Losing Louis

Losing Louis isn't exactly a by-the-numbers British domestic farce.

Yes, it does feature a series of one-dimensional characters traipsing in and out of a bedroom bickering, drinking and having embarrassing sex, but it also manages to take stillbirth, child neglect and genital mutilation in its stride.

Judging by the play's success in the West End (and imminent Broadway transfer), audiences have been rolling in the aisles at this horribly misogynistic tale of envy, greed and infidelity. Certainly the Saturday night audience in St Andrews was far from stony-faced. Perhaps I just have the wrong sense of humour.

The story begins in the 1950s (although you wouldn't know it from the costumes), where we find married lawyer Louis in bed with his young trainee, Bella. The young woman lives in the couple's home, earning her board as a skivvy, and also happens to be the closest confidante of Louis's pregnant wife, Bobby. So far, so hilarious.

The bed-hopping, accidentally witnessed by Louis' young son Anthony, provides the glaringly obvious set-up for a present-day comedy of sibling rivalry.

A middle-aged Tony and his younger, richer brother Reggie return to the family home for their father's funeral, bringing their wives along to make doubly sure that any emotionally demanding moments can be dodged with crude humour, alcohol dependency and fighting over the dead man's assets.

Even the characters themselves seem to acknowledge the brain-grating awfulness of the jokes. 'That's not even funny,' is Anthony's response to one of his wife's smutty barbs. 'I'm just lightening the mood!' she trills back, as if challenging her husband to smack her in the face.

For a company that's struggling to win arts council funding, this could well prove to be a suicidal move. A fist-gnawing embarrassment for all involved.