On a raised, circular stage, against a splash of pink, four near-adults are trying to forget. They are trying to forget how bored they are; how unloved, over-loved and frightened they are. They are trying to forget that they are nearly grown-ups. But the stage won’t let them: initially comforting music takes on a haunting edge, a clock ticks loudly but unheard, booze that once helped is now only hindering and a gun shot occasionally booms off-stage. This is the world of Arthur Schnitzler’s Sweet Nothings, where love might start with innocent murmurings but soon rumbles into something darker, stronger and beyond these characters’ control.

Director Luc Bondy (esteemed across Europe but a rare presence in London) has tussled admirably with David Harrower’s new version of the play, and skilfully draws out the links between hedonism, self-destruction and denial. The first half – the edgiest by far – makes the skin crawl. It tingles with contradictions: music that continues to play long after the piano has been deserted, laughter that sounds threatening not joyful and harmless whistling that pierces the heart. The extravagantly slow-paced delivery of the four young actors helps to tighten the tension to the point you’ll want to reach out and snap it. This languorous pace also creates a deep desire within the spectator to slip between the silences and stave off the inevitable.

Yet, although the audience (along with the other observers in this play – family friend, Katharina and dad, Weiring) can see the play’s tragic trajectory all too clearly, Fritz and best friend Theodore, along with respective love interests Christine and Mizi, do their utmost to ignore the signs. They barely even flinch at the gunshots. Indeed, the crawling pace of their speech feeds into this idea of wilful denial; though every tick-tock brings these characters closer to an ugly conclusion, they take their time over every wrong decision, every phrase, every word, refusing to acknowledge the urgency of their dilemma.

Fritz – a broody lad who friend Theodore accuses of ‘coming over all Nietzsche’ – is at the heart of Schnitzler’s deadly time-bomb. Though he encourages Christine’s innocent but insistent advances, only yesterday he was seen cavorting with a married lady in the opera house. Unsurprisingly, in the wake of this dangerously public flirtation, the spurned husband has caught on and retribution cannot be far off. The first act becomes a terrifying waiting game; although Fritz might be old enough to love an adult, is he mature enough to deal with the consequences?

Tom Hughes’ Fritz is heart-breakingly young and puffed out and summons up the atmosphere of a son anticipating a hearty hiding from his dad. It is tricky to tell if any of the characters, despite the promise of a duel between Fritz and harrowed husband, recognise the real danger they face. Indeed, this is what makes Fritzs’ wilful embracing of his fate so hard to witness.

Bondy has encouraged striking – stylised but truthful – performances from his actors. Jack Lasley as best friend Theodore is all spike and bravado. The very first scene, when Theodore tiptoes around the edge of the stage only to tumble to the ground below, tells us everything we need to know about this posturing man and the dangerous path he is following. Christine, the young and self-effacing lover of Fritz, could have been a bland role, but Kate Burdette finds a resolve and stubbornness that makes this an interesting, even noble, part. Natalie Dormer (playing best friend Mizi) is the best drunk I’ve seen on-stage – all loose limbs and misdirection – and although she is more knowing than her friend, her resemblance to a China doll in the second half (chalk white face and rosey lips) reminds us of the young girl hiding behind this flippant front.

Hayley Carmichael as family friend Katharina – ostensibly concerned but mostly just miffed and mildly scandalised by Christine’s affair – draws out a different aspect of Schnitzler’s writing. She is the everyman observer of this tragedy and her tight-lipped observations (interrupted by occasional and unstoppable outbursts – ‘trollop!’) tightens the context of life in early 20th century Vienna, while also adding a piquant, stylised humour to the show. David Sibley’s ‘father’ feels slightly top-heavy with emotion – his eyes and heart are open far wider than anyone else’s – but since we are really experiencing this dad through the eyes of his cosseted daughter, perhaps this embarrassing overflow of emotion makes sense.

Luc Bondy’s direction occasionally feels indulgent without cause (the lights coming up on the audience feels particularly pushed) but it is mostly challenging, deeply poetical and patient. This is a strange and arresting show, which leaves one desperate to escape Bondy’s posse of self-deceiving and self-defeating young lovers.

Till 10 April 2010