Riding the crest of a thousand memes about ending up in A&E with splinters in unutterable places, Wicker is a bawdy new comedy that fulfills all expectations. For one, we do indeed discover what fornicating with a sentient wicker basket might look like. But Wicker also complicates the gag with a touching portrait of how patriarchal expectation has robbed romance of the use of its tongue – in all meanings of the phrase.

At its centre is a gender-swapped Pygmalion fairytale, set in some vague configuration of Ye Olde England, in which the unmarried Fisherwoman ( Olivia Colman ) – lonely, yes, but also sick of everyone’s snide comments – commissions the Basket Weaver ( Peter Dinklage , unmatched in delivering the character’s florid soliloquies) to make her a husband.

He emerges in wicker Alexander Skarsgård form, via some astounding practical prosthetics, who is kindly in soul and mighty in downstairs package; he says things like, “you are the reason I live and breathe”, which is literally true – though the…