Forget Kate Winslet and Leonardo di Caprio; the stars of this Titanic are fire and water: the 30,000 litres of water that spray and spurt over the ship and the rapacious flames that fill the night sky.
In three performances over the weekend, the German Theater Titanick built, launched and destroyed the celebrated liner in 70 minutes in the Cathedral car park.
It was in an ambitious spectacle that blended live music, comic performance, and technical brilliance.
The ship's vast scaffolding was raised to the accompaniment of murmuring foghorns, the portentous droning of didgeridoo and the tapping of hammers.
The opening sequences evoked the grandeur of the enterprise, the turn-of-the-century optimism about progress and the possibilities of engineering, while hinting at danger and foreboding.
A sense of unease increased as the first-class passengers guzzled champagne through enormous funnels and stuffed themselves with roast pig.
The ship was barely launched when the cry "iceberg!" was heard, but the guests were oblivious.
The portrayal of the passengers was crude, broadly satirical and sketchy, making it impossible for the audience to identify or engage with these characters, or to feel any pity.
They are figures in an impersonal morality play, caught in a cycle of creation and destruction, of human aspiration and folly, visually realised through fireworks, floods and the final, exhilarating inferno.
This was pure spectacle, which, as spectators were spattered by hoses and drenched by the Galway rain, satisfied our destructive impulses without overcoming an over-riding sense of detachment.