By TOBY LICHTIG
Attending any of the longer theatrical performances at this year's Latitude Festival was nigh on impossible given the accompaniment of a tiny child, but I did manage to catch one excellent and crucially (for my purposes) short piece of theatre, which has stayed with me ever since.
Sweat Box by Chloë Moss (directed by Imogen Ashby) takes places in a prison van. (The van, I was told, was requisitioned off some dodgy geezer who does a nice line in them: apparently they make good horse boxes.) There's space for around twelve audience members in the back of the vehicle, pushed up against three tiny locked cells. (We were allowed to inspect the cells afterwards: no seatbelts, barely room to move.) In each cell sits a woman, waiting to be transported to prison. The van has stopped for unknown reasons. The women aren't told what's happening, adding to their sense of frustration . . . .