The seriously hilarious Americanisation of the Australian theatre audience

But the warmth and value of the imagined life they led at the farm is all too great. With offspring fragmenting in front of their eyes, they lay unsparingly into the garden and the semillon, declaring their intent to return full time to the life the Boomer demands - another decade or so before the welfare system supports them into finality.

Seriously. And so. Here we are, more than two hours later, at the end. There was a bit of a bushfire in the hills around the farm. Nothing unusual in that for December and January in Australia.

If you are expecting the house to burn down, or at least the chook shed, then you will be bitterly disappointed.

There is chook shed, not blood shed. But this is not Vikings. It is not Game of Thrones. Nor is it Sons of Anarchy.

Maybe that was the difficulty for the Millennials in the audience. There were no dramatic televisual markers; no gratuitous sex, no beheadings, just mom and dad doing the gardening and drinking the semillon.

Pretty boring really. Nothing they hadn't seen at home. Not funny at all. Seriously.