Joe Orton's ugly, early death should at least have spared him the indignity of growing old gracefully. Orton's oeuvre is still potent, but its capacity to shock requires revivals with the courage to recapture the essence of his outrage. In an era pretty much unsurprised by anything, modern productions need to delve towards the dark heart of Orton's work, revealing its sharp malevolence, the moral subversion, the whiff of rough sex. Jim Hooper's production gives us nostalgia.
Hooper's staging of Loot, a frenetic caper about a rough-handled corpse and the proceeds of a bank job, is serviceable and delivers some laughs. But it is as dangerous as an hour of golden oldies on Radio 2. There is nothing wrong with restoring icons of the 1960s, but you hope to see Orton roar back to life replenished, repackaged and still ready for action, like the new Mini. This show is the original model, much loved but rust-bitten and unlikely to make it through the next MOT.
Fittingly for a farce involving an open casket, everything about the production is perfectly embalmed. Nigel Hook's design enshrines the frowsy and suburban strand of 1960s taste. As Hal, Tim Delap wears winkle-pickers that could stab a rabbit and trousers that pose a threat to the circulation. Celia Delaney's Fay comes fresh from the set of Carry On Nurse and the set-dressing courtesy of Green Shield Stamps. The period detail is exemplary in every way, but reinforces the sense that style has triumphed over substance. The production calls to mind those pointless revivals of Restoration comedy, in which the actors disguise their uncertainty by parading the wigs instead of inhabiting the characters.
You could argue that Orton's madcap plotting bears little relation to reality; and yet his gallows humour has increasingly begun to seem grimly prophetic. The play features a nurse suspected of aiding the deaths of over 100 elderly patients. Playing that for a quick guffaw in the week of the Harold Shipman report is in questionable taste. Orton's irreverence hints at hard truths: this production all too readily takes the soft option.
· Until Saturday. Box office: 01904 623568.
