Review: JUST BETWEEN OURSELVES, Theatre Royal Bath

At the opening night of Alan Ayckbourn's bittersweet, 1976 tragicomedy, Just Between Ourselves, in Theatre Royal Bath, the house is full. Expectancy is in the air for some laughs and thoughtful revelations, but alas, Michael Cabot's touring production misses the mark and delivers neither to a hopeful audience.

Written during a harsh Scarborough winter, Ayckbourn's domestic tale of two working-class couples meeting when ever-cheerful Dennis (Tom Richardson) attempts to flog his banger of a Mini to hypochondriac neighbour Neil (Joseph Clowser).

Set in Dennis's chaotic garage and adjoining patio, design by Elizabeth Wright doesn't help this stuttering lesson in how not to pull off a farce. Blocked by a downstage workbench, sightlines are impeded – the worst is when key action takes place in the car and the audience can't see anything – and all too often, actors are stuck upstage.

To be fair, Wright does nail it with the costumes – flapping flares, dowdy plaid skirts and stripey jumpers – and props like swirly orange and brown garden chairs and fussy floral tea set, placing us well and truly in the 70s.

Just Between Ourselves raises interesting themes about how men can be blind to the needs of their partners and how women can't express what they want. In a cluttered world of broken doors and kettles that useless DIY bumbler Dennis can't fix, the women start to question their roles as housemakers while the men feel vulnerable as breadwinners.

Helen Phillips in her role as Pam, Neil's frustrated wife, comes out best in a rather underwhelming cast. She tries to display her dissatisfaction with a dreary life looking after their son, instead of branching out to get qualifications so she can return to the workplace and obtain an interesting sex life with oblivious Neil.

Richardson could bring more nuance to his part as Dennis, who can never do anything right in the eyes of his domineering mother Marjorie. Competing with his dead father, who was highly skillful at making things, Dennis hopes to gain Marjorie's love by mending her lamp and fashioning a sewing box for her birthday.

Connie Walker's Marjorie is all too screechy and sitcom-clichéd to be wholly believable. Her menace and bullying of Dennis's mentally unstable wife, Vera (Holly Smith), might be better served if it crept up slowly, rather than hit us over the head in an unsubtle fashion. I really wanted to feel more sympathy for these troubled characters, especially Smith's vulnerable Vera, but it's hard to summon up empathy for such cardboard cut-outs.

Does taking a play from the 70s and transposing it to 2025 really work? Just between ourselves, this particular Ayckbourn feels rather tired and out-dated. The timing's off, the pacing slow and the laughs don't come – although a few more laughs are conjured up in the second half. While expecting a bittersweet gem, the audience discovers the sweet isn't sweet enough and bitter not bitter enough in an out-of-tune show, resulting in a conked-out wreck like Dennis's faltering Mini.

Just Between Ourselves runs at Theatre Royal Bath until May 10 and then continues touring until July 12.