Twin peaks

It’s that time of year. The great reckoning is upon us. Insurance is being renewed. Tax returns are being ferreted out. Roofing jobs are being appraised and budgeted for. And spouses are being trundled into central London for the annual session of dialysis at the theatre.

It’s that time of year. The great reckoning is upon us. Insurance is being renewed. Tax returns are being ferreted out. Roofing jobs are being appraised and budgeted for. And spouses are being trundled into central London for the annual session of dialysis at the theatre. And here to meet them is Ayckbourn’s yuletide comedy Seasons Greetings, which features three hilariously miserable families bickering their way through the festival of ill-will.

Ayckbourn is the Christmas blow-out of dramatists. The ingredients require little creative input as long as they’re presented in the right order. And the ritual inspires a general suspension of critical faculties so everyone leaves replete, reassured and quietly grateful that the ceremony won’t recur for another 12 months. His suburban world and his hatchback-class characters never vary so it came as a surprise to see a real flash of inspiration in this play. The climax of the second act must rank as one of the great moments of stage comedy.

An adulterous couple, trying to snatch an illicit quickie under the Christmas tree at midnight, accidentally set off a mechanical toy whose rat-a-tat-tat wakes the entire house, and as the roused sleepers descend the stairs they find the embarrassed pair ripping open the presents frantically trying to locate the source of the noise. Rumbled, the adulterers explain, ‘We couldn’t wait to open our presents.’ Why is that great? It’s believable, it’s silly and it violates a revered ceremony.