Giles Woodforde feels this production of All My Sons never quite lifts off

In 1947, Joe Keller and his wife Kate are living the all-American dream in their sparkling Ohio house. But a very nasty question festers beneath the wholesome surface. During the Second World War, Joe’s engineer-ing firm knowingly shipped out some faulty aircraft engines, resulting in the deaths of 21 pilots. Conveniently, you might think, Joe was in bed with flu at the time, and a subordinate was jailed for turning a blind eye to the faults. But was boss Joe kept in the dark, or did he know what was going on?

This is the opening scenario of Arthur Miller’s play All My Sons, and, of course, it has a very contemporary relevance — almost daily, it seems, bank bosses are hauled before committees of inquiry and asked what they know about the actions of their underlings. No wonder the Talawa Theatre Company has chosen to restage All My Sons, Miller’s first commercially successful play, in this, the centenary year of his birth.

Talawa’s production opens in amia-ble mood. Joe is relaxed as he joshes with the neighbours, he’s every inch the retiree looking back on a successful business career. Early on, however, there are hints that his profits have come from ruthless cost cutting: “He’s a man who knows how many minutes a day his workers spend in the toilet,” says one neighbour, only half in jest.

Then a chill wind starts to blow with the arrival of Annie (Kemi-Bo Jacobs, in an unfortunately underwhelming performance). She’s the girlfriend of Joe’s son Chris, although there is little physical chemistry between them. Perhaps that’s because she originally fancied his elder brother Larry, who never returned from the War. But much more importantly, Annie is the daughter of the imprisoned factory supervisor who sanctioned the release of the defective engines. It’s not long before Joe mutters: “She’s been sent to find out something”.

As surviving son Chris, Leemore Marrett Jr, gives one of the best performances of the evening. The pain Chris suffers is both graphic and moving, as every last shred of respect he once felt for his father is stripped away. Meanwhile, Doña Croll makes the most of the rather unrewarding part of Kate, Joe’s wife. She buries herself in household chores and horoscopes, convinced that one day her beloved first-born son will miraculously appear on the well-scrubbed doorstep.

Tension should mount as it becomes steadily more apparent that Joe’s excuses aren’t going to be good enough: “These things happen, he [the supervisor] was afraid to stop production,” he says airily at one point. Ray Shell, in a convincing performance as Joe, does his best as he moves from bonhomie to increasingly frequent explosions of rage.

But overall this production never quite lifts off. Miller’s superb writing is delivered with clarity, but it rarely smacks you in the face. It’s as if you are across the street, rather than nosily leaning over next door’s white picket fence, when the Keller family self-destructs.

All My Sons
Oxford Playhouse
Until Saturday
01865 305305 or oxfordplayhouse.com