Ruthie (Claire-Louise Cordwell) has been transferred to a new prison. On her arrival, the warders remind her that rules are rules - and soon sleek fat cat Maya, a drug's mule being paid to keep her mouth shut, is reminding her that the prisoners have their own hierarchies, too. Long-time inmate Chelle (Lorna Gayle) seems to be very much at the bottom of the heap, but when she teams up with lippy Ruthie there appears to be strength in sisterhood, despite one of the creepy prison officers' jocular suggestion that when you enter a prison, "you leave feminism at the door". In the case of Ruthie and Chelle, however, the balance of power is not quite what it seems.
But then neither is Jennifer Farmer's play, which acts as a reminder that there is much more to prison plays than tales of old lags and sob stories. Compact Failure is as complex as the world it creates: multilayered and tangled, full of tiny moments of flickering hope and glancing injustices. The writing is just so, not too much and not too little: scenes that seem to be going one way are suddenly undercut, often with a lurch of emotion or the lightest touch of humour. It cuts straight to the quick, particularly in its consideration of motherhood, the secrets we keep from our children and the horrors we expose them to.
All of the characters are so convincing that I still expect to run into them in the street. If I do, I will treat them as old friends.
This is not a great play. In fact it is quite little. But it has a scope, a rage, a sparky flame of life about it that makes it compelling and thoroughly enjoyable. It confirms Farmer's promise, as well as that of director Sarah Esdaile, whose edgy, beautifully acted production - played out on Ti Green's little miracle of a set - is as tough and tender as Framer's script.
· Until November 27. Box office: 020-7503 1646.
