Griffin !ndependent’s latest production is written by Neil LaBute, so you know you’re not in for a shiny, happy, feel-good experience. You don’t watch The Distance From Here, you get pummelled and bruised along with the characters. The characters are cruel to each other and to themselves. They put themselves in terrible situations and perform some truly sickening acts. All of which makes The Distance From Here one of the most interesting productions in Sydney so far this year.

I didn’t think I’d be saying that as I watched the opening scene. Having teenaged mates Darrell (Anthony Gee) and Tim (Benn Welford) hanging out at the zoo and laughing at monkeys – whose imaginary enclosure doubles as Darrell’s living room – seems like an all-too obvious metaphor. Yet having set the idea up, LaBute then leaves it well alone, allowing it to quietly surface at unexpected intervals.

Director John Sheedy and his cast understand this conceit and allude to it subtly through the non-verbal aspects of their performances. Even Simone Romaniuk’s design hints at the zoo metaphor without bashing you over the head with it. It’s particularly well done with three more or less housebound characters – Darrell’s Mom Cammie (Jeanette Cronin), his step-sister Sheri (Laura Brent) and Cammie’s boyfriend Rich (Andy Rodoreda). Rodoreda’s physical depiction of a dissolute, lazy alpha-male who is not quite in his prime speaks volumes to his relationship with the two women, particularly Sheri, before anything is spoken.

It’s Gee who really dominates the show. Darrell is the ultimate disaffected youth. He’s bored, neglected, abusive and given to violent episodes. Both his father and Rich are Gulf War vets, and his manner abruptly shifts to puppyish adoration when Rich is in the room. It’s these dysfunctional relationships with people who should be role models that warp Darrell’s interactions with his peers.

When he starts to suspect that everything isn’t kosher with his on-again, off again girlfriend Jenn (Lotte St Clair), Darrell’s poor impulse control means everyone within a 10 km radius is going to suffer horribly. Despite his careless mantra of “Whatever”, Darrell cares deeply, and is paranoid and suspicious. Gee effectively channels this through an erratic performance, adopting a stance of someone perpetually ready to pounce, and maintaining an ever-so-slightly crazed look in his eye.

The rest of the cast are impressive too. Cronin channels someone who has effectively given up and decided to spend her time perfecting her slouch. Her casual delivery in telling Darrell that he didn’t make much of an impact on her as a child is cruelly funny. The younger cast members (including Brent Hill as a pet shop assistant and Sophie Hessner as a gossipy friend) perform well, alternating between frightened animals and bored children. LaBute allows little moments of sympathetic humanity to shine through (Rich’s monologue about a kite is particularly simple and beautiful, despite the nastiness of the story it’s mixed in with), allowing the audience to remain connected to the characters even as the savagery of their behaviour spirals out of control.

So no, there’s nothing much in the way of uplifting material in The Distance From Here, but there is a current running through the work that sweeps you up. LaBute is a master of brutality, both physical and psychological. Darrell’s final big act of desperation is doubly distressing given that it echoes an event that made headlines in Australia a few months ago. Yet LaBute gives you enough of a hint of the decency in his characters, and just the slightest glimmer of hope, to keep you engaged.