Baffling. That’s the only word to describe Michael Wynne’s play, an amusing but aimless Liverpudlian sitcom featuring three generations of women, laced with hints of existential or supernatural dread that come to nothing. It’s well acted, and fluently directed – as part of her valedictory season as boss of the Royal Court – by Vicky Featherstone. She must have seen something profound in it. Me, I kept waiting for something to happen. But hardly anything does.
In a modest Birkenhead living room where the carpets, curtains and wallpaper are in violent disagreement, genially bustling widow Doreen (Sue Jenkins) sits down to a chippy tea with daughters Carmel and Sarah, and Carmel’s teenage daughter Megyn. Doreen is addicted to flogging her possessions on e-commerce sites, Carmel works in Boots and Sarah at a primary school. Megyn, having flunked her exams, is doing… well, nothing. Not even really speaking.
