Emile Zola believed that naturalism would be as much the saviour of the theatre as of the novel. A century on, naturalism stands accused of killing the theatre. Fortunately, Julia Bardsley's adaptation of Zola's psychological novel about Thérèse Raquin and her lover Laurent - who believe that murdering Thérèse' husband will free them, but discover that it imprisons them instead in guilt - does not lend itself to naturalism.
The narration, taken directly from the novel, conjures a Paris of bourgeois respectability, sewers and morgues. But it is in the gaps between the words that the piece discovers the real horror of what has taken place and how it acts upon the protagonists. The whole thing could almost be played as a dumbshow, with flourishes of grand guignol .
Bardsley's adaptation is not new, but director Alasdair Ramsay, who has been doing good work in Basingstoke for six years, makes it seem fresh. His production drips with fetid damp, as if the drowned may actually be able to drag themselves from the river and stalk the guilty in their bedroom. There is the odd moment to rival anything in the movie Carrie. Although the production sometimes goes too far with the lighting and sound effects, it generates a thrilling sense of atmosphere and shows that it is the heart that betrays us as surely as the mind.
Martin Johns's design, which takes you into the heart of middle-class Parisian respectability and then the heart of darkness, helps a great deal, although there are occasions when audibility is a problem. As the guilty lovers, Phoebe Soteriades and Matthew Rixon are at their best in bed, with a revealing, fully clothed sex scene that brilliantly conveys the wild, dangerous passion that makes them lust for murder.
· Until February 7. Box office: 01256 465566.
