Tim Firth’s Olivier Award-winning musical Our House made its debut on Wednesday night at an Oxford Playhouse handsomely packed with young and old alike. The plot follows Joe Casey, played by Alex Innes, whose youthful zeal befits a teenaged school dropout self-catapulted into adulthood and navigating its trials and tribulations – including a stint under Old Bill’s cuffs. He delivered to the nines and reminded me of a young DiCaprio in the Baz Luhrmann adaptation of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Striking also was his rhythm and melodic voice in the many tunes he sang, as Joe found himself in successive dilemmas between the good and the bad which all lead from his fateful sweet sixteenth.

But I couldn’t help but think his cockney accent was a tad exaggerated at times. Nonetheless, I was moved by his overall performance, which was rich in wit and charisma, especially when he masterfully played off a slight wardrobe malfunction involving his trousers. Seeing someone sabotage their educational prospects in the pursuit of an old-fashioned idea of independence hit particularly close to home for me, reminding me of a younger cousin of mine who did the same.

But whatever path Joe took, it always led fatefully to Sarah (played by Maya Flint) who at first I was convinced was a grown-up Sophia Grace from The Ellen DeGeneres Show. It was almost as if the role was made for her: Maya’s quirky and cutesy aura complementing Sarah’s dutiful, sensible, and career-driven law student perfectly, making her the Yin to Joe’s Yang. This was, indeed, a true love story.

And one with friends and family in the mix too. One of Joe’s friends, Emmo (Peter Hardisty) eerily resembled Draco Malfoy – although a much, much nicer iteration. Billie (Lottie Hutchison) and Angie (Imogen Bowden), two of Sarah’s pals, show their sisterly love in not the most obvious of ways, particularly in their relentless attempts to keep Sarah as far away from Joe as possible. There was also a foe in the fold. Rebecca Harper exuded all things Bill Sikes in her performance as Reecey, giving a wonderfully butch interpretation of the character. Meanwhile, Tristan Hood’s turn as the ghost of Joe’s father serves as both the play’s conscience and his booming vocals accompanying a character forever looking over his son’s shoulder and warning him away from the criminality that led to his own death. At times I thought the story was set in 1980s Chelmsford and not dear old multicultural Camden, which as a born and bred Londoner myself I couldn’t recognise in the play given the sheer and glaring lack of diversity in the casting.

On songs, there were the timeless Madness classics, which I won’t give away given that it was rather a fun exercise to discern which was which. And the play’s energetic, high-tempo jukebox musicality generally elevated its high-tempered performances.

While Harriet Wilson’s role as the mother of the show, Kath, was big, bubbly, and slightly daft, she nonetheless reminded the audience of why our mothers play such a big part in our lives. After all, as Joe’s life mapped out before us, you couldn’t help but think: well, damn, that apple certainly didn’t fall far from the tree. 

It also had me thinking I need to get my own mother a birthday gift, as hers looms – and it might well be tickets to Our House.

[Our House, staged by Cross Keys Productions, is running at the Oxford Playhouse, 20-23 May 2026]