Tilted towards us on the stage is a huge steel cube. It is a kitchen, but it has no solid walls, only girders, so that we can see inside. Within this claustrophobic, metallic cell an unhappy couple are trying to resolve their problems - mainly that, despite her constant pleas, he won't sleep with her and wants to leave.

Music crashes into our ears, projections of disasters turn the kitchen appliances momentarily into television screens, and then on top of the ceiling, high above the stage, we are addressed by a master-of-ceremonies figure, the leader of a team of angel-demons who have tired of giving the world in general hell, and have decided instead to concentrate all their attention on these unfortunate humans.

Revelations is physical theatre in the extreme, as the angels swing through the kitchen, up and down its walls, through the ceiling where they gather like waiting vultures, and once even disappear through the floor. They writhe around the couple, appearing magically from inside the fridge or the washing machine or the oven, predatory and manipulative. Their extraordinary manoeuvres are the show's greatest strength.

On a deeper level, the piece is probing the question of man's independence from God. Can the couple make their own destiny, or are they being forever frustrated, goaded, cajoled by these black-clad supernaturals into decisions taken for them? The overriding mood is one of depression, but it's enlivened by a lot of humour, and by a superb performance from Liam Steel as the MC - vicious and amusing, heartless in his analysis of the two unfortunates. Near the start, and again at the end, he leads his team in a rooftop dance with feather boas as though this show is a musical, and at one point he gives us a song wearing a spangly gown. He talks a lot - mainly to us, the audience, and the script is witty and observant, but at one-and-a-half hours this show is too long, and our interest in the central couple and their will-he? won't-he? sexual tug-of-war dwindles. Finally, driven on by the angel interlopers, the man does have sex with the woman, which implies that, in writer Nigel Charnock's view, we are indeed puppets, and pretty miserable ones at that.