Noble & Silver, Beaconsfield, London

The perplexing cross-over between comedy and art

This summer, the comic Omid Djalili – a man so forgiving that he even absolves al-Qa'ida during his amusing set – complained to a magazine that Noble and Silver offended his very eyes. The winners of the 2000 Perrier Best Newcomer Award were declared to be the opposite of comedy: clever, certainly, and the sort of thing that might make for a "witty" Turner prize entry, but not the stuff that laughter is hewn from.

Well, blow me. Kim Noble and Stuart Silver seem to have taken him at his word and taken over the Beaconsfield art space, located in a grim part of town that not even Iain Sinclair could imbue with a bruised glamour. They've installed themselves for four weeks, from noon until six. In fact, the duo's comedic, er, career emerged from their studies at art college. Working with prepared video, and generally doing their best to unsettle audiences, they infuriate and fascinate in equal measure.

Channel 4 signed them up for a series – the ferociously deconstructive Get Off Me – but seemed unsure what to do with it, forever bumping the show around the schedules. This exhibit, however, is proper art. Escorted in groups of six by a "hostess", you emerge in a huge space dominated by a wall featuring a video projection the size of a cinema screen. Noble and Silver sit in the corner, like a job interview panel; when they're not arguing with projected versions of themselves, they slip headphones over the ears of a lucky punter and bombard them with a few images on a smaller television set. And that's it. It's very mildly disturbing, and might not be worth the trip to south London.

Beyond the space is another room, under the railway arches, where a naked man sits in front of a bar fire, "reading" a copy of Art Review. The public are invited to pet a goat (uh?), while various collaborators initiate pointless conversation. A drumkit and amplifiers are set up in a corner but, sadly, not as an invitation to have a go. Instead, Kim's brother's band play a few tunes. A nude lady wanders through the bar, popping into a shower booth in the corner (brochures provided). She's amenable to conversation, but this cannot be guaranteed for other customers; she turns out to be a friend I haven't seen in years, and never without clothing. It's a small world but I wouldn't want to bodypaint it.

The "make do" nature of the event shows just how much work goes into structuring a more conventional performance. Art seems just so easy in comparison, though the pair's very personal involvement might be seen as revenge on a public ravenous for any kind of innovation. Perplexing.

To 24 Nov (020-7582 6465)