For a play that stages sex, things get off to a slow start.  As an anonymous Parisian virgin is wooed by a moneyed and mysterious Marquis, the materialistic attraction of his gifts is laboured heavy-handedly.  The Girl's mother, played by Kitty Drake, does not come across as forthright as the plot later suggests she ought to be, and the only impression she leaves is a Cyclopean lipstick mark on her daughter's forehead.

The script finally takes us journeying towards the Marquis’ castle in the nick of time,  just before we have begun to lose patience. We are shown scenes from the wooing, the journey and the castle courtesy of a projector. The film is very neatly put together, although the medium is overused in the first quarter of the play.  The pictures tally exactly with The Girl’s series of monologues, rather than adding any subtleties all of their own.  For me, the glowing light of the Marquis’ cigar hovering in the background would have been plenty powerful enough.

The staging has the protagonist’s role in a play that relies so much on atmospheric effect.  A large team of set designers and costume designers led by Sarah Fox and Beth Oppenheim have worked wonders despite the limitations imposed by this being a lateshow.  The understated bouquets of lilies perhaps marked the boundaries of their budget, but the two-way mirrors, the removable bedroom and the chamber, combine with the costumes, make-up and acting talent of the three corpses to create an atmosphere that cleverly manages to avoid associations with either Halloween or Fifty Shades of Grey.

At the centre of it all, Robbie Aird and Charlotte Quinney are excellent as the Marquis and young bride.  Aird develops and gradually complicates the character of the Marquis at the perfect pace, starting in a dark monotone and adding layers of variation until his destructive fantasies bubble up and out of him. Quinney accepts responsibility for sustaining the plot, keeping the monologues interesting and interacting well with Tom Powell's endearing blind simpleton and Freddie Poulton's two, starkly differentiated housemaids.

The two leads come together in one of the sex scenes.  These are undoubtedly the most challenging element in a production that is altogether a very bold undertaking by Isabelle Kettle on her directorial debut.  They could have been considered a success for not eliciting boyish sniggers from a post-pub audience, but the portrayal of twisted experience meeting girlish innocence was remarkably powerful.  The opening may have been weak, and the ending hurried rather than climactic, but for overall vision and execution Kettle deserves high praise.