BIGRE / Fish Bowl by Compagnie le Fils du Grand Réseau

Pure physical comedy brilliance that leaves language at the door and fills the theatre with laughter.

A production by Pierre Guillois,Co-written by Agathe L’Huillier and Olivier Martin-Salvan.

After a rave run at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe and a successful international tour, Molière Award-winning Fish Bowl finally makes its West End debut at Sadler’s Wells Peacock Theatre, running from Wednesday 28 January to Saturday 31 January 2026. And while its origins are unmistakably French, this is a piece of comedy that feels delightfully, reassuringly British.

At its heart, Fish Bowl is a gloriously silly, meticulously crafted piece of slapstick. The humour is broad, physical and joyfully unashamed. Think Mr Bean meets Some Mothers Do ’Ave ’Em, filtered through a distinctly European absurdist lens. Mishaps pile upon mishaps, everyday objects become the enemy, and dignity is gleefully discarded at every opportunity.

This is a mime show in the loosest sense. There are sounds, noises, snippets of karaoke and the occasional musical cue, but nothing that requires linguistic comprehension. The comedy is entirely visual, making it instantly accessible. You don’t follow this show so much as surrender to it.

The set immediately establishes the comic playground: a cross-section of a rundown loft apartment, complete with exposed pipes, narrow partitions and open sightlines that allow the audience to see everything and, crucially, anticipate disaster before it happens. We even see the roof, complete with a battered aerial and chimney stack, later used to excellent comic effect when a character clambers up to sunbathe. The choice to leave walls open not only aids the visual storytelling, reinforces the cramped, slightly grimy feel of the living space but also improves sight lines.

Three characters occupy three very distinct zones. One lives in a stark, clinical white space featuring an automatic door and toilet; another exists among chaos, clutter, socks hanging to dry and boxes stacked precariously; the third inhabits a pink-hued area that feels softer but no less absurd. Each environment perfectly mirrors its occupant, and the comedy frequently arises from how ill-suited these people are to both their spaces and each other.

The three-person cast; Guillois, L’Huillier, Martin-Salvan and Agathe L’Huillier are superb. Each performer brings a precise physical vocabulary, and the timing throughout is razor-sharp. There are moments of beautifully simple comedy, but also impressively intricate, tech-heavy gags: a motorbike helmet with an automatic retracting visor, plumbing catastrophes, and a series of escalating mechanical failures that feel like a live-action cartoon.

Despite the title, the fishbowl itself is not the central gag; rather, it becomes a metaphor for the cramped living conditions. A narrow corridor is established early on and used repeatedly to great effect; most memorably during a dance break (yes, there is a dance break, and yes, it is excellent). The performers somehow manage to turn this minimal strip of space into something dynamic, joyous and hilariously chaotic.

There is an overarching narrative, with L’Huillier’s character trying out various jobs and tentative relationships forming, but plot is very much secondary. Scenes are played for visual pleasure and comic invention rather than narrative momentum, and rightly so. This is comedy as spectacle.

The puppetry is a particular highlight. From flying rubbish and rogue bras to fish erupting from sinks, the surprises keep coming. Objects take on lives of their own: hair flaps in unseen wind, debris launches unexpectedly, and nothing behaves as it should. The sound design matches this inventiveness, with standout moments including the buzzing fly, the thudding rubbish chute, and a thunderstorm given unexpected weight through added bass. There is even some unapologetic toilet humour, always a crowd-pleaser when done this well.

The production transcends language entirely, celebrating human frustration, resilience and sheer idiocy, even throwing in a wonderfully mangled rendition of ‘My heart will go on’ for good measure. It does contain brief references to suicide, a poorly treated rabbit and some fake blood, but nothing that derails the overwhelming sense of fun.

The ending is slightly unconventional, a curtain call followed by an additional scene, which may confuse some; though it feels like a knowingly humorous nod to the now-familiar “one last gag” ending. Either way, the audience leaves laughing.

Fish Bowl is an expertly engineered piece of visual comedy: inventive, silly, and relentlessly funny. It is proof that slapstick, when done this well, remains timeless.

Photo credit to Fabienne Rappeneau HD