Perhaps Joe Penhall’s take on the family reunion drama works with a stellar cast at the Royal Court or the Donmar, but at the Corpus it was more a display of self-absorbed student whining than mature absorbing relationship intrigue.  It attempts to combine Milleresque speechifying with Pinteresque pausing, and instead reaches only the mediocrity of a distinctly amateur production.  Implausible characterisation, lack of direction, and clumsily fumbled lines make directors Nicholas Hulbert’s and Marjam Idriss’ CUADC Freshers play far from a dazzling debut.

Part of the problem is the ambiguity of setting.  There are hints at ‘70s Sunday roasts and at a post-recession economy, but Louise Houston’s wardrobe is modern dress, Katia Smith’s stage design gives nothing away, and a penchant for Sainsbury’s Basics bread, jam and tinned beans alongside empty bottles of whisky makes the room feel more like student digs than a family home.  Nick Krol as protagonist Robbie displays particularly poor effort by wearing his festival wristbands, giving an unintended adolescent twinge to any attempts at sexual chemistry with his girlfriend Carla (Sophie Grant).

Penhall’s script clearly calls for an East End feel, so it is jarring to hear Cockney rhyming slang like "cream-crackered" for "knackered" delivered in something closer to RP than anything you’d hear on Eastenders.  The whole play is based on an idea of redundancy, of getting "the bullet", in a certain kind of hard-grafting, working-class man.  The pathos is lost when his wife can cheerily suggest that they up sticks and go to Italy to live under the Tuscan sun.

The rag-bag cast of characters is slowly introduced, the lies slowly come to the fore, and the relationships slowly unravel.  It’s just that none of it is of much consequence. Chris Born’s paranoid Charles is fighting an imaginary battle against "fat cats" and freemasons which seems predominantly to consist of making his family feel uncomfortable and occasionally unsafe.  Born’s performance is patchy but from time to time moving, especially when, armed with a tape recorder, he begins to show glints of a more interesting kind of madness.  Anna Rowland’s characterisation of Mike as a nomadic drunkard, tragically lost between Shepherd’s Bush and Hammersmith, is a more consistent affair.  She can throw a good tantrum.  Grant’s Carla is underwhelming but competent.  There are moments of strength where she can convey a lot with a little shift of the eyebrows, as when she is squashed on the edge of the sofa by a drunk and moaning Charles, but there's just not enough variety to the perfomance.

Maeve Hannah’s Billie is a bit of a damp squib.  She delivers every line with the same conciliatory high pitch no matter what the context, whether offering more toast at breakfast or threatening to end a thirty year relationship.  When she says to her daughter "I’d like to know where you’ve been for the last five years" it sounds like she’s gently scolding her for missing her curfew.  However, to her credit, there is far more sexual chemistry between her and Born than anything seen in the younger couple, who imply they get their kicks from euphemistic "massages" and "strategically placed frozen bananas", but whose spark we never actually witness.  If Hulbert and Idriss could coax a little more life and dynamism out of their cast, perhaps some of the inherent flaws of Penhall’s play could be overcome.  As it is, it’s perfectly safe and terribly unexciting viewing.