There are some dark, dark things in the dark, dark forest but nothing as dark as those contained in a dark, dark heart.
Writer-director Neil LaBute knows that terrain well. Misanthropy and misunderstanding may be his calling card but his business is more twisted.
Here we have a classic set-up. Two people, claustrophobic friction and a boxful of secrets to extract, unwrap or rip from unyielding hearts.
We're presented with brother and sister Bobby and Betty clearing at her hidden cabin. She's the girl who got out of town and made something of herself, he's the blue collar home town boy.
Her success rankles. His attitudes stink. We're in for more reversals than a congested Tesco car park.
LaBute's facility for slang and the rhythm of sheer, bloody fury in full flow make the journey a grim, unsettling pleasure.
Tour de force performances ease the journey.
Matthew Fox is charismatically effective in the role of red neck Bobby with his steel core of perverted certainties. Olivia Williams is haunting as mirthless minx Beth, teetering on her pedestal, too scared to look down, too uncertain to stay put.
The play leads us where we know we're going and the final twist is telegraphed like the conquest of Everest but no matter.
I enjoyed this mean piece of provocation vastly more than I suspect I was meant to.
– From March 2011
