There is no doubt that Tom Kempinski’s Duet for One is a bare-faced emotionally manipulative piece, but it is hard to care when the acting is this good. In less-skilled hands this play might’ve sounded shrill, silly even; but Juliet Stephenson’s and Henry Goodman’s classy performances turn a potentially clichéd series of therapy sessions into something painfully real.

Stephenson is quite exceptional here; her performance has a sheer, bloody force to it that explodes off-stage and through the audience. When she lets rip as patient Stephanie – despairing at the Multiple Sclerosis that has cut short her career as a concert violinist - it feels like hell has opened and there’s nowhere to hide. But as impressive as these eruptions are, we begin to expect and resist them by the second act. There needs to be more boring time: long, horrible stretches of silence, when the patience’s resistance and doctor’s reticence cancel each other out.

It is Stephenson’s versatility – not just her dramatic flair but her light comic touch – that softens this sharp play around its edges. There is a complicated and funny moment near the start, when Stephanie tries to explain the debilitating and unpredictable nature of her MS; she clambers out of her wheelchair and strides across the stage, muttering ‘Of course it won’t happen now – ‘. A few stubborn and angry stamps later and she slumps to the floor, her body failing her. It is such a strange moment, equally funny as it is sad, as Stephenson gestures triumphantly to her crumpled and rebellious body. Up in her wheelchair again, she prowls the stage like a woman possessed, her active brain and restless body protesting against their imprisonment. In these opening scenes it is Goodman who is paralysed, rooted to the spot by Stephenson’s caged and frightened animal.

Goodman is actually best when silent: not because his acting isn’t excellent, but because the script neglects him slightly. It is when Goodman listens to music – music we assume is a recording from Stephanie’s past – that we learn the most about his character. Indeed, I wish this play could have been more about the music: both the characters’ love for music and the love this music could inspire.

Kempinksi never gets to grips with the pure essence, pure joy that Stephanie found in music, nor the importance this music plays in her relationship with Dr Feldmann. The connection between patient and doctor is never quite cemented here; so whilst some might see the conclusion as hopeful, I couldn’t help fear this duet for one was about to finish for good.

Till 14 March 2009