Lynne Parker's galloping and hugely entertaining production of Shakespeare's play, in which not one but two pairs of long-lost twins are reunited, takes its cue from old Hollywood movies and the word "comedy" in the title. It is none the worse for it.
The evening lacks the beguiling and bewildering exploration of the discovery of self, or other self, that the narrative's exploration of mistaken identity and twinness allow the very best productions to encompass.
Nonetheless, it does succeed in tempering its exuberant high spirits with a smoky, blues atmosphere so, at times, it is a cross between a Harold Lloyd silent movie and film noir.
The two sound completely at odds with each other, but Parker cleverly marries the different styles so that Ephesus becomes a crazy sunlit place that is touched by encroaching shadows and darkness. The evening begins seriously as Egeon, in search of his lost twin son, is condemned to death, then slips into farce that turns serious, then into nightmare as it gradually unravels.
Parker's production feels like a bright summer's day during which the sun suddenly goes in and only reappears from behind a cloud in the nick of time, and it is underpinned by Freudian ideas of the unconscious. At the end you know for sure that nothing will quite be the same again and that all will have to come to terms with negotiating their new identities.
But it is also an enjoyable romp that would serve as a brilliant introduction to Shakespeare for a child, or anyone who thinks that Shakespeare is a bore. In the second half, Parker slightly overdoes things - at one point, a camel and a medieval knight join the chase - but it is hard not to fall for the infectious high spirits of the tightly choreographed evening or its stylish 1930s setting. This is a production in which there is almost no slack.
There are some good performances, too, with the play's other double acts being added to by the sisterly affections and sharp rivalries of Emily Raymond's sophisticated Adriana and Jacqueline Defferary's Luciana, who is obviously finding it difficult to resist playing with fire and the man she believes to be her sister's husband.
Ian Hughes and Tom Smith's Dromios are well differentiated; David Tennant and Anthony Howell's pair of Antipholus even more so, with Tennant's loose-limbed puzzlement providing some excellent moments of physical comedy.
Blaithin Sheerin's design, which looks like a near eastern village square, does the business too, providing a public space with secret nooks and all the exits and entrances necessary for the madcap comedy that fizzes with life if not the greatest of subtlety.
• Until February 3. Box office: 0207 638 8891.
