A play by Tom Stoppard, whose sole purpose is to set up a completely ludicrous tableau at the end, which however follows with exquisite Stoppardian logic from everything that has gone before.

Two ballroom dancers are preparing for an event, in a hurry, so have moved furniture out of the way. A lampshade using bullets as a counterweight has broken, so the woman is crawling on the floor looking for them. The mother plays the tuba so they had earlier been to a gallery to see a Magritte exhibition. This all fits together, trust me. A policeman outside sees the activity inside as suspicious, and calls in his inspector, who proceeds to confront them and put together a totally wrong story*, which unbeknownst to him crucially depends on his own actions earlier that day. They offer him a banana, and the male dancer stands on one leg as an experiment. (You have to keep trusting me: it all fits.)

After Magritte was first performed on 9 April 1970, with a cast including Prunella Scales as one of the dancers.

* The inspector's theory may be set out in his own words thus: "The facts appear to be that shortly after two o'clock this afternoon, the talented though handicapped doyen of the Victoria Palace Happy Minstrel Troupe emerged from his dressing-room in blackface, and entered the sanctum of the box-office staff; whereupon, having broken his crutch over the heads of those good ladies, the intrepid uniped made off with the advance takings stuffed into the crocodile boot which, it goes without saying, he had surplus to the conventional requirements."

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