An ambitious new theatre company in need of goodwill should never tease audiences with the claim that their version of Waiting for Godot is “set to the music of Joy Division” when the songs only make brief appearances in the intervals. Eighties-music fans, an unforgiving crew, will arrive expecting Ian Curtis-like seizures from Vladimir only to discover that the sole morose Brit who plays a part is Morrissey, crooning “Sing Me to Sleep” while Estragon curls up on what appears to be a suitcase.

Needless to say, the Nazi swastika worn by nasty Pozzo and the Star of David worn by his subversive servant Lucky — nods to this production’s alleged Second World War setting— are also misguided and gratuitous. There’s no question that Samuel Beckett’s quintessential existential comedy — with its rapid-fire “Who’s on first? What’s on second?” dialogue, humanist themes and slick surfaces — is ripe for reinterpretation. It’s like Shakespeare, James Bond or Batman that way. But a re-imagining needs more than snow on the ground and well-executed pratfalls. This fledgling company should focus less on gimmicks and more on making audiences connect with the characters and the tragically funny things they say. The talent’s certainly there to do it.