This intense two-hander is one of Dennis Kelly’s earlier plays (it premiered in 2005) and it hasn’t aged brilliantly. Set in a nuclear bunker, where two colleagues cower in the wake of an explosion, it feels naive in the questions it asks about the imbalance of power between the sexes, and tired in its contrived construction. Above all, I’m not convinced the questions asked, or the “entertainment” generated, are worth the violence Kelly unleashes on stage. There’s an air of whimsical comedy to Lyndsey Turner’s production, which for me doesn’t sit right in a play that journeys to such upsetting places. As office workers Mark and Louise gradually turn on each other, with the man predominantly in a position of control, Tingying Dong’s jangling music blasts out in between the scenes, filling the theatre with a tinny energy. A frame of white lights flashes brightly and briefly blinds us, teasing us with what fresh horrors might lie ahead. Peter McKintosh’s stage design looks deliberately fake; it has the overly precise and slightly too-tidy look of a TV studio set. The escape hatch is positioned tantalisingly out of reach. Sometimes the hatch is lit up, as if all this were a game or TV show until suddenly, horribly, it isn’t. Nick Blood’s office-worker Mark, who bought his flat expressly because it had a bunker at the bottom of the garden, wouldn’t look out of place on Peep Show. Blood is engaging but he has a way of talking – a familiar “nerdy” accent and comic timing – that feels like a shortcut to his character. We’ve seen this Mark many times before; he doesn’t feel particularly considered or complex. Amaka Okafor convinces as the popular and conceited Louise but, again, her character feels thin and her reactions manufactured. There’s a final scene, and another surprise twist, that is possibly meant to be empowering. But it doesn’t feel that way. In fact, it’s all a bit depressing – a crude depiction of violence that doesn’t say anything new while making me feel those all too familiar jolts of disgust and fear.