The trouble with a play from Neil LaBute is that we find ourselves longing for it to end. Not because the life-too-short/drama-too-long equation works against it but because LaBute’s stock-in-trade — or perhaps that should be shock-in-trade — is, at the very last, to reveal a fact so thrillingly cruel and unexpected it turns everything we have heard on its head. At its finest, the tactic worked to explosive effect in The Shape of Things but the problem with this monologue is that the duly shattering conclusion cannot compensate for the previous 70 underwhelming minutes.

Wrecks, which played for a limited run in New York, disappointingly comes across as an off-cut, rather than top-drawer LaBute. For a dramatist so skilled at scalpel-sharp dialogue, the monologue form also seems a peculiar choice. Nonetheless, here we are, thanks to Lucy Osborne’s spot-on design, in a plush Midwest funeral parlour, where late-middle-aged Edward Carr (Robert Glenister) graciously mourns the passing of his beloved wife, Mary‑Jo, 15 years his senior.

We learn that after some initial upheaval, which saw Mary-Jo leave her wealthy Swedish husband for Edward, the couple enjoyed 30 years of mutually cherishing happiness. Glenister, an engaging performer who holds the stage with ease rather than dominating it with unappealing force in Josie Rourke’s fluid production, gives us snapshots of a marriage. Berating himself gently for early-onset nostalgia, he looks back to his youth, a time of “small chivalry and proper thoughts”, in one memorable phrase.

Yes, yes, we find ourselves thinking, Edward’s success in the classic auto-rental market is all very well, but what’s the catch, Mr LaBute?

When the ending comes, with its mention of a long-held secret, it’s expertly spun out for maximum impact. This time, though, it seems a cheaper trick than ever before.
Until 28 March 28. Information: 020 8743 5050, www.bushtheatre.co.uk