Watching Kerry Jackson, one can almost imagine that playwright April De Angelis had taken a bet as to how many issues could be packed into a playing time of just over two hours.
In some ways, given the dual settings in Walthamstow of El Barco, a new tapas restaurant run by the eponymous Kerry and the expensive kitchen occupied by a grieving pair (each designed with meticulous authenticity by Richard Kent), tracking in everything bar the kitchen sink almost seems symbolically appropriate.
Fay Ripley’s Kerry Jackson is a loud, bigoted and offensive restaurateur with big ambitions but little else going for her except the divine culinary skills of her friend Athena, played by Madeline Appiah, one abused in childhood, the other in danger of falling foul of immigration laws.
The initial catalyst for drama comes when Ms Jackson attempts to enlist the assistance of the local do-gooder, Michael Gould as Stephen, a philosophy teacher.
He has enough troubles, feeling guilt and grieving over the loss of his wife, while trying to support his helpless gap year daughter Alice, played by Kitty Hawthorne.
Carrie’s dubious charms are sent into overdrive in an attempt to persuade Stephen to force a local homeless man, Michael Fox as another abuse victim and former junkie Will, to cease defecating (expressed rather less politely) on her business both literally and metaphorically.
Kerry and Stephen appear to have been created specifically to represent the teacher’s chalk and proprietor’s manchego, their views on every subject under the sun as different as a leave-supporting right-wing Conservative and a trendy lefty could conceivably be.
This being theatre, it was only a matter of time before the two fifty-somethings stop bickering long enough to initiate a fling.
Far better suited to Kerry’s politics (inexplicably embraced by Will) and nature is brash but kind ex-cop Warren, Gavin Spokes portraying a man continuously charmed by the resident motormouth.
Director Indhu Rubasingham draws strong performances from the cast members, each of whom gets at least one opportunity to shine in a set-piece speech, while Fay Ripley and Michael Gould relish considerably more time in the limelight.
Mix all of this together and you get something that veers between upmarket sitcom and soap opera, garnished with often overly brief debates about important subjects that would generally benefit from greater airing.
National Theatre at Home is available on subscription, broadcasts in HD, costs only £9.99 for a month or £99.99 for a year. At the time of reviewing, the only version available online featured audio description, which is not intrusive.