Just Between Ourselves, Darlington Hippodrome Review
Written by Stacy for Theatre & Tonic
Disclaimer: Gifted tickets in exchange for an honest review
Alan Ayckbourn’s Just Between Ourselves, revived by London Classic Theatre, rolled into Darlington with a sharp mix of domestic comedy and creeping emotional disquiet. Though written in 1976, this production makes a convincing case for its continued relevance – not by modernising it, but by faithfully leaning into its period charm and uncomfortable truths.
The set, a cluttered garage overflowing with half-fixed odds and ends, instantly communicates the stagnation at the heart of Dennis and Vera’s marriage. It’s more than a backdrop – it’s a metaphor for denial, neglect, and the illusion of control. The production’s visual design is rooted in browns, beiges, and avocado tones, firmly planting us in the 70s while letting the themes speak for themselves.
Tom Richardson’s Dennis is a masterclass in affable obliviousness. With a constant smile and a maddening refusal to listen, he’s the kind of man who offers tea when therapy is needed. His performance captures the eerie charm of someone completely unaware of the damage he’s doing. Opposite him, Holly Smith’s Vera is haunting. She begins with nervous laughter and polite restraint, but scene by scene, she unravels – physically smaller, emotionally hollowed out. Smith never overplays the descent, making it all the more devastating to watch.
The supporting cast is equally strong. Joseph Clowser delivers a subtly affecting performance as Neil, portraying him as a man adrift—gentle, unsure, and quietly overwhelmed by the world around him. His awkward politeness isn’t a mask, but a coping mechanism, making his presence both endearing and quietly tragic. Helen Phillips’ Pam provides necessary spark and bluntness – she’s the only character who says what the audience is thinking, even if she says it a bit too loudly. Connie Walker, as Dennis’ mother Marjorie, dominates every scene she enters, weaponising doting condescension like a sledgehammer wrapped in floral print.
What’s particularly effective in this staging is the pacing. Director Michael Cabot allows silence to breathe – awkward pauses, trailing thoughts, and half-finished sentences aren’t rushed. It gives the play a realism that makes the underlying emotional neglect more impactful than any dramatic outburst could. There’s laughter throughout – Ayckbourn’s wit remains intact – but the humour slowly curdles. By the final act, it feels almost wrong to laugh, yet that’s exactly the point.
This production doesn’t reinvent Just Between Ourselves – it respects it. The choices are subtle, the performances measured, the emotional gut-punch well-earned. At the Darlington Hippodrome, it played to a crowd that seemed ready to laugh, and left perhaps more ready to reflect. A domestic comedy with the teeth of a quiet tragedy – and all the more powerful for it.
Just Between Ourselves runs at the Darlington Hippodrome until 17th April and then continues to tour the UK. Find out its other dates and venues on the London Classic Theatre website.
★★★★
