I have seen many fine Cleopatras but very few great Antonys - arguably Shakespeare's most demanding male role, in that it requires present folly to be matched by echoes of past grandeur. In Gregory Doran's excellent production, imported from Stratford's Swan, Patrick Stewart offers the best Antony since Michael Redgrave half a century ago.

Stewart's secret is to suggest that Antony, although sexually enthralled by Cleopatra, is primarily a soldier most at ease in the world of men. He clearly relishes power-politicking with Octavius, even engaging, at their Roman summit meeting, in a battle as to who should sit first. Stewart is immensely moving before the final battle, when he displays the false jauntiness of a man facing certain defeat. He gives us a magnificently wounded lion: one haunted by the memory that he was once king of the jungle.

This in no way diminishes Harriet Walter's remarkable Cleopatra: instead it lends the play a savage irony by suggesting it is partly about the inequality of passion. While Stewart's Antony is tormented by lustful despair, Walter's Cleopatra invests everything in what she calls "my man of men". In his presence, she is witty, playful and teasing. In his absence, Walter conveys the restless volatility that marks true love. It is a consummately intelligent performance that steers us through the long adagio of Cleoptra's end, when Shakespeare's poetic genius overtakes his dramatic instinct.

The other discovery in a cliche-free production is John Hopkins' Octavius Caesar. Rather than the dessicated calculating-machine he is usually seen as, in Hopkins' hands he becomes a breathtakingly tormented neurotic, appalled at Antony's descent into sexual enslavement.

Doran keeps the action moving with cinematic fluidity, Adrian Lee's music provides the necessary grandeur, and one of the great love-tragedies emerges as a play in which hero and heroine march to subtly different rhythms.

· Until February 17. Box office: 0870 950 0940.