Even before it starts, the first thing that strikes you about this production is the set - not just because of Judith Croft's excellent design, but also because it is so far downstage. This feeds directly into the energy of the first act - essentially a series of three duologues - with the dialogue flying like bullets from strong characters virtually sitting in our laps.

And what characters they are: a group of real-estate salesmen circling their marks, but just as likely to take bites out of each other; some seemingly washed up, others in the ascendant. All have the same desire, and the same complaint: they want to climb the leader-board, but they desperately need some decent leads.

Mamet's writing is glorious, and gloriously non-PC; but the piece requires strong ensemble acting in order to truly take off. The cast do not disappoint. David Fleeshman brings a palpable sense of desperation to his portrayal of Shelly Levene; so much so you can almost taste the acridity of his sweat. Paul Barnhill's subtle and disciplined performance as buttoned-up desk-jockey John Williamson gives real strength and depth to a character that in the hands of a lesser actor could easily have been a mere straight-man. John McAndrew's Dave Moss is horribly believable as the most shark-like of the salesmen, and the most likely to turn on the other predators, James Quinn's slightly bumbling George Aaronow looking like the most likely target. As his almost-namesake Richard Roma, Richard Dormer is electric, a flashing shoal of piranhas first dazzling, stripping his targets to the bone. Potential mug James Lingk is played by Leigh Symonds with a sensitivity that leaves the audience almost as keen as he is that he wriggles free. Or at least it would, if not for the fact that you can't help rooting for Roma.

It is a healthy sign of Chris Honer the Director's self-confidence that he allows an occasional nod to the cult 1992 film version, whilst still maintaining his own very clear, fresh and vibrant vision of this bruising play.

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I could cite many people who could be called obsessive eccentrics, creative geniuses, or pig-headed mavericks, but are ultimately just talented people expressing themselves creatively … "Snowflake" Bentley, for example, who was obsessed with photographing images of snowflakes is one … Bruce Bickford is another: an eccentric, yet talented animator and model-maker, a cult figure whose work features in several Frank Zappa films. He has worked independently - some might say obsessively and reclusively - from his home-based studio since the '70s. In a rare appearance in London, as part of a brief European tour, Bickford shared the release of his latest animated film, 'Cas'l' with an appreciative audience in a special evening organised by the London International Animation Festival.

'Cas'l' is an evocation of multiple Bickfordian worlds, which intermingle. At the outset, a humanoid clay figure enters an art gallery through an open window, observes a painting coming to life, opening up a whole transformative world in a constant state of transformation. "Animation is concentrated energy. The camera captures light and … there it is." Bickford's words sum up Bickford's worlds, in which elements are always in flux - urged on by a sense of purpose which is - by definition in his worlds - warped. The power of his imagination is phenomenal and this, along with his considerable model-making and animation talent, creates scenes in which the transformative power and value of pizza cannot be underestimated. In his films, pizzas morph Ovidically from ovoid painters' palettes to conventional delicacies then on to monstrous gargoyles, which consume themselves. The act of self-consumption generates yet new transformations, heralding new scenes in which anti-heroes triumph temporarily and Davids battle Goliaths; where Amazonian women cavort naked in Paradisical gardens, which are invaded by Conquistador figures, ultimately overcome by new adversaries which appear from where you're least expecting them. Clay greenery seemingly moved by the winds of change, transforms, in its turn, into new monsters which morph into buildings … and so on. While his technical skill is amazing, Bickford tends to favour technical challenge over basic stalwarts such as linear narrative, emotional variety, in-depth character analysis or any sense of transformative experience an audience member can latch onto. In Bickford's worlds, transformation itself is abstracted and celebrated, and what we are left with, in 'Cas'l', is a strong start, bulked out by clips of previous work, featured both in Brett Ingram's 2004 documentary 'Monster Road' featuring Bruce Bickford and his work and on Bruce Bickford's own website - Feats of Clay is just one such example. Most impressive are a sequence which evokes the world of Shakespearean London, Bankside and the Globe Theatre, by the river Thames, with the river masterfully animated in breathtaking flow, and sequences which combine clay animation with human action.

While Bickford in America was free from the constrictions of a Soviet regime, his work, in common with that of Soviet animators, feeds on oppression and draws inspiration from it. Monster Road, which opened the evening, casts valuable light on Bickford's background. It revealed the tragic story of a Highly Sensitive Person, by his own admission dyslexic, who had fallen through the vast social cracks in the façade of the rural American society in which he grew up. It showed how he had, to the best of his ability, navigated the inner canyons of his psyche which he ended up having to face as a result. It also reveals the fine line in the everyday world between fantasy and reality and model-making, showing Bickford entering fairground-type edifices in the shape of shoes, or cowboy hats planted in the middle of urban landscapes, or the formative importance of living with artificial townscapes built on top of aircraft and missile hangars during WWII to confound enemy aircraft. Bickford's escapist work, which borders on art therapy, yet obviously transcends that, reflects his struggles, but also the landscape in which he grew up, and ultimately reflects on both. While Bickford's work is realist, rather than abstract, his elevation of abstraction over narrative arguably ends up sabotaging his own work. In one scene in Monster Road, Bickford is seen talking about wanting to take an advertising mascot used in the US in the '50s and '60s called 'Speedy', whom he'd developed a strong antipathy towards, stripping him naked and drowning him, then strongly decrying his impulse to do so. The irony of seeking to violently destroy an acknowledged and, for many, effective curative was left uncommented on, yet perhaps therein lies a clue to the essence of his work, whatever people choose to make of it.

Most impressive are Bickford's line drawing animations, one of which was shown during this special evening, with references to Meliès, among others, abounding. There is pure creative fluidity in Bickford's work which is unique, individual and defies any attempt to define it. Being at the screening, in his presence, felt rather like it must have been like to attend a premiere of Dalì's 'Un Chien Andalou' with Dalì in the audience. A bit awe-inspiring, a bit daunting, very puzzling, but ultimately memorable. Whether Bickford ultimately is an obsessive eccentric, creative genius, or pig-headed maverick is immaterial. His work speaks for itself. The guy is a great animator. That he should be recognised as such and his talent celebrated in his lifetime is indisputable. That the London International Animation Festival did so does them great honour.

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Ever heard the name John Gielgud? Well, if not you must confine yourself to the theatrical archives of the internet until you are thoroughly familiar with his life and works. He was only the 'go-to guy' for Shakespeare! Among countless other enviable successes, Gielgud performed in a Tony Award winning one man show called Ages Of Man throughout the 1950s and 60s, compiling Shakespeare's most iconic speeches into a journey representative of youth, manhood and finally old-age. With Tribute, George Innes makes his own mark on those famous words, punctuating them with letters written by Gielgud to those closest to him.

Though logic reassures you that the piece is very well structured and meticulously thought out, the performance is so terribly alienating that the material all seems to sit together like a stagnant pool. Speeches out of context often feel a little odd and though the contents of Gielgud's letters are fascinating, they are equally aloof. Anyone under the age of forty-five could be forgiven for not realising that Larry and Vivien were Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh and those of us too young to have ever seen Gielgud on stage will naturally feel a little left out. Some awkward scenographic inconsistencies and the presence of an off-putting lutist, who seems to come and go as she pleases, makes the whole performance a little difficult to sit through. One might also humbly suggest that Innes might have been a little more selective in regards to the material he chose to keep and that which he obviously did not choose to cut. Get the scissors out!

Tribute's saving grace is the fact that the whole show centres around a superb talent; not Gielgud's but that of Innes. The veteran performer has a marvelously warming presence with a deep velvet voice that could make a line from Avenue Q sound profound. Nice and relaxed, Innes brought a sense of humble admiration for Gielgud's work to the proceedings. Each speech is performed in much the same manner and the action is played, for the most part, to only one side of the audience sat around a thrust stage. Oddly, though, Innes manages to make what must be the most highbrow show on earth feel surprisingly unpretentious. Far from being afraid of those iconic words, Innes tears through the material with an excellent grasp on emotion and the kind of lyrical confidence that only a man of his age and experience could manage.

One has to wonder really, whether Tribute is the work of an indulgent ego or a truly humble apprentice. Whilst the former is surely the case, the problem is that there are moments when the distinction is not quite as clear as perhaps it should be. More a treat for the seasoned theatrical academic than your average theatre goer, Tribute really is a display of extraordinary talent. It is just a shame to see it flounder in a less than engaging presentation.

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