It was perhaps brave and perhaps foolhardy of Mike Bradwell to invite the legendary People Show to return to the Bush, because last time the company appeared at this address, in 1987, the theatre caught fire and had to be rebuilt. I am glad that he did as it has been a long time since this 40-year-old company has done anything quite so combustible. After a period of self-referencing, ironic little shows that made it seem as if it was in imminent danger of disappearing up its own elegant postmodern ass, the People Show return to form with number 114.
The presence of some of the original personnel, including founder Mark Long and George Khan doesn't go amiss. Nobody can afford to be too po-faced or facetious in the face of Khan's anarchic energy and Long's grounding, lugubrious humour.
The play is set in the obituary department of an old-fashioned newspaper, or even some kind of celestial office, where the achievements of life are totted up and it is decided whether the deceased merits three columns with a picture, or two lines below the fold, no picture and northern editions only. The sudden death of an anonymous piano player throws the staff into confusion. Their attempts to piece together the life of this Mr Nobody make them focus on the worth of their own lives, particularly would-be novelist Brierley, who has pickled his disappointments in alcohol, and the brilliant, super-efficient headline writer, a woman so unlucky in love she will now take no chances.
It may be the slightest of pieces but nonetheless it asks all the big questions: why are we here, what meaning do our lives have and what has Sting ever done for the history of rock'n'roll? It mixes a certain deadpan humour - the office staff run a sweepstake in which Tim Henman is 33/1 to commit suicide by the end of next week and Keith Richards 2/1 to cop it by the end of 2005 - with a melancholic sweetness that is constantly alert to the transience of our moth-like lives.
A show about life, not death, it sends you into the night determined to live every moment to the full until your very last breath.
· Until July 23. Box office: 020-7610 4224.
