Tamsin Greig gives a superb performance of comic brio, slick clowning and touching vulnerability in a new study of mid-life neurosis by April De Angelis.
The Royal Court rocked to the laughter of recognition as Greig's exhausted Hilary attempts to corral, educate and berate her neon 15-year-old daughter whose dresses are the length of her attention span and whose contempt is as shrill as a text message beep.
Tough-but-brittle Hilary frets upon an all-white stage and head-down hubbie Mark (Ewan Stewart) scurries along the path of least resistance as crisis point - and the half-century - loom into view.
But there is a heart of darkness in this soapy fare. Hilary, the former Greenham Common idealist, wants more for her daughter than Bacardi Breezers and vacant sex.
Her anxieties become a sickness while the juvenile antics of her disillusioned and sex-starved contemporaries only fuel her sense of isolation.
Director Nina Raine keeps things brisk and a parade of young men and a Facebook update quickly reveals Hilary's concerns are not unfounded.
But Hilary is far harsher on herself than her coarse daughter Tilly (Bel Powley, deftly naïve and knowing).
Liberal idealism bends in the face of dread and when flirtatious actor Roland (a delicious turn by Richard Lintern) is freed from the clutches of acid spouse Bea (Sarah Woodward) and comes a-courtin' she recognises the flaws in her own flagging union and sagging skin.
Meanwhile, nifty-50 gal-pal Frances (Doon Mackichan) refuses to play a part in the encroaching Saga and ramps up her allure, culminating in a squirming and hilarious Burlesque routine. Wine-glugging Hilary, losing touch with her own worth, ill-advisedly attempts to follow suit.
The comic chemistry and timing between Mackichan (filling the role of baudy clown again) and Greig is a highlight but Frances is too quickly sacrificed for a quick-fire laugh for anything of substance to develop.
Indeed, all of this amounts to not very much beyond the frilly concerns of modern parents wrapped up in a comedy of manners and trimmed with satire-lite.
De Angelis goes for broad laughs and easy paranoia in a piece that is as cosy as a Radio Four sitcom and as bracing as a Daily Mail editorial (there are lots of frightening things out there).
But the politics are played lightly and, in places, feel preachy but it is the zinging one liners - and Grieg's quixotic performance - that build the buzz.
– From October 2011
