Mike Leigh's 1977 play became a smash hit on the small screen with its satire on class and manners in what was later described as "the most painful hundred minutes in British comedy-drama".
But with so much comedy of the time losing its shock factor, it takes moments of genius to make revivals seem contemporary whilst not losing the element of time period.
Director Suba Das has such a moment in staging the play in the round. The audience members become party wallflowers, unwittingly and unwillingly involved, and at times, just like the on-stage guests, itching to leave the trainwreck.
This is the social event of Beverly, a monstrous woman who belittles her husband and guests, a snob constantly trying to prove she's better than others – who has invited her neighbours around for drinks.
As she forces more alcohol, cigarettes, nibbles and her opinions ("don't be offended when I say this, but...") on the woeful party, resentment bubbles, tension builds and the guests, along with the audience, become increasingly uncomfortable.
The discomfort starts before the show as we cringe at the 70s orange and brown boldly-patterned carpet, the wooden drinks cabinet, the glass-topped coffee table, crystal decanters, record player and fibre optic lamp.
It could be the prize list of desirable items on an old gameshow, and only designer David Woodhead's expertise keeps it authentic enough to fall just short of being fabulously retro.
But it's a night in the theatre for which the phrase "that was awkward" could have been created; embarrassing silences, humiliating revelations, cringemaking comments and excruciating attempts at conversation.
Performing in the round can mean missing facial expressions of characters at any given time, but Das cleverly keeps the actors moving and although you may miss the odd moment, you never feel you're missing out.
Natalie Thomas' Beverly is a wannabe siren in a red halterneck, with a voice of surprise that could break glass. Her performance is a cleverly-judged crescendo of bullying underlined with insecurity, which reaches its climax at the point where surely every audience member wants to scream at her to shut up.
Patrick Moy is her perfect foil as husband Laurence, who presumably works non-stop to keep away from his wife. He's as taut as a coiled spring, clearly wound too tightly and all we can do is wait to watch him inevitably snap.
Emily Head and Cary Crankston are equally brilliantly ill-matched as new neighbours Angela and Tony, cracks increasing as the drinks are downed, while Jackie Morrison's Sue gets laughs a plenty as the polite yet slightly starchy neighbour, mother of the unseen punk teenager Abigail who is having her own party a few doors away.
Some of the finer subtleties of Leigh's comment on class may not be too evident, but laughs are loud and plenty, interspersed with breath-holding tension.
It's unwatchable at times, but you can't tear yourself away. Fantastic voyeuristic theatre for the rubbernecking generation.
Abigail's Party runs at Curve until November 8
Review by Lizz Brain. Follow Lizz on Twitter: @theatreblogger
