I’m thinking about disabled theatre. I’m thinking about disabled theatre criticism. I’m thinking about it in context of a show I saw recently, to which my first responses were directly related to the fact that it was made by an artist with learning difficulties. I’m thinking about it in context of a talk I went to recently by Unlimited, a three-year commissioning and support programme for disabled artists, who say their long-term aim is not to exist, not to need to exist. I’m writing this, here, now, so I don’t have to mention it anywhere else in this review.

Except it doesn’t always work like that. It was overly ambitious to think that I could review a piece called Disabled Theatre without focusing on disability, and in a show about disability, visibility and other issues surrounding it, it would be doing it a disservice not to comment on it. Disabled Theatre, conceived by French choreographer Jérôme Bel, and performed (and also choreographed and written) by Theatre HORA, a group of disabled Swiss German actors, is under no illusions of its subject matter, nor how this subject is typically received.

The play is structured through the assistant and translator (and occasional stage hand) Simone Truong. She explains the simple instructions Bel gave the group, and then they perform them. Throughout an emphasis is placed on honesty and individual identity. It begins with an introduction of sorts, as each performer comes and stands before the audience, each in their own way. What strikes one here is the vast variety and personality of humanity and how rarely it is truly depicted on stage, and how the stage suffers for this.

As the piece progresses through its simple steps we get to know the performers a little better, and though most stages of the piece involved a similar action or short speech repeated eleven times by different performers, it is utterly unique each time. We learn each performer’s profession (all actors of course, point clearly made), and a little of their disability. Their responses to Bel’s requests are sometimes funny, sometimes moving, sometimes shocking, but always honest and willingly, joyfully expressed. Alongside this is a wonderful sense of how the group dynamic progresses, not only when the performers take centre stage, but also as they sit in a semi-circle at the back. Ostensibly not the centre of attention, the uninhibited performers are always sharing in-jokes, dancing, reacting to what is happening, and interacting, beautifully supporting each other through the piece.

In a particularly moving moment, a performer, Remo Zarentonello, says he performs to get over his fear, which he hates. But there is not a trace of fear here, at least not on stage. This is a show as much about overcoming mental barriers as physical ones, and again not just the performers. In another moment, when asked to give his opinion of the piece, a performer mentions it is like a casting, or an audition. This seemed to me remarkably appropriate, though who is auditioning whom, or when the audition will end, is not entirely clear.

This is theatre or dance of the utterly real. It is difficult not to love this piece; it is unpatronising, enlightening, and to quote one of the performers, direct.

Disabled Theatre played at the Shaw Theatre. Dance Umbrella is on until 31 October. For more shows see the Dance Umbrella website.