Sir Alan Ayckbourn, Britain’s most prolific playwright, has taken the fusion of mirth, melancholy, nostalgia and modernity to a new level in his array of endlessly innovative plays. This, his 91st, shows he has lost none of his authorial impassivity and humanity and, above all, his capacity to simultaneously amuse and amaze.

It’s good to see him still playing around so dexterously with form and function, archetypes and artifices, motives and mood swings in Earth Angel, receiving its world premiere at Scarborough’s Stephen Joseph Theatre.

This tough and tender exploration of the muddle of existence takes as its central question one that is as old as the narrative tradition itself, as firmly embedded in our cultural psyche as the survival instinct - what is the true identity of the stranger?

The central character, Gerald Mallett, a retired English teacher, is forced to confront life’s absurdities, rage against the dying of the light, and make some alarming discoveries as he looks back in bewilderment, immediately after the funeral of his beloved wife, Amy, a pub singer, fifteen years his junior, he had fallen in love with her at first sight.

So who is this young Daniel character who arrives unexpectedly at the wake - ‘dropped in’ as he was passing by, as he puts it. Is he the malignant stranger of folk tale, come to wreak havoc on other lives, or the very opposite, the kindly one purposing to do good or, indeed, the magical one, the otherworldly. Ayckbourn plants hints about all three, just as Chekhov might, or Gogol, or Priestley. Iskander Eaton, in his most demanding role to date, has just the right amount of passive inscrutability to keep us guessing to the very end.

He is strangely knowing beyond his years, and what he suggests is his ‘true calling in life’ seems almost too good to be true in normal terms. It is especially so in the modern social media age where rumours abound and collectivise in the sort of conspiracy theories (about serial killers) that nerdy neighbour Hugo is across on his computer, likely to frighten the life out of Norah, who lives opposite.

He is certain to arouse the suspicions, which quickly harden to certainties, in the minds of Gerald’s sister, Maxine, a local magistrate, and her husband, Adrian, the retired copper, who lead the Chorus of Disapproval, to borrow one of Ayckbourn’s titles and familiar tropes.

Russell Richardson gives an intense, warmly empathetic performance as Gerald out of step with everyone, Daniel apart. He is a sensitive and intelligent man, who has just lost the light of his life. He is at first naturally curious and not without suspicion but, considering himself to be a good judge of character, always disposed ‘to think the best of people until they’ve shown me the worst’, he quickly warms to the young man. It’s hard not to sense, however, he is quickly becoming emotionally dependent on him.

Finding himself in bitter conflict with those who wish to protect him, Gerald is moved to speak his mind in a tragicomic confrontation, triggered by how Amy is being perceived by others, and in a way a confession of his own inadequacies.

Ayckbourn’s early reputation as a farceur may long ago have been overtaken by his serious preoccupation with prosaic human disconnection - but he can still extract piqued humour and sly wit out of peak absurdity. There is, in a word, much fun to be had even when tensions are at their height, and the comedy accelerates throughout.

Supporting the striking performances of the two central characters, a strong cast of accomplished actors delight in flirting with caricature, comically contorting themselves, making the most of the deliberate superficiality of their roles, taking us back into situation comedy.

Elizabeth Boag - now firmly rooted in Scarborough and founding director of the town’s Film Festival - excels as the well meaning Norah, wanting to mother Gerald. Hayden Wood extracts as much zanily zombified animation as possible in the role of keyboard-bound hashtagger, Hugo.

Liza Goddard, as Maxine, has not perhaps as much scope as we might wish to display her accomplished comic skills, but makes what she can of sending up the indignant pomposity of a self-proclaimed pillar of the community, not least when called ‘a ludicrous, bigoted, racist, class-conscious snob’ by her brother.

Stuart Fox, veteran of countless Ayckbourn productions, draws forth the biggest laughs as the former Central Task Force Officer who has lost none of his plodding policespeak. ‘We are living on a knife edge, with Armageddon just round the corner,’ he intones, with Clouseau-like seriousness and the wooden rigidity of Frank Drebin.

Kevin Jenkins’ modular set, stripped down and cut off at waist height, giving simultaneous views of Gerald’s kitchen and living rooms, works well in the round, which we must call Ayckbourn’s element.

The Master directs with his customary finesse, enticing us with nuanced glimpses of emotional truth then letting us drift into the usual Brechtian uncertainties, apparently on the whim of himself, the playwright. (There must be a critical term for this form of self-direction.)

It is a mature play, one that lingers in the mind long after. Ayckbourn never ceases to surprise and to hit the mark. It’s yet another layer in this remarkable playwright's endless exploration of life’s lack of resolution even after a momentous event has occurred.

Earth Angel, written and directed by Alan Ayckbourn, is at the SJT, Scarborough, until 11 October, 2025.