Risk, reward, riches. That’s the three Rs of writer director Sean Durkin’s THE NEST, an above average stock take on avarice.

Charm and bullshit and a bushel of talent has got Rory O’Hara out of his council flat flat-lining childhood in London across the pond to a New York life and lifestyle with two kids and a wife.

By most standards, he has done well for himself, but his aspirations far exceed his accomplishments. Not content with his position at work he sees an opportunity in Thatcher’s England and uproots his family to return to the place of his birth.

Counting his chickens before they hatch, Rory sinks a shipload of shekels into a grand Surrey estate, an ostentatious feather in his cap, a nest he cannot begin to feather.

THE NEST is a cautionary tale of the distraught and destruction brought down from living beyond your means, of anticipating your dreams. Putting all your eggs in the one nest is cuckoo, incubating dreams that hatch as nightmares.

Durkin’s script reminded me of Rattigan with a little turn of the screw to Henry James. The Nest, an edifice born of avarice, is a sad facade to the outside world, whilst its occupants seem to succumb to a possession, an evil visited on the residents, a poison similar to a spiritual asbestosis, an ethical mesothelioma.

But there are no ghosts, gremlins or ghouls in this haunted house. Just greed.

Jude Law as Rory and Carrie Coon as Allison are splendid as the sparring spouses and there is a devastating scene between Rory and his mother played beautifully by Anne Reid that’s practically worth the price of admission.

Richard Reed Parry’s score is a knockout, a genteel cocktail lounge vibe infused with a tone of dread, descent, and downfall.

Durkin’s direction keeps the predictable at bay with some deft misdirection, keeping audiences on their toes and fingernails perilously close to teeth.