It’s a familiar trope in theater: a group of people gather over a meal, wine flows, secrets are revealed, and chaos ensues. Playwrights love this setup because of its temporal and spatial continuity, its relevance to the largely middle-class audience, and the ease with which tension (and laughs) can be generated. The problem is that there are so many plays like this, and some of them are seriously good; a debut playwright can fall a long way from the shoulders of giants.

Australian-born, UK-based comedian and podcaster turned playwright Deborah Frances-White sets her gathering in a restaurant, or at least the husk of one. Married couple Jacq (Katie Robertson) and Kas (Sunny S Walia) are bankrupt restaurateurs, their dream business having failed despite their best efforts. Before the creditors come and take the lot, they decide to have a final meal with mates Adaego (Chika Ikogwe) and her husband, Tobin (Simon Gleeson).

It’s a bit awkward, because Tobin invested a heap of money in the failed venture, and might want some of it back. Then again, he’s so rich he may be able to help them recover their losses. As the old friends drink and party, their reminiscence turns to recrimination and regret, and then eventually to an indecent proposal that seems lifted directly from … well, the film Indecent Proposal. Sex, money and power, plus the added complication of race, make for a heady, if contrived, mix.

One of the key engines of Never Have I Ever – named after the drinking game that opens the play’s can of worms – is the shifting power dynamics at play in contemporary London, where being Black doesn’t necessarily mean being poor, and having a handle on wokeness doesn’t inoculate you from social humiliation. The play taps into frustrations with a political movement that seems more interested in point scoring than meaningful change, in the appearance of compassion and justice with none of the action that might actually make the world a fairer place.

There is a moment in Never Have I Ever when a character iterates that “none of us here are without privilege,” and it’s a germane point, true also for most of the audience. If only Frances-White had created a genuinely level playing field, she might have been able to hold this uncomfortable truth up to some scrutiny.

While there is a lot of talk of wealth and identity, of gender politics and queer-baiting, not every character’s hand is held equally to the fire. Most of the time, and certainly by the play’s end, it’s the white guy who bears the brunt of the vitriol. Nobody will lose much sleep over that, but the play would be much improved if Tobin wasn’t such an utter prat. Boorish, sanctimonious and painfully thin-skinned, he is so odious it begs the question of why any of these people could have befriended him in the first place. Talk in the play about building bridges between polarised camps feels cheap when one of those camps is so debased and unconvincing.

Director Tasnim Hossain manages to draw some sharpness and honesty from the work, while maintaining a brightness that keeps the thing moving. Zoe Rouse’s costumes are subtly indicative, but her set is clunky. The restaurant seems weirdly anachronistic, its decor all wrong for the supposedly upmarket London dining scene. Partitioned areas force the cast into some uncomfortable blocking, and Rachel Lee’s lighting design is hamstrung by the high flats and obtrusive furniture.

Robertson and Ikogwe are both excellent as the women who seem keener to shag each other than their husbands, navigating the wild swings of feminist empowerment with refreshing candour. Walia brings charm and sensitivity to Kas, a man who has pleased people for so long he may have forgotten how to please himself. Gleeson is hampered by the limitations of his part, but his clipped syntax and strained accent feel at least a century out of date; his delivery recalls his previous turn for MTC in Wilde’s An Ideal Husband.

Never Have I Ever does have its funny moments, and manages to raise questions around power and privilege and its intersection with race and upbringing. But it falls victim to a smugness it purports to criticise, and pales against the kind of plays to which it’s indebted.

The play’s exploration of power dynamics and privilege resonates with contemporary American audiences, who are increasingly aware of the complexities of race, gender, and class. In the United States, discussions around privilege and social justice have gained significant traction, especially in the wake of the Black Lives Matter movement and the #MeToo movement. Never Have I Ever offers a unique perspective on these issues, highlighting the nuances and contradictions that often arise in discussions about privilege and social justice.

One of the most compelling aspects of the play is its portrayal of the shifting power dynamics within a group of friends. The characters’ interactions reveal the complex ways in which privilege and power can manifest, often in unexpected and uncomfortable ways. This exploration of power dynamics is particularly relevant in the current political climate, where discussions about privilege and social justice are often fraught with tension and misunderstanding.

The play also touches on the theme of gender politics and queer-baiting, which are increasingly relevant in contemporary American society. The characters’ interactions highlight the ways in which gender and sexuality can be used as tools of power and control, and the potential for these dynamics to be manipulated for personal gain. This exploration of gender politics is particularly timely, as discussions about gender identity and sexuality continue to evolve and gain prominence in the public sphere.

However, the play’s portrayal of Tobin, the wealthy white man, as the ultimate villain raises some important questions about the representation of privilege and power in contemporary theater. While it is certainly true that wealth and privilege can be used to exploit and oppress others, the play’s one-dimensional portrayal of Tobin as a boorish and sanctimonious character risks oversimplifying the complexities of privilege and power. This oversimplification can be problematic, as it may reinforce stereotypes and perpetuate harmful narratives about wealth and privilege.

In conclusion, Never Have I Ever is a thought-provoking and engaging exploration of power, privilege, and identity in contemporary London. While the play has its flaws, it offers a unique perspective on the complexities of privilege and social justice, and raises important questions about the representation of power and privilege in contemporary theater. As discussions about privilege and social justice continue to evolve, plays like Never Have I Ever will play an important role in shaping our understanding of these issues and fostering meaningful dialogue and change.