The Catholic and the Protestant sit side by side in two shows that work entirely independently but which reflect interestingly back on each other as a double-bill. The more accessible and immediately appealing of the two is Belfast Blues, Geraldine Hughes' account of her west Belfast upbringing in the notorious Divis flats and then in a house a stone's throw from the so-called peace line that divided the warring Catholic and Protestant communities. There is some great stuff in here, from the family's illegal confectionery shop run out of their Divis flat living room, to the impact of British soldiers on the lives of local children.
This is oral history with a theatrical twist. But perhaps because it was originally created for US audiences, the whole thing lacks both political and real emotional edge, and Hughes' relationship with her IRA sympathiser father is too sketchily drawn to provide the piece with the heart - or the anger - it needs to make a lasting impact.
While Belfast Blues is too soft, Protestants is so hard, dense and uninviting that you can't get near it. It is undoubtedly brilliantly performed by Paul Hickey, but while Robert Welch's intelligent script dazzles with its leaps of geography and leaps of the mind, as it explores the makings of the protestant psyche, it would make a much better non-fiction book than it does an hour in the theatre. It feels as if too much is squashed in as we travel from the Isle of Dogs to the Mississippi, Wittenberg to Govan, meet Queen Elizabeth I without her wig, Charles I without his head and imagine the Pope baring his bottom at Ibrox Park. I left the theatre knowing more about Protestantism, but not necessarily understanding more.
· Until July 3. Box office: 020-7478 0100.
