Crime fiction fans determined to unearth a 62nd Holmes mystery are as likely to be disappointed as the American tourists who mill around Baker Street trying to find number 221b. Yet here is sustenance for those who long for the return of the deer-stalkered detective, in the form of the "missing" riddle of the Case of the Seven Keys.
Admittedly, Emil Wolk's anarchically broad invention owes as much to Carry On films as to Conan Doyle's fiction. But this spoof, directed by Wolk and written by him and Mark Long, is maniacally entertaining and endearingly affectionate.
With a dearth of grisly and oblique cases, Holmes has been filling in time exploring his feminine side. We first see him pacing around the Baker Street apartment trying out a crinoline for size. The sudden appearance of an enigmatic dark lady shatters Holmes's lethargy, pitching him into a bizarre hunt that leads to the heart of Egyptian sun-worship mythology. Eventually, some hieroglyphics on an ancient papyrus scroll provide a lead. Vellum entry, my dear Watson.
After an inspired airship dash across the Atlantic, the plot canters off towards Indiana Jones territory, leaving us to wonder why we are regaled with a frenetic Charleston routine in a Las Vegas gambling saloon hosted by the devil. This is the point of the evening at which logic no longer seems to apply, leaving Wolk's madcap vision to freewheel.
An occasional respite from the relentless zaniness would be welcome. However, the show is considerably bolstered by an ideal Holmes exhibition from its star, Lloyd Hutchinson. His bluff performance seems to combine the best aspects of the most notable modern Sherlocks: Basil Rathbone's dash, Jeremy Brett's hauteur, Eric Morecambe's pantomime timing. Jason Watkins's puggish Watson tags along as the blimpish foil par excellence.
But it is the episodes of pure commedia dell'arte that pitch the audience towards hysteria. In one classic sequence, the resourcefully rubbery Miltos Yerolemou attempts to clear a dead body twice his size from the stage. Even the corpse was corpsing.
· Until August 9. Box office: 0161-833 9833.
