It commences with a woman being found alive after trying to gas herself (but failing due to not having put a shilling in the meter first). She did it because she felt her partner didn't love her (having forgotten her birthday the day before). We quickly become aware that he is a bit of a cad, but she is utterly devoted to him, whereas her husband seems a very decent chap (well of course he is, he is a lawyer). Ad this is the credibility problem. I just can't buy that anyone would be so devoted to the unsuitable man and prefers death than living with a decent one she just doesn't have any passion for.
If you can swallow that then the drama is an absorbing one, if not exactly uplifting. There is nothing much sadder than a tale of unrequited love.
I do like Rattigan plays, even if they do feel a bit dated. The emotions are strong and the plots are unhurried. The play develops in front of your eyes at a believable pace - there aren't sudden gear changes where someone who believed black a moment ago has sudden conversion to white.Helen McCrory is wonderful as the repressed heroine, searching for a way out. The problem for me is that I just couldn't relate to the awfulness of her existence. Get a grip girl, and go back to the lawyer.
(By the way, as the play is set in the Fifties everybody smokes. Almost continuously. Its even intrinsic to the plot, so if you are offended by open displays of cigarette smoking, look away now...)
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