Grab the beer and sunglasses and get ready for takeoff – this is a lads’ holiday to remember. Except the lads on this trip are middle-aged men. They’re back in Ibiza after 30 years to celebrate Chris’s 50th birthday, relive the memories of their time in a band and maybe pull a girl or two.
Neil D’Souza’s script is a giddy feast of nostalgia and abandoned dreams. Manchild Chris (Peter Bramhill) has his head in the past and still performs the tunes he wrote with best mate Dev (also played by D’Souza) back in the day. “I’m not an old man,” he insists. Dev has moved on, he’s a music lecturer at a university and spends his days in therapy lamenting his lack of family. Their third group member, the elusive LA-living music manager Michael, is at first nowhere to be seen.
While they await his arrival, the lads relive their yesteryear with a couple of girls, Holly and Amy, in tow. The genius of D’Souza’s writing is that it carries all the complexities of long-term friendship – there’s teasing that slips dangerously towards cruelty, but with years of love cloaked just underneath. Set in a shabby hotel room draped with patterned bedspreads, a tacky art print on the back wall and a balcony with sliding doors, the first act puts kitchen-sink authenticity above plot.
But the central duo ooze relatability: these are men we’ve seen. Bramhill has all the bravado of a lost soul while D’Souza brings a gentle air of self-doubt to Dev. Michael (a hideously self-admiring, snake-like James Hillier) arrives and the air turns sour. Alice Hamilton’s direction draws the evening’s impending destruction out in slow motion. With more drinks, their boyish banter starts to jab like knives. Old friends become violent shadows as the wounds of yesterday are reopened. This is a venomous study of brotherhood, founded in familiarity and history with the potential to tip into horror with one wrong step.
• At Hampstead theatre, London, until 23 March
