Mary Page Marlowe is a boring waste of Susan Sarandon

If Weaver’s performance in the latter production – one can hardly blame the author – was the problem, then the opposite is the case here. Sarandon is on great form as an old woman looking back regretfully on her life, but Tracy Letts’ script is at best self-indulgent, and, at worst, boring, and it gives the fine actress very little to do.

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Of course, it’s always fun to see a big Hollywood star on stage – Sarandon is best known for Thelma & Louise and won an Oscar for Dead Man Walking – but she has to compete for attention with the younger Mary Page Marlowes played by Andrea Riseborough, Rosy McEwen, Eleanor Worthington-Cox, Alisha Weir, and, as a baby, an unidentified plastic doll. All acquit themselves well, except the last named, whose performance is a bit stiff.

Mary’s is a rather sad life – three husbands, two children and more than a nodding acquaintance with the bottle – and it’s hard to feel either uplifted or entirely engaged with it. I wondered, looking around the audience, if it wasn’t really doing it for me because the subject matter might resonate more with women, but I can say the female faces looked equally nonplussed.

At one hour and 30 minutes (with no interval) it’s not exactly an ordeal, but one could think of much more entertaining ways of spending a night in London.