The Beggar's Opera, Orange Tree Theatre, Richmond

All the poorer for being repressed

When John Gay wrote The Beggar's Opera, in 1728, it was a satire on human nature. When Bertolt Brecht rewrote it, in 1928, 200 years later, it was an attack on capitalism for encouraging such human failings as exploitation and greed. This version, by Vaclav Havel, receiving its British premiere, was written in 1972 as a satire on the soul of man under socialism. But is The Beggar's Opera infinitely adaptable? Perhaps if this play had a different title, and were described as merely having been influenced by Gay's work, one would come to it with different expectations. As it is, though, one feels greatly disappointed by a production with neither the dainty and spirited tunes of the 18th century nor the harsh, eerie melodies of Kurt Weill. The absence of music is not the play's greatest flaw, but it is a more obvious expression of a deeper problem – the lack of verbal music in the dialogue. For Havel's version, written in the period when his plays were banned in his own country, is didactic and dull.

The repressiveness of the Communist regime of the time was doubtless responsible for the cautious nature of the work – Havel, then working in a brewery, was granted permission to stage it in 1975 for one performance only, which could not be advertised. But, however much one admires his bravery and principles, this Beggar's Opera is far too covert and coded in its criticisms of official corruption -- without establishing a compensating atmosphere of uneasiness and ambiguity -- to appeal to us now. For instance, the milieu has been shifted forward about 50 years, presumably so that one character can repeatedly exclaim how extraordinary it is that such things can go on in the "last quarter" of the 18th century. In our own society, of course, this once-daring shot is simply a puerile irony.

Havel has altered the story to make Mr Peachum not simply a rich criminal who bribes the police but their informer, in a world where it pays to be suspicious of everyone. His daughter, Polly, marries the highwayman Macheath in order to spy on him. The brothel-keeper, backed up by Mrs P, urges the uxorious Mr Peachum to take on one of her whores (a Swede who looks like Little Red Riding-Hood) because it is what is expected of a man in his position.

Such political points are no substitute for pace (the characters make long speeches describing and justifying themselves) or wit, the latter particularly absent from Paul Wilson's translation, which, when not stilted, is dopily anachronistic. Actors in corsets or knee breeches ask "What about the downside?" or say, "I respect your anger, and I understand your pain." Even more plodding is the direction of Geoffrey Beevers, who brings the play in at two-and-a-half hours (ample time to perform the musical), with pauses between some of the lines long enough to knit a few pairs of woolly socks. The acting, at best adequate, also suffers from the limp direction, showing several appealing performers way below their best. In all, a Beggar's Opera that's not so much subversive as poverty stricken.

To 15 February (020-8940 3633)