The Bomb-itty Of Errors, New Ambassadors Theatre, London, **

Shakespeare in black and white

On the way to The Bomb-itty of Errors, a hip-hop adaptation of Shakespeare's comedy, I flagged a passing teenager for some guidance on this musical idiom. The young man replied concisely that it involved four elements: breakdancing, a DJ, graffiti and rapid-fire rhymes. So now you know as much about hip hop as I did one minute before curtain up. As it turned out, however, even such a basic primer was unnecessary for understanding and, indeed, enjoyment of this lively show.

Bomb-itty, I was also pleased to see, keeps its acknowledgment of graffiti down to a single example at the rear of the set, composed of jagged urban fragments. There is a DJ, who, despite a bit of by-play with the actors, seems superfluous. The breakdancing, though vigorous, is nothing like as vigorous as some other examples I've seen of this compilation of jerky arm and head movements, somersaults, whirls and kicks, but that's understandable considering that the cast is in constant motion. Four actors – Charles Anthony Burks and Chris Edwards as the two Dromios, Joe Hernandez-Kolski and "ranney" as the Antipholi – play all parts, of both sexes, including a Hasidic jeweller and a Rastafarian root doctor, and, when not shaking a leg, are diving into and out of dresses and wigs. As impressive as their stamina is the clarity with which they deliver their lines, written by Jordan Allen-Dutton, Jason Catalano, GQ, JAQ and Erik Weiner. The music is by the second Mr Q.

Set in present-day America, the story has been simplified and altered as well as updated. The four chaps, separated in infancy, are quadruplets, two pairs of identical twins, but one Dromio and Antipholus are white, the others black. (Their long-lost mother, reunited with them at the end, says, as she leads them off stage, that there is a perfectly reasonable explanation...) Luciana, the sister-in-law of Antipholus of Ephesus, whom Antipholus of Syracuse (New York) falls for, is a platinum blonde whose bleach has gone to her brain. Dreamily recalling the love song with which A of S serenaded her, in which each syllable of her name is punched out like a football chant, she says it went, "'Lu!...ci!...' something".

Anyone whose ear is pierced as if by a red-hot needle on hearing an imperfect rhyme may find Bomb-itty a constant torment, but, while normally in that camp, I found the incessant rain of near and wide misses quite appealing, in a dopily good-natured way, and easier to forgive in a show whose entire script was composed of them. On their early-morning arrival in Ephesus, the Syracusans answer their own question, "What's the most important meal?", with, "Breakfast is! Breakfast is!" A of E's wife, despairing of his waywardness, sings, "If I did this to him he would lose his temper", to which her sister replies, "That's because in this house he has the largest member."

Sometimes, the rhymes carry on for three or four lines or more, as when the jeweller, telling a joke, asks what part of the male body is "long, like a green bean is", and "strong, like a wolverine is". The answer, improbably, is "Adam's apple", a key to the smut level. There is an extended scatological joke, and several references to sexual practices, but nothing that would make any but the most buttoned-up adult feel uncomfortable about having brought a teenager. The only genuinely filthy phrase is in Italian.

Indeed, you may find Bomb-itty more successful as an intergenerational bridge than as adult entertainment. For, like an overexcited child, the show is too giddy to settle down to such matters as plot, pace and variety. Even a knockabout comedy such as this has room for disenchantment, yearning and confusion on a deeper level than, "What's got into you, sister?"

After about an hour (the interval starts later than it should), one's elation at the youthful high spirits and amateurish charm turns to impatience at the monotonous beat (though the volume is easily tolerable by tired old ears) and relentless impudence. A little bit of bomb-itty – whatever that is passed me by – goes a long way.

To 12 July (020-7369 1761)