The relevance of political plays invariably wavers over time. There have been recent occasions when Arthur Miller's great broadside against McCarthyism has been made to look like little more than a tasteful exhibition of Shaker furniture. But Terry Hands's brilliant post-September 11 production proves that the work has snapped back into focus.
Sensibly, Hands does not attempt to displace the action from 17th-century Salem, but the allegorical connections are clear. "These are new times," states the pious witch-finder, Rev Hale. "There is a misty plot afoot so subtle, we should be criminal to cling to old respects and ancient friendships." It is merely a more fluent articulation of George Bush's infatuation with the axis of evil. Maybe someone should have noted that "there is prodigious danger in the seeking of loose spirits" when making the case for war in Iraq.
The chilling opening tableau of Hands's production is initially more Blair Witch than Salem witches: village girls are glimpsed enacting mysterious voodoo rites amid designer Martyn Bainbridge's imposing copse of ghostly, denuded pines.
In the ever-present forest, Hands orchestrates a sombre but supremely well-paced example of great ensemble acting. At its heart, Julian Lewis Jones's John Proctor increases in stature as his Christian probity is diminished. His teenage nemesis, Abigail, is tempestuously evoked by Louise Collins in a vicious display of spite, which rather puts you in mind of Kelly Osbourne in her petulant determination to do the devil's work.
The magnificent Malcolm Storry dominates as the fanatical Deputy-Governor Danforth, his black robes, callous, beady eyes and jutting features suggesting the carrion-hungry eagle of American justice. Maybe a world in which The Crucible were not quite so apposite would be a better place. But sadly, it has become an essential text again.
· Until November 1. Box office: 0845 330 3565.
