Our New Girl review, Bush Theatre

Our New Girl calls itself "a startling psychological drama about the darker side of modern parenthood" and explores the game-changer that is parenting with pinpoint precision. But nobody in chattering class London will find Nancy Harris's deconstruction of the urban family either startling or dark despite the Psycho music: the gasps are because they recognise the people and situations. In all the flak, they may even recognise themselves.

Coir girl

Mark Bazely is striking as the audaciously arrogant husband, Richard, a swaggering, self-important plastic surgeon flying out to war zones when fixing noses or replacing dodgy breast implants gets too boring. His attempts to cover his philandering are shamefully real as are Kate Fleetwood's confused responses as his wife, Hazel, eight months pregnant and verging on a breakdown.

Hazel runs an olive oil business from their plush kitchen, having given up the law to be at home with their strangely disturbed son. Not so strange, it transpires, when we see that he is made a cipher for all that is wrong in the marriage, and for the personal failings of both parents. The catalyst is the new nanny, Annie, a creepy predator from Sligo whose services Richard purchased via the internet to stifle Hazel's cries for help. From her entrance, we know the gloves are off.

In conclusion: Our New Girl is too many things at once. Set as a thriller, it starts with a weird kid, unfolds as The Hand That Rocks The Cradle and finishes as middle-class kitchen sink drama.  It's a good watch, but strangely unsatisfying.

References
Bush Theatre, buy tickets.
Quentin Letts review in The Daily Mail