PUT aside all preconceptions of Les Dennis before going to the superb Just Between Ourselves at the Yvonne Arnaud.
But then again, even if you don't manage to banish the Family Fortunes images in the foyer, by the end of the evening they will certainly have disappeared.
In the dark, tragi-comic, Ayckbourn play Les takes the central role of Dennis, an eternal optimist, oblivious to the emotions of his family and friends and spectacularly misogynistic.
Obsessed with tinkering around in his garage, he fails to notice his wife is losing her grip on normality, while his mother, played brilliantly by Jean Boht, is pushing everyone off kilter.
Relationships develop between the family and a couple who come round to buy their car, and as the story moves on, the understanding of the character's foibles and passions, along with a feeling for what provincial life in the 1970s was like, is revealed.
While sitting in the audience it really feels like you have been transported back in time by 30 years and are peeking over a garden fence to spy on the family.
All the mundanities of everyday life are observed with sensitivity, compassion and a healthy amount of comedy.
The couple, Pam (Dorothy Atkinson) and Neil (Matthew Cottle), struggle with themselves and each other. They are much more than a snapshot of the times, and the actors are believable and highly-skilled.
The character of Dennis is so contradictory that as soon as you find yourself feeling an ounce of empathy towards him Ayckbourn's script gives you reason to wish one of his dodgy electrical "fix-it" jobs would give him a short, sharp shock.
And Les Dennis succeeds in arousing these responses. His movements are spot on, and he has an undeniable talent for both the slapstick moments and more subtle humour of the piece.
Boht is truly a grande dame, with a commanding presence which the audience immediately connects to. Playing the "typical" mother-in-law with great timing and understanding of the script, she humiliates the fragile Vera (played excellently by Kathryn Pogson), while fussing around her own son, Dennis.
As the end of the play draws near and Pogson's Vera drifts towards the unreachable realms of utter despair, sympathy for all characters, except Boht's gloriously basking mother, becomes inevitable.
Vera sits in isolation, a bitter northern wind searing across the patio, and the audience feels a moment of clarity.
The fortunes of these families are played out with style, wit, and compassion.
Just Between Ourselves plays at the Yvonne Arnaud until Saturday.
Jenny Clarke