With galactic levels of energy and a pocketful of tiny props, Peter Michael Marino and Marisol Soledad rustle up a small but epic world. In vaudeville makeup and practical stagehands’ vests, they circle a tabletop set – the kind of thing Blue Peter might have made out of milk bottle tops – as they marshal an army of miniature puppets to tell a vintage tale. For this is a Hollywood classic with a merlot tint. This is Planet of the Grapes.

The whole show is basically that one joke, but it squeezes a surprising amount of juice from it. Grape-bunch clouds float across the sky while, on the planet’s surface below, key characters are represented by wine corks with tiny costumes attached. There are many, many, truly terrible puns, and though the show works best if you know the plot of the film, Marino and Soledad provide enough of a primer to make the parody accessible to all. It’s delivered with a cheeky self-consciousness and, to keep us all alert, the first few rows are armed with throwable props and eagerly await the cue to deploy them.

This show began as a lockdown project, performed on Zoom to be watched close-up on a computer screen, and that heritage shows – in both good ways and bad. It’s retained a lively sense of being stitched together from whatever Marino found in his cupboard, most gloriously when it conjures entire swirling galaxies from cheap-looking illuminated toys. And there’s something endearing about its unwavering commitment to a fundamentally nonsensical joke; by the end, a conversation about whether grapes evolved from humans feels… well, at least reasonable enough to engage with.

But the cork-sized puppets make less sense when viewed at theatre scale – and though the miniature set unquestionably has charm, there’s only so much you can watch characters hop about on the end of sticks before the gimmick wears thin. Wisely, Marino’s script does introduce some larger puppets for close-up scenes, and a particularly effective off-stage foray where the audience themselves form the set. All the same, I’m left wondering whether the central conceit might have lost some force in the transition from Zoom to Pleasance.

But accept it for what it is – a deeply silly romp that doesn’t care too much about logic – and Planet of the Grapes is a funny, upbeat hour. The scrappy creativity belies precision in the delivery, and a few visual flourishes inspire genuine delight. I won’t spoil the ending if you don’t already know it, but this much I can say: as long as there are shows like this one, the torch of Fringe spirit will burn bright and high.