of course your lover dreams - just don't ask about it.

A question arose while waiting for The Erotic Anguish of Don Juan to begin at the Roxy Theatre- how can you create a story of the (self-professed) world's greatest lover with only one woman in the cast? Moreover, whom, for the better part of the play, is lit with shadows, silent, and androgynous in dress? (She also portrays a demon, but before the English lit theory textbooks come whipping out, everyone on stage is some kind of demonic.)

The answer, at least to the Old Trout Puppet Workshop, is puppets.

Lots and lots of puppets, expertly carved and not nearly as static as they seemed at first glance, from the tiny cherubs on the crown of the setpieces (four massive, double-sided wardrobes that spun dizzyingly across the stage over the course of the play and transformed into everything from a taverna to an angel) to the disembodied arms and legs that summoned Don Juan from his first love to the nine hundred and ninety-nine women who were to follow. And the puppets work together; as the play progresses, it becomes easier to see what the puppeteers want you to - the dance sequence of temptress/barista Eva is something that has to be seen to be believed.

The story goes that Don Juan has been trapped in hell for the past five hundred years, strapped into what could be a confessional booth with a particularly pretty window - and more directly, a chastity belt that is a slightly more chain-mail version of the one from Seven. He's been given a night's reprieve to tell the audience his story, and casts his jailors as key roles along the way. Plays within plays are a common theme this Roxy season - and used to chilling effect in the season opener The Woman in Black - but is no less effective here.

There's plenty of laughs and sex (after a fashion) and fourth-wall smashing; Don Juan falls in love with audience members and quips at them throughout the narrative - he tells the sound folks to "play the sad music" and at one point, he incites the audience to orgy. I didn't move; I was sitting beside my mother. (...who was, fortunately, laughing, though she noted that perhaps this wasn't the safest choice for the week prior to Easter.)

But despite the wooden limbs and masks, this confused Pinocchio has a good heart and a roguish grin, and it's more than enough to keep you interested in his story.