Metro-Boulot-Dodo's Fib unfolds in a 'Secret Basement location' in Leicester. Fourteen people have 28 seconds to choose a cubicle in which to spend three minutes on their own. The performance lasts until everyone has visited each of the fourteen boxes: a room in a melancholic chaos, a dark cell reverberating with one side of a break-up story, etc. Three boxes are occupied by a human body: a young 'philosopher' encased in Plexiglas, a lad with his big mouth blown-up on the wall behind, a woman seated right opposite you. The live performances are intense, not so much because of the daily-grind narrative material, but because you enter the narrow space of another human being. The bind is much stronger than a mere suspension of disbelief granted to the performer: such a degree of intimacy with a stranger makes you feel awkward. Little white lies or fibs take on a new significance here. Fib calls upon the audience to be productive and aims to elicit a response to the question, ‘Why do we lie?' You are, for instance, tacitly invited to contribute to the toilet graffiti or to use your three minutes there more thoroughly. However, since you have the choice throughout to engage or not with the proposed material, it is difficult not to reflect upon the performance itself: does it go beyond the anecdotal? Nevertheless, I keep re-entering box 14: comfortably sitting in what gradually becomes a visually striking crematorium chamber, you can truly imagine yourself going up in smoke: the lie is over.