I like the work of director Anna Mackmin, particularly her vigorous staging of Dying For It (a version of Nikolai Erdman's The Suicide) at the Almeida. But her skills can't do much to rescue this undercooked play about old age by Tamsin Oglesby in the Cottesloe. I left the theatre asking exactly the same question as I posed when I saw her play The War Next Door in 2007 at the Tricycle: How come a work with so many flaws makes it on to the professional stage under an experienced director? This is her first full-length play at the National Theatre, and the kindest thing I can say about it is that it would have been better served by several more rewrites. It's a muddle which hovers between Ortonesque black comedy, realistic character comedy and futuristic social satire, but isn't convincing in any of these registers. Nor does it really illuminate the issues of old age or the hypocrisy with which we surround it. I found Judy Parfitt's portrayal of a woman with progressive memory loss technically impressive, but there was nothing in the writing that seemed to correspond with the real symptoms of the ailment -- at least in my experience. The play starts on two levels, with a faceless trio of health providers arguing over how best to profit from the elderly under a new set of social rules. This lacks satirical bite and seems unfocused. And the ordinary family who eventually fall into this death factory are unconvincing. Only at rare moments is there any flash of real comedy which shows psychological truth. I like Marcia Warren's portrait of an uncomplaining and remorselessly upbeat old lady of the stiff-upper-lip generation, and the highlight is Michela Meazza's very funny virtuoso portrayal of a robot nurse. If all the other actors were turned from human beings into equally proficient robots, the evening might be more entertaining.