It is a dark and stormy night, the sound and lighting tell us, as The Grass is Meaner begins, although that turns out to be a precursor to where we are headed. Nevertheless it clearly establishes the genre we’re into.  

First we are treated to a bit of a chat from a Cockney rent boy called Jimmy Faraday but known to his intimates as Donkey Boy. He learned his ‘craft’ in prison. Through a blend of story-telling and re-enactment, we see how his client relationship with one Sir Harold led to his getting to work for London East End crime boss Vic Snow. Being a bit of a thinker, as those who have ‘done time’ are wont to be, Donkey Boy has concluded the key to it all is that everyone is a catalyst and sometimes, as in story he’s telling us, that can lead to cataclysm.

Where we find ourselves next is about as far from London’s underbelly as it’s possible to be: a Kiwi café in the middle of nowhere called The House of Mince. It’s closing time. The owners – Alec and Mary McPherson – have, we discover, been there 18 years. She wants to sell up and move on but he is happy to stay in his rut. This being their 20^th wedding anniversary, however, it seems their standard routine could be alleviated this night by a bit of the other …

That’s what they think a black Mercedes has parked up outside for, until a dapper Englishman appears and asks to use the phone. He calls himself Clive Winter and claims to be on a hunting trip. As he and Alec wait for the AA to arrive … a whole new phase of catalysing begins.

Secrets from the past are revealed that turn the present on its head. While most of it accords with what we’d expect, given the circumstances and the genre, it is Mary who discovers she’s capable of things she never thought possible and her emotional responses are as delightfully surprising to her as they are for us.

Edward Campbell’s workmanlike script, garnished with dabs of socio-satirical commentary, is somewhat redolent of Harold Pinter’s comedies of menace and Joe Orton’s black comedies. There could be more silence, tension, mystery and subtext, however, en-route to the revelations. Perhaps he has found more of a model in English crime writer Martina Cole, who gets a shout-out during the play. He certainly spells it all out as a novelist might. 

The characters are well wrought, and Geraldine Brophy has directed with fluid rhythm, pace, focus and a clever touch of illusion within Ross Joblin’s simple set, atmospherically lit by Tony Black and abetted by Geoffrey Hern’s sound design. Hannah McKenzie Doornebosch’s costuming is spot on too.  

Hamish Boyle is an articulate, cocky and somewhat sociopathic Donkey Boy. Brian Hotter (also the Stage Manager) captures Sir Harold’s sleaze in a well-judged cameo.

Phil Grieve invests crime boss Vic Snow with the requisite menace and confidence until age begins to take its toll. Scott Ransom’s multi-named character (called ‘Pom’ in the programme) turns out to be quite a chameleon … with bite.  

There is also more than meets the eye in Edward Campbell’s gruff, tough-when-he-needs-to-be but soft-centred ‘Alec’. Julie Edwards has a less stock-standard character in Mary and relishes the opportunity to explore her uniqueness, capturing some delightful non-verbal moments-of-truth in the process. In fact I warm so much to her character, I really resent what she chooses to do in the end.

Billed as a black comedy thriller, this world premiere of The Grass is Meaner fulfils its brief with some good dramatic twists and the odd touch that elevates it beyond the norm. Perhaps as the season beds in it will find the breathing space to become even more menacing and so more thrilling and blackly comedic. 

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