David Lindsay-Abaire is one of those American playwrights whose work just doesn’t seem to travel across the Atlantic… a type for whom the Hampstead Theatre maintains a sometimes ill-judged fondness. Lindsay-Abaire’s first play to receive a major London production, Fuddy Meers in 2004, failed to act as the intended springboard for Sam Mendes’ independent production company; a couple of years ago, his Good People transferred from Hampstead into the West End on the strength of a stellar performance by Imelda Staunton rather than the heft of the play; now his 2007 Pulitzer Prize-winner Rabbit Hole strikes all the same notes but to no coherent end.

It is eight months since four-year-old Danny died in a no-blame road accident in a greater New York suburb. His mother Becca seems to be nursing her grief too fervently; it is driving a wedge between her and husband Howie, who carries the burden in his own ways. Becca resents her rougher-edged sister Izzy simply for being pregnant and feels that her mother, drawing on the past loss of her own son, is trying to tell her how to deal. Then the teenage driver who killed Danny makes contact….

There is nothing of significance to fault in Edward Hall’s production. Claire Skinner is quietly implacable as Becca, Penny Downie irksomely but disarmingly garrulous as mother Nat, and Tom Goodman-Hill judges his disintegration finely as Howie. Sean Delaney shows admirable restraint in his professional debut as driver Jason. It is just that there is no story here which demands to be told or issue to be explored. We already know that grief is difficult and multiform, and we soon intuit that Becca and Howie will grope their way forwards but may not make it together. So what? Lindsay-Abaire deploys an unsubtle McGuffin to provide both his title and his resolution: a science-fiction story written by Jason which involves wormholes (or rabbit holes) to parallel universes. “Somewhere out there I’m having a good time,” muses Becca, digesting the consolations of the quantum multiverse, before re-bonding with Howie over zucchini bread. The strongest message to emerge from these two hours is that the playwright can be sincerely compassionate. Good-oh.

Written for the Financial Times.