Sobremesa ****

Alma is enjoying her thirtieth birthday dinner with her sister Billie, who is together with her relatively new boyfriend, James. It’s been a nice evening and now the sisters revel in the ‘sobremesa’. This is a Spanish term, meaning to linger, chat and drink after a meal has concluded. This represents generational inheritance for the sisters, having a grandmother from Madrid.

Billie and James’s relationship has blossomed rapidly. They have not known each other long, but already future plans are being openly discussed.

Alma’s antennae are up, though.

There is something about James that feels off. Alma cannot quite put her finger on it. James is outwardly quite the catch: intelligent, smartly dressed, good-looking, inhabiting a corporate world, legal training, well-travelled. And he clearly dotes on Billie. Alma should be happy for her, but…

An amalgam of minutia begins to coalesce into a, what exactly? An antipathy, a feeling, a red flag?

James has a phobia of swearing – while this is a genuine medical condition, it does seem most surprising given his background. He is a devotee of the Bible, and bristles when challenged on one particular absurdity contained therein. He is highly articulate, and so when he describes Alma as “spirited”, this does seem more than a throwaway comment; she perceives a pattern of ‘playing the man and not the ball’.

A more sinister disquiet around control grows – Billie’s telephone call, an uninvited massage, smoking and drinking, He treads on their dance: was he gauche, or something more?

He seems to have assumed the role of her spokesperson, answering for her. Where has her sister’s voice gone? The mood changes again when Billie discloses an unexpected business plan, involving James.

Alma’s senses have gone to red alert – her sister is a little different. And then, a seemingly innocuous Tolstoy quotation results in another, more profound, shift.

At the heart of Sobremesa sits an examination of misogyny, control, trust and, without venturing into spoiler territory, more.

Agnes Perry-Robinson’s writing is sharp, nuanced and peppered with linguistic signals – ‘girl’, ‘hysterical’ and ‘you people’. Felix Sutton’s direction ensures that the production ebbs and flows, finds moments to shift, set against other moments of reflection. The very tight space restricted aspects of the show, which was a shame, but this is not to denigrate Table 61’s production.

The performances are all strong. Athena Vlachos as Billie conveys her familial as well as physical juxtaposition between the now warring factions. Benjamin Sumrie’s depiction of mansplaining, identity-shifting, manipulative, James was very well-judged.

Yet set against all of this excellence, it is Alejandra Deane who constantly catches the eye. As Alma, Deane is by turns smouldering, provocative, unflinching, empathetic, but above all, fiercely protective of her sister.

We await Table 61’s next outing with interest.

Gilded Balloon, 3 Chambers St., until 31^st August.