Tackling a topic like death, or perhaps the topic of death, it would have be easy for this production to slip into whimsical comments on wasted youth, dusty wrinkles, and morbid clichés. But the sheer energy of this play turned one of the most prevalent fears of humanity into a fresh and enthralling commentary on mortality. Killing Time was inspired by a piece of music (and perhaps a third character not credited in the programme, Freud – Hester’s cello), and we see the pair open the play.

Set in Hester’s (Brigit Forsyth) flat, the audience is immediately made to feel like they are intruding on something intensely private. Surrounded by cardboard boxes that scream of impermanence, Hester’s home is small and clearly lived in. In this case, clearly lived in by someone who has no preference for Kettle Chips over Walker’s prawn cocktail, with packets strewn over the floor.

The aging woman in her silk kimono is at home in every way as she fills the stage with the sound of her string instrument, only pulled out of her own world, and into ours, by her offensively high-pitched ring-tone. The ensuing conversation with her best friend George (Robin Herford) over Skype (in which ‘everyone looks like a 70’s porn star’) is a glimpse into the enigmatic and flamboyant Hester who occupies the stage for 90 minutes; entertaining the audience with a wit sharper than the weight of the subject matter.

In contrast, the other character, Sara (Zoe Mills, also the writer), plays a crass but lovably innocent social worker who comes to do Hester’s groceries or, in other words, buy the old woman a cellar’s worth of Rioja every other day. As the play progresses, Sara’s curious and slightly perverse mission of atonement comes to light, adding to the play an undertone of political commentary surrounding euthanasia.

Although Hester might have tried to, this play does not avoid more serious sentiments; the many layers of good humour and cynicism break down occasionally to reveal Hester’s feelings of loss, isolation, and a fear of losing control.

Killing Time is worth seeing for its beautiful music alone, but the intricate relationship that forms between the two characters is subtle and powerful, raising questions of how we can connect best in a modern world, and how we can be remembered after we are gone. Will it be an obituary on Wikipedia, a video, a text message to a friend, or, if we are lucky, a piece of art?

Killing Time will be playing at the Park Theatre until 4 March. For more information and tickets, click here.