In a future universe, the slingback serial killer is on the loose, and it is the performers at seedy intergalactic bar Saucy Jack's who are the victims. When the glamorous Vulva, star-to-be of the new series of Cleavage Valley - ends up with a stiletto heel in her heart, it's time to call in the Space Vixens, a trio of platform-heeled cosmic Charlie's Angels who have "crime to fight and glitter to strut".
Clearly aimed at a generation too young to have experienced The Rocky Horror Show but in urgent need of an injection of leather, cross-dressing campery and glam rock, Saucy Jack is hardly theatrical rocket science, but neither is it a show that you could possibly dislike. It is just too energetic, too aware of its own absurdity - and it has the added benefit of a song called Glitter Boots Saved My Life.
The piece started out in Edinburgh in the 1990s and has already made a brief West End appearance. The key to its success here is that the cabaret-style Venue is absolutely the right place to stage this sort of enjoyable, silly, tongue-in-cheek hokum. The audience can't but help feel part of the show, and some of the funniest moments come from the interactions between the crowd and the cast.
The humour is hardly sophisticated, as evidenced by the names of the characters - Willhelm von Whackoff, Chesty Prospects and Jubilee Climax - and it would have been well worth the producers spending a few bob on bringing in someone to fix the limp book and script, and on improving the acoustics. But in the second half, at least, the choreography of Strictly Come Dancing judge Bruno Tonioli comes into its own with the terrific We Are the Shrink Wrap Boys, a male pole-dancing extravaganza performed in tiny shorts that epitomises a show that is good clean dirty fun, and wouldn't really shock your mum.
Faye Tozer, formerly of Steps, has strong stage presence as leader of the space vixen pack. Gemma Zirfas shows comic potential as her sidekick, Anna Labia, and Carmen Cusack smoulders as the tough-talking, motorcycle-riding lesbian space smuggler Chesty. No, it's not Ibsen, and it is definitely not Sondheim: most of the songs are instantly forgettable. But the show struts its stuff so blatantly that it's impossible not to be entertained by its energy and brazen vulgarity.
· Until February 18. Box office: 0870 899 3335.
