...Shiny treacle pooling and glistening in the different beams of light that have been shifted about. And because The Yard is fucking freeee-eeeezing they’ve got these two orange heaters onstage that make a gorgeous glow too. Lovely..... So they get the bow and they leave the poor guy slumped in the corner with the lights going out all around him (I love the lighting in this show too fucking much, seriously), crying about how he won’t be able to eat because his magic bow killed goats and vultures for him and now he’s gonna waste away with his gangrene and the goats and vultures will eat him. I genuinely thought it might end there for a minute or two. The timing of it is just right. He whimpers in the corner just long enough for you to think “Shit man, this is totally why they call these things tragedies.” I was proper gutted, genuinely. But then! Hooray! The Sheffield boy-god has a conscience!....At the end there’s a brilliant, brilliant surprise, and a brilliant final beat that - again - is timed just right. But I wouldn’t want to spoil that moment for you with any more of this comprehensive and considered theatre criticism.