Comedic timing is elusive – pause too long and you’re labouring the point. Too short – the audience overlook the joke. Perfect timing often goes unnoticed, but is ultimately appreciated. Unfortunately, during Pale Horse, I often missed the comedy in what is undoubtedly a brilliant script.

Charles (Laurie Coldwell) runs a pub, and we join him as he learns that his wife has died. He convenes with various bizarre individuals: pimps, doctors and an unintentionally camp ‘ard man. He also buries a body and falls in love. Busy night. Coldwell was fantastic - I had no notes on his performance other than several large ticks. He loped across the stage with real presence, and his many monologues were delivered with a precarious juggle amongst the hilarious, scary and moving. It was when other characters were introduced that it all went a bit downhill. The first peculiar meeting is with an embalmer, whose affected manner could have worked, if it were – well, funnier. This held true for all of these encounters; it could be a miscalculation on the director’s part, or it could be a lack of the afore-mentioned comic timing. Either way, I was calculating comic potential, rather than laughing. And the reverse case scenario was worse: wanting to laugh at things that were evidently not meant to be funny.

That's not to say that there weren’t moments of respite. The Maitre d’ was terrific and horrifying by turns, and Giulia Galastro was compelling as Lucy, Charles’ employee-come-lover, more irresistible with every arrogant thrust of her chin. Their love scene – complete with clothes removal – was neither trite nor awkward. No mean feat in the close proximity of the Corpus Playroom.

Unfortunately, the leads’ performances couldn't alleviate the feeling that one too many bad decision had been made, and chances for comedy missed. The use of the space was pitch-perfect, but this production just missed the mark. Go for some truly beautiful moments between Galastro and Coldwell, but be prepared to laugh in all the wrong places.