I take a seat. Sit – the story of the chair – begins and back we go. In the beginning, cavemen invented our commonplace seat: a log that could be rolled around, thrown around and lo and behold – sat on. Journeying through time, the audience is introduced to a number of influential figures in the evolution of entertainment and also, tenuously, the chair. A film sequence develops the Chairwood family quests. The film is not integrated into theatrical language and the piece suffers for it. This is not new media, more like ill-crafted laziness. Film doesn't do anything that the stage could not.

Failing to up its theatrical stakes, Sit persists in showing us all the locations where we sit. Cinemas, lecture theatres, football matches. It does not expand nor make lyrical the act of sitting or the role of the chair. It simply tells us that we sit. On chairs.

A high point is the dentist's scene in the second act where a keen sense of slapstick emerges. The sleek waiting room offers its patients a sofa and a chair, the latter collapses under its occupants' weight, the former squeaks and farts embarrassingly. The tension of the unseen surgery gives a sharp edge to the antics of the waiting patients. As new patients enter, the former ones wait and watch with gleeful complicity. Another is the equally amusing, reluctant sheepdog that reigns over a flock of unusually inanimate white fleece chairs. The second act is an improvement on the false start of the first, but the overall impression is one of mindless fun. Shame. Mindful fun is so much funnier.