Red Bud, Royal Court Theatre Upstairs

They drink, they swear, they get high, they play air guitar: but it all looks a little sad, and more than a little desperate, when the red-blooded, all-American dudes involved are middle-aged, with the beer guts and the emotional baggage to match. This new play by US writer Brett Neveu is a noisy riff on disillusion, ageing and the hollow promise of the American Dream. It’s a little over an hour long, and it’s fine as far at it goes.

Jason, Bill, Shane and Greg have been coming to Red Bud – an annual Michigan motocross rally – for 20 years. Women have come and gone, there’s been bloodshed and bad behaviour; it’s a tradition they’ve observed with ritual dedication. This time, festivities are off to a bad start. Greg has failed to bring his bike, the posse’s habitual cruising mayhem machine. His wife Jen is heavily pregnant and a conspicuous party-pooper; while Bill - who, despite his macho job as a firefighter, is generally regarded as the pussy of the group - puts everyone’s nose out of joint by turning up with Jana, a loose-limbed, highly sexed 19-year-old blonde. What has always been an annual orgy of excess and male bonding inevitably turns nasty, as decades of suppressed resentment, rivalry and bitter disappointment comes spilling forth in a foaming, acidic spew of Jack Daniel's, Budweiser and bile.