‘I’m so angry I could put you through the wall,’ Growler says some way into one of her dark chants, in this surreal and steadfastly genre-defying piece from Berlin-based Dee Mulrooney. Despite any preconceptions you might have about a woman dressed as an 82-year-old shamanic vulva, calling herself an irreverent epithet for lady parts, this is not a show that is here to tease or diffuse tension by sending up its subject. When Growler is angry, she growls.

But nor is it a piece in love with its own earnest. Mulrooney knows full well the absurdity of what she is doing, shuffling onstage in pink fluffy slippers with her shopping trolley fashioned into a shrine. She lurches from wild incantations to motherly blethers with god and King James VI. She reminds us that underneath the ground are the bones of women tortured and persecuted for witchcraft. She sings a murder ballad about teenage pregnancy that she has reclaimed and re-worded.

Her anger is balanced with a heart that is open and tender, yearning to heal us. The beauty of Growler is in its roughness, its erratic meandering, its refusal to be one thing or another. It has a sacred chaos of its own, in which Mulrooney thrives.

Growler, Summerhall, until 26 August, 7pm.