Peter Brook said the future of theatre lay with cheap seats: the Belgrade has responded by reducing prices for a French classic and pulled in a packed house for midweek Molière.
It's thoroughly well deserved too, as Hamish Glen's production is a hoot. David Johnston's new version is perhaps closer to the spirit than the letter of the original, absorbing all manner of modern reference from Coventry FC to Postman Pat.
Yet Glen absolutely retains Molière's distinct mix of eloquent satire and rough burlesque knockabout. The carnival atmosphere kicks off in the foyer, with characters poised to take audience members for a brisk reel round the ice-cream stand, and develops into a rousing musical introduction as Oliver Beamish's ebullient Punch announces that we ought to stop laughing as there are two hours of French to follow.
Molière's characters may be clothed like traditional pantaloons, but they behave like genuine human beings. And while Argent's obsession with the state of his bowels is the source of innumerable bottom gags, it seems to reflect a perfectly modern concern with colonic cleanliness. David Hargreaves turns in a splendidly dyspeptic performance as the psychosomatically afflicted hero, grossly presenting the seat of his greying longjohns to the front rows as he bends to receive public enema number one.
The excellent ensemble is accompanied by robust music from Iain Johnstone and features an especially enjoyable display of rank insubordination from Gabrielle Reidy's salty, Irish maid.
The Hypochondriac is ironically known as the play in which the author expired while playing the leading role. It would be good to think that if he came back to see this one he might die laughing.
· Until November 19. Box office: 024-7655 3055.
