As we take our seats, 50s music (Che sera sera, Secret love, Only you) sets the scene. The annual quiche breakfast of the Susan B. Anthony Society for the Sisters of Gertrude Stein is being held in a community centre: it’s 1956, so along with a tea trolley and a table neatly spread, there’s a sign informing us that this is also a nuclear fallout shelter.

The Society seems to operate along the lines of traditional women’s groups, with more or less equal amounts of gushiness and backbiting, but its oddity soon becomes clear. The women, all single, are egg-worshippers and their mantra is “no men, no meat.”

Their clothing reminds me of 50s women’s magazines. All wear dresses, some with gathered skirts, and thin brown nylons. There are a few strings of pearls.

When the year’s prize quiche is revealed, to rapturous applause, egg-stacy takes over and a food fight seems imminent, but just then the nuclear alarm sounds, and the comedy turns darker. No-one can go out the door for four years. The future of humanity, it seems, depends on the occupants of this little space. There’s plenty of quiche, or there would be if it wasn’t on the other side of the door, being irradiated. On the plus side, though, the members are now free to come out as lesbians.

Mel McCosh, Sheena Townsend, Louisa Stabenow, Jess Keogh and Annise Boothroyd, as the Society’s vacuous yet plucky members, keep the comedy fluid and the laughs coming, and seem perfectly attuned to the play’s quirky humour.

Rosemary Manjunath’s direction is highly capable, and she has also contributed to the production’s props, costumes and set design and construction.

Special mention must be made of the special effects. There are only two, but they are brilliantly done.

While the set is nice to look at, it seems unlikely that this clearly above-ground location would act effectively as a fallout shelter. An underground setting could make this aspect more convincing, and would also add to the claustrophobic feel.

Audience involvement is voluntary but often feels unnecessary and artificial, and future directors could consider whether it really makes a worthwhile contribution.

The 1950s decade, with its prudery, social conformity, repressed desires, anti-communist hysteria, and rigid definition of gender roles has provided playwrights Evan Linder and Andrew Hobgood with rich material for affectionate mockery, and they have exploited it gleefully. It’s a great recipe, and the Globe production cooks it into a tasty slice of fun.

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