonist, here straining against inertia and a loss of purpose: he may be sleeping fine but at 35 in a dead end job and a relationship in a rut, he feels like a failure and longs to escape. Around this emotional eye of the storm, Lynskey creates a whirlwind of characters messing with his head, complicating his life, and generally creating mayhem. Farquar’s sharp script doesn’t waste a single word, bristling with killer one liners and satire that ranges its targets across self help, art, and pop culture. Stock comedy characters abound: the overpoweringly smug yuppie colleague, the Butch cockney hedonist, an Irish innocent who perhaps owes a little too much to Ardal O’Hanlon’s Father Dougal.

But these familiar figures are transformed by the physical and vocal skill and sheer relentless, overwhelming energy and commitment that the two performers bring to bear. There’s a satisfying feeling of limits bring pushed in many scenes, from a weird, wild party populated by a diverse cast of five increasingly inebriated characters; to the physical challenges of frantic rave or running scenes. The character transformations are fast, flawless and completely exhilarating.

Big Wow have been developing The Art of Falling Apart since 2012 (they are based at the Unity in Liverpool) and it shows. Yet it’s not just a slick and brilliantly entertaining hour and twenty minutes of some of the finest physical and character comedy you’re likely to find on the Fringe. The writer and performers never lose sight of the emotional heart of the figures they are portraying and this story of existential crisis and unlikely friendship is, ultimately, unexpectedly moving. Thoroughly uplifting stuff.

On stage a sheep is grazing. It has no eyes but nevertheless from time to time fixes a gleeful audience member with a truculent stare. This characterful living sheepskin is only the first of a wild array of beautifully crafted puppets that animate this tale of Welsh mythology. Emerging company Puppet Soup have concocted a story that weaves together several classic myths, focussing on the iconic red dragon immortalised on the Welsh flag. It’s a vast canvas they draw on, beginning with an epic battle that shakes the mountains and taking in a whole lifetime’s work spent carefully guarding an egg. There are potent symbols of good and evil: a singing goddess hovering over her magic cauldron, a deathly white snake whose only purpose is vengeance. These are not simple or gentle stories but they are presented with a warmth that is infectious.

PuppetSoup exhibit a sharp understanding of visual storytelling and the needs of younger audiences. They structure their material carefully – we begin with the distant, magical storytelling of shadow theatre and evolve toward increasingly spectacular puppets. There is much direct address, bilingually in English and Welsh which, to a non- speaker, simply adds a rich layer of atmosphere to proceedings.

The puppets, by Fagner Gastaldon, are evocative and striking. The skull-like head of the white snake is genuinely unsettling and there’s some lovely play with scale, as the magical egg grows. Mountains appear and disappear, magical kingdoms are revealed inside tree trunks, journeys across oceans and through dreams are brought convincingly to life through clever design elements and a pleasing array of puppets that retain a seriousness without becoming twee or Disneyfied. Much of the puppetry is emotive and powerful though one or two of the extensive puppet cast still need work on clarity of action. The storytelling largely hits the right pace and tone, with effective switches from high drama to warm comedy that completely captured and held the audience of over-fives, which can be challenging with non-familiar stories.

There are still some wrinkles to iron out in this new production. I sometimes found the score too filmic and epic-sounding: puppets are all about theatricality and I felt the extra hype was uncalled for. Some of the floor level puppetry struggled with the sightlines in the ZOO venue. Yet this is a company who treat their material and audiences with respect and earn it back. Land of the Dragon is a magical show that’s moving and visually captivating – catch it while you can.

Deconstructed fairytales have long made classic Fringe fare. After Bettelheim and Angela Carter we’re all aware of the latent warnings and desires lurking in their mythic outlines, rich and iconic – perfect for developing theme or subtext in new plays. Shona Reppe though, unpicks her fairy tale according to a material logic in this new installation production, and the result is as playful and intellectually satisfying as any cultural or psychological analysis.

We enter three by three, invited into a fully realised fairy tale world in which we are the not-so-little pigs. In a specially created environment built into the Traverse foyer we are taken on a journey through charmingly inventive rooms. We are the protagonists, there is no cast – our job is to explore. I don’t want to give away many of the details as every room is packed with surprises to discover, to notice, and enjoy – a process that’s rich and fun for adults but must be completely magical for children, who will appreciate its thorough and entrancing logic. The dramaturgy is completely satisfying – we move from room to room not only because this is a great way to create contrasting environments but because this, after all, is a story about houses. We are navigated by a prim storytelling voice who narrates the installation – guiding us through our movements and actions whilst remaining charmingly detached from our encounters with the space.

The rooms themselves, while joyously logical remain completely unpredictable. The show is beautifully produced, with the sort of impeccable eye for detail Reppe exhibited in her previous collaboration with Catherine Wheels, the multi-award wining White (2010). The whole thing is handed with a deft and delicate touch and is a perfect 25-minute treat. You will never look at bacon the same way again

Established Spanish street theatre company Vagalume Teatro have created a touching and funny mask performance in their first exploration of this form. They establish an effective and simple premise: three elderly people meet by chance when they share the same bench. Each is suffering – one is too poor to eat, one cannot afford the medicine he needs, and the third is a protestor who dreams of changing the system. Recognising one another’s plight, they see a plan to help themselves: together they will rob a cash machine.

The characters are sharply drawn and beautifully performed. Oversized latex masks allow for detail in the crafted faces and the physical characterisation is deft and perfectly timed. Recognisable gestures, that range from yoga breathing techniques to saucy dance routines, bring these characters firmly into our world, whilst at the same time clownish touches – constant playing to the crowd, silly props like honking horn and a giant bundle of dynamite – animate and lift the comedy. But it’s the show’s themes that that are the most identifiable: the poverty of these old people is all-too plausible in this age of austerity and their resistance to it makes the material all the more touching.

The production is well crafted: a revolving set – on one side the bench, on the other the ATM – offers everything the story needs for some effective chase sequences as well as supporting some suitably bizarre costume changes as we witness the characters’ hilarious fantasies of what they’d do if the heist comes off. Fundamentally, Vagalume has created characters we root for. As you would expect from a company with three decades of street theatre behind them, the storytelling is well paced and with some nice theatrical surprises. This is a satisfying example of the ways mask theatre can reach readily and powerfully into territory conventional drama would have to work much harder to effectively pull off.