Pretending To Be Me, Comedy Theatre, London <br></br>A Midsummer Night's Dream, Watermill, Newbury <br></br>Ladies and Gentlemen, Where Am I?, BAC, London

Me? A misanthrope? Then why are you all laughing?

Philip Larkin is alive and well and in a highly entertaining mood. The famous poet – as reincarnated by Tom Courtenay in the excellent biodrama, Pretending To Be Me – pops his bespectacled head up behind a tower of cardboard boxes. Emerging in his neat grey suit, he starts chatting away, stammer allowing, in a singsong voice – only growing passionately bitter when swigging whisky. He's a cross between a nervous mouse, a dour librarian (his day job), and a startlingly funny raconteur.

With something of Alan Bennett in his homely manner and satirical bite, he touches on his childhood feelings of boredom and fear, and on his awkward parents who he insists he liked in spite of his most popular, cynical verse, "They fuck you up your mum and dad..." He jokes about and seriously contemplates the art of poetry, and Ted "The Incredible Hulk" Hughes comes in for blistering sideswipes en route.

We might, symbolically, be in the attic of Larkin's mind here; the walls glow a surreal sky-blue in Ian Brown's production (transferring from Leeds). Yet on a more everyday level, it's the 1970s and the ageing recluse, with writer's block, has just moved house in Hull and not unpacked.

What's extraordinary about this one-man tour de force is that Larkin's verses, including Whitsun Weddings and The Trees, are slipped in almost imperceptibly among the prose aperçus which Courtenay has compiled from the complete writings. That's true to the protagonist's own definition of poetry as "heightened talk". There's also a strong sense that Larkin's personality is really in Courtenay's blood. And in contrast to most biodramas' clunking expositions, you get to know this man as you might in life – incompletely, with illuminations along the way. Some might complain that this is a partial portrait. Larkin's right-wing views are reduced to a few quips and his complex, tricky relations with women are barely touched on (Courtenay doesn't even mention Larkin's long-term companion, Monica Jones). Yet that in itself is, surely, telling. Subtle hints of chauvinism and emotional wariness are dropped in and you're left to do the psychoanalysis.

We move on to Duke Theseus declaring in A Midsummer Night's Dream that: "The lunatic, the lover and the poet/ Are of imagination all compact" – ie given to wild fancies. In Edward Hall's entertaining and eerie production – performed by his all-male touring troupe, Propeller – Shakespeare's young lovers are Victorian schoolboys. Their night of partner-swapping in the fairy wood seems like a collective, liberated dream: the cast appear in long-johns, hugging each other in a circle that suggests a sleepwalkers' rugby scrum. The chaps playing girls wear bodices and have whitened faces like Pierrots or the macabre punks of Grand Guignol.

The standard of acting is uneven and, though the verse speaking is mostly excellent, some adopt screeching "female" voices. Generally, the sexual chemistry remains low too. However, Titania's bellboys are teasingly outré and Hall – who'll soon be directing Kenneth Branagh at the National – has smart ideas. Michael Pavelka's set offers rough magic, with the forest spookily suggested by white chairs hanging at head level.

While Shakespeare's lovers wrestle farcically, it's a matter of punching your rival into next week in Ladies and Gentlemen, Where Am I? This is the latest quirky comedy from physical troupe Cartoon De Salvo. It must be said, the prelude to this show makes you want to sock the ushers. The queuing audience, asked to imagine they're off to an illegal Victorian boxing match, are led a merry dance round Battersea Arts Centre, out onto the freezing street, then back to where they started.

Nevertheless, you then find yourself entering a mysterious white tent and crowding round a tiny rostrum to hear to story of Pooley Mace. Played by actor and critic Brian Logan, Pooley is a struggling gypsy who determines to become the champ of British boxing, to support his little old mama (David Bernstein) and his wide-eyed sister (Alex Murdoch). When these two aren't bursting into silly ditties, Pooley is being forced to lose his fights by a villainous manager, and is attempting to protect his sister from a swaggering suitor.

Directed by Murdoch, the narrative momentum sometimes slumps and the devised dialogue can be feeble. But the clowning is charming. There are lovely playful moments – as when a hanky-sized tent is greeted by finger-people, wiggling through holes in the floorboards. The ghostly fight, where the planks of the ring are rattled by invisible combatants, will haunt me as well. Talent to watch.

k.bassett@independent.co.uk

'Pretending To Be Me': Comedy Theatre, London SW1 (020 7369 1731), to 9 April; 'A Midsummer Night's Dream': Watermill, Newbury (01635 46044), to 24 March and then touring to 14 June; 'Ladies and Gentlemen, Where Am I?': BAC, London SW11 (020 7223 2223), to 6 March