Sometimes you admire a show rather more than you enjoy it. Such is the case with this solo piece from Marcello Magni: 90 minutes that genuinely deserves to be called a tour de force. It looks beautiful in Dick Bird's design and it is a truly amazing performance, as Magni bicycles back in time in search of the roots of commedia dell'arte and in particular the clown or harlequin figure called Arlecchino.
It is a journey that takes him from 15th-century Italy to 18th-century Paris, through war and destruction. We end up in his London flat, where it seems that, contrary to reports that commedia dell'arte is a largely obsolete form, the spirit of Arlecchino is alive and well, and running amok. There is a diabolical grin on his half-masked, moustachioed face as he tumbles wildly across the stage until, in the fizz of a firework, he is well and truly burned out.
But Magni's obsessions as an actor are not necessarily the audience's obsessions. His show tells you more about the Arlecchino figure than you might want to know, while simultaneously assuming too much knowledge on the part of the audience. It was only after returning home and looking up a history of commedia dell'arte that I appreciated how closely Magni sticks to the development of the figure, from the brutish, rustic character of early commedia to a more refined but subservient role in the high comedy of Marivaux.
In many ways, the desire to tell the character's history cramps Magni's style. The show only really comes alive in the interludes, particularly in his terrific, generous interaction with the audience. After an embarrassing experience at an Edinburgh festival some time last century - I still blush when I think of it - I am the woman in the audience least likely to want to be involved in audience participation. Here, I found myself joining in with the rest - and even wishing I was in the front row.
But for all its occasional, firework brilliance, this is a patchy evening, and as often as I laughed out loud (not generally a common occurrence), I was thoroughly baffled. It seems that the language of theatre is not entirely universal.
· Until May 4. Box office: 020-7223 2223.
