Subtitled A Vaudeville Nightmare, Sam Shepard's drama was written in response to the first Gulf war. A roadside cafe or family diner is invaded by a colonel and his charge, a wounded soldier called Stubbs, who the colonel claims was injured by the same bullet that killed his son. But all is not quite what it seems. The colonel's and Stubbs's stories don't add up, and it soon becomes apparent from the loud explosions outside that the war is now back home in the heartlands of America. As the waitress, Glory Bee, ponders: "I always thought we were invulnerable to attack. The landscaping. The parking lot. The lighting. All the pretty bushes. Who could touch us? Who would dare?"
That line makes the play seem both more prescient and more interesting than it actually is. Admittedly, it paints a pretty good portrait of the American psyche and the nation's parochialism, its chocolate-fudge-sundae state of mind - indicated through a middle-aged, uptight couple dressed all in white who complain that the delay in getting their clam chowder means that they are wasting valuable shopping time. But Shepard's targets are all very easy targets, and the play simply confirms the view of the most powerful nation on earth as having the mentality of customers at a small-town diner, whether they are the psychotic military or snitchy small-minded individuals concerned about the liquor laws.
Nathan Osgood's production is clearly done on a shoestring, but has a lot going for it - particularly the acting, which is dark, edgy and convincing. In the end, though, you wonder whether this stodgy piece - badly in need of more nightmare, and a lot more vaudeville - would ever have been staged without Shepard's name on the title page.
· Until April 17. Box office: 020-7503 1646.
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