Happy Christmas

Published Thursday 6 December 2007 at 11:35 by Ben Dowell

Paul Birtill’s play about a gross-out dysfunctional family from the north of England (the setting, bizarrely enough, was north London when it was staged at the Pentameters three years ago) is fairly well constructed and has promising ingredients.

But the overall effect is badly let down by some clunky, heavy-handed writing which fails to reach into the emotional core of the characters whether it is Jack Bainbridge (Colin Hill), a fat widow on the dole, or the two sons he cares for, one a schizophrenic, the other a thieving workshy scrounger.

Into this hideous milieu, complete with even more disgusting brown furnishings, comes Jack’s son John (David McCaffrey) from down south, complete with pregnant and privately-educated girlfriend Mary to celebrate Christmas.

The evening could have been electrifying. But instead we have some laboured set pieces - Dad is chasing an 18 year old, the family home’s lounge window is regularly peppered with airgun pellets, the priest visits only to be made to clean the dog mess from his shoe - you get the picture - and jokes which fall as flat as week-old Asti Spumante.

Dad (a devout Catholic, as it happens) also makes two separate advances on poor young Mary, but instead of such moments opening up his inner torture or properly exploring his grief about his wife (who died after swallowing a wasp, ho ho), we just want to avert our eyes as he stands there, big bellied and pasty in his Speedos. Miserable.