Abigail’s Party/Malvern Theatres

A FEW of us might well have wondered whether Mike Leigh’s epic odyssey into the upwardly mobile bubble of 1970s bad taste and pretension would travel well, if at all.

So let me tell you something – the only items not to stand the test of time are the cheese and pineapple chunks, disco grooves and wall-to-wall Demis Roussos.

Otherwise, the mindless consumerism of social climbing not only defies the passage of time itself but is readily recognisable as being very much a feature of the present.

And the reason we all laugh at the hideous Beverly is because there’s an example of the species close to where you’re sitting right now…

Alison Steadman will forever be associated with the role of the hostess from Hell and to state that she’s a hard act to follow gets nowhere near.

But Amanda Abbington slips into the part with all the smoothness of an Irish coffee at the end of a 1970s night out at a Berni Inn. She turns ghastliness into an art form, a nightmare vision of insincerity right down to the fake fingernails.

Angela (Charlotte Mills) meanwhile comes a close second in the brainless stakes, which is why she remains impervious to the utter loathing oozing from husband Tony (Ciaran Owens) a failed professional footballer whose brains plainly still reside in those long-redundant boots.

The odd one out is, of course, the tragically bewildered Susan (Rose Keegan) who must not only endure this horrendous gathering but also the worry of her house being the setting for a teenage party that’s rapidly getting out of hand.

And completing the infamous five is Ben Caplan as hapless husband Laurence, who seamlessly reprises the role of a doomed man doubly stressed out by work and the living death of his home life.

Director Sarah Esdaile has snatched this glorious period piece and made it very much a play for today, providing proof – it that were indeed needed – that these characters are still very much in our midst.

Abigail’s Party runs until Saturday (April 22).

John Phillpott