Polly Stenham is the hottest new thing to hit the West End and this, her first play, written when she was 19, is a damn sight better than the tripe I passed off as essays in my first year.

Malign/misunderstood schoolgirl Mia (Eve Hederwick Turner) nearly gets expelled for some torture initiation that makes the Hawks’ Club (that is a drinking society, right?) look senile. Her pederastic alcho-mum Martha (Jessica Lambert) can’t cope, so Hong-Kong-expat-stockbroker-shyster-dad Hugh flies back; and he’s useless too.

The whole team rose to the challenge of presenting familial self-destruct with commendable power and sincerity. Hedderwick Turner was splendid, bringing the callous teenage brat to life with nonchalant gum chewing. Her ‘Hi’ on seeing her mother again was the coldest one syllable word I’ve ever heard, with years of neglect packed into two little letters. Jess Lambert capably walked the tightrope of being simultaneously drunk, crazy and incestuous. Her conversation with the speaking clock was a brilliant monologue. Johan Munir (the dad) captured his admittedly more two-dimensional character with aplomb, seeming every bit the kind of man “who folds away his pants”.

Direction was slick on the whole. The usual first night technical errors were happily banished, and the hugely imaginative scene changes changed my life. Black-outs were replaced by bright multi-coloured lights, an eclectic soundtrack and a fast-forwarded montage of action. The lighting was so good lighting designer James Rickenbach almost stole the show.

That said, there’s only so much tense family drama one can swallow, and an hour and fifty minutes without an interval is a large helping. At best, the production took itself just a little bit too seriously. At worst, it was desperately earnest. This may be ‘play not production’ territory, but I think they could have sped up the direction (two or three moments had all the momentum of a sloth on Valium) and tried to squeeze a bit more humour out the script, because as it was, flashes of laughter were few and far between.

There was also some tension between strict naturalism, and moments of stylistic Drama Darling.  The opening ‘torture’ scene oscillated between a gritty bullying documentary and the dénouement of a Bond film.

All said, this genuine and intimate production was impressive, and deserves to be seen.