Eigengrau is the latest in a string of Cambridge stagings of new writing recently performed in London fringe venues, but, against the trend and much to my (bitter) relief, it's not by someone younger than me. The title, in case you're not a German optician, is a word for 'the colour seen by the eye in perfect darkness'.

Judging from the ADC plot synopsis though, the production team are worried about the saleability of this obscure name; it's unsurprising that the line they have picked out as tagline just happens to include mentions of porno-style hair removal, sexual domination and the f-bomb. And it is an explicit play, bleakly so for the most part: one scene of desperate, transactional fellatio is almost as upsetting to watch as the graphic violence depicted in another.

The cast of four were, without exception, impeccably cast. Bridie McPherson's understated performance as Cassie was quietly excellent, while Theo Boyce as the grieving, listless Tim, wrought depth from a potentially flat role. In the difficult task of depicting Mark's ambiguity, Sam Curry succeeded, balancing moments that seem sincere with crueller ones, so that we are never quite sure what to think of him, and, as Rose, Katherine Soper walked the fine line between infuriatingly, selfishly naïve and refreshingly un-jaded à la Poppy in Happy Go Lucky.

The capacious Fitzpatrick Theatre, host to BATS productions, is a mixed blessing for this production. On the one hand, the element of voyeurism - the characters occasionally joke-narrate occurrences in  the style of Big Brother - is brought to the uncomfortable fore in a theatre with such a clear division between 'audience' and 'spectacle'. On the other, a more claustrophobic setting could have taken this up another notch, and would have been more forgiving of the occasionally lethargically exchanged dialogue (which I'm sure will speed up over the course of the run).

The double set worked well, the scene changes were quick and well-choreographed, and the London Underground-like announcements an enjoyable if puzzling diversion; lighting could have been made use of to illustrate their relevance in these interims. I could also have really done without the tinny scene-setting sounds (Really? Birds tweeting to tell us that it's morning?).

But I am nitpicking. The heart of the matter is that this performance of Eigengrau, and the play itself, is involving, clever, and funny. The characters begin in the guise of half-baked stereotype ('feminist', 'ditzy hippie', 'slobbish loser' and 'rich wanker'), but, as the play moves from clunky exposition to interaction, and the source of their perspectives become clearer, you get temporarily won over to their way of approaching the world. Then you, just like many of the characters discover you've been duped, that the dramatic irony wasn't so extensive as it seemed, and, in this colour projected onto what is actually darkness, the play lives up to its esoteric title.