Somewhere in the Canary Islands is a private clinic where the sun always shines, the drinks always flow — and absolutely nothing is under control.

Meet Doctor Serrano, a surgeon who disappears into clouds of cigar smoke to avoid trouble, mostly his insanely jealous wife. Matron Richards who survived the war and thinks tomato juice is the cure for everything, even her hangovers. The nurses hide from Immigration by jumping into patients’ beds. The ambulance driver is usually missing, in bed with whoever. And the patients?

They’re the sanest people in the building.

Before one extraordinary day is over, there will be sex, spies, Nazis, drunken Scandinavians, the French Resistance, a White Russian count, three Maasai women, a private detective who couldn’t detect sand in a desert, a flooded operating room, an alphorn, a swinging chandelier taken over by a gay theater troupe — and considerably more medical malpractice than should be allowed under one roof.

Outrageous. Completely unpredictable. Totally insane.

Clinic in the Sun is a gloriously unhinged black comedy about what happens when the lunatics in the asylum are the owner and staff.

Uproariously foot-stomping funny! Too much!