Andersen's English *** TNT

Despite the title, the main focus of Sebastian Barry’s new play (co-produced with Out of Joint) is Charles Dickens’ treatment of Catherine, the fertile wife who bore him ten children before they separated at his insistence.

After a chance meeting in 1847 (and barely any contact in the intervening decade) Andersen, the famous Danish author of children’s fairytales, arrived at Dickens’ Kent home for a fortnight’s visit in the summer of 1857. He outstayed his welcome by several weeks, during which time he witnessed, though failed to register, a fracturing marriage and his host’s callous behaviour towards both his spouse and son.

Danny Sapani plays the visiting Dane as an enthusiastic and overgrown child, an outsider with extremely limited English, rigid habits and the eccentric habit of travelling with a length of rope in case fire necessitates a hasty escape. The (fictional) little Irish maid Aggie (Lisa Kerr) handles him with considerable tact, despite her own unfortunate predicament which will lead to her dismissal. And Max Stafford-Clark’s touring production overcomes the problem of so many children by casting puppets as the youngest youngsters.

Andersen’s presence doesn’t really add much insight to the portrayal of Catherine and Charles’ terminal relationship, which is by far the most interesting aspect of the play. Threatened as a mother by her husband’s decision to send her beloved son Wally off to join the army in India, and as a wife by the continued presence of her own younger sister Georgie, Niamh Cusack’s Catherine loses him to the much younger actress Ellen. It’s a touchingly sympathetic performance despite the fact that, physically, Cusack is nothing like the plump spouse specifically referred to in the text.

David Rintoul is imposing as Dickens (a public philanthropist revealed here as a tetchy, private bully) but one leaves with the feeling that Barry has only scratched the surface of his characters and the events that shaped them.

Hampstead, Eton Avenue, NW3 3EU (020 7722 9301) Swiss Cottage tube www.hampsteadtheatre.com until 8th May (£15-£25)

Micro *** TNT

This tiny space above a Notting Hill pub isn’t where one would normally head in search of a rock concert but, under the guidance of artistic directors Natalie Abrahami and Carrie Cracknell, the emphasis here has moved increasingly away from straight theatre, diverging into movement based works.

They’ve usually been much quieter affairs, though, than this “physical concert” by Pierre Rigal which comes with a warning that “if the noise is too loud, put your fingers in your ears.”

It was and I did, but I was still intrigued by this performance by “pre-musical creatures” as it built to a crescendo which cried out for the protection of earplugs.

In most ways, it couldn’t be more different from fellow Frenchman Celeste Boursier-Mougenot’s charming installation in the Barbican’s Curve (a low-flying flock of tiny zebra finches whose interactions with the cymbals and electric guitars on which they land, perch and nest create a gently amplified soundscape). In both cases it’s the interaction with the musical instruments which is to the fore. But Rigal’s piece grows from quiet, quite witty and subtle beginnings into something much more visceral and unrestrained.

A hand appears here and there, then an arm or two slowly emerges from behind a keyboard or a guitar, until the four performers in their black T-shirts come completely into view. Rigal attempts to enable us “to see the music” as well as hear it. Drumming on a pair of upturned high heels is cheekily amusing, walking around with a drum plopped on one’s head seems a silly step too far.

It still has the feel of a work in progress, but I’m not altogether convinced that this Gallic “voyage that skirts the musical boundaries” has the potential to transform itself into anything more than a one-off experiment.

Gate, Pembridge Road W11 3HQ (020 7229 0706) Tube:- Notting Hill Gate http://www.gatetheatre.co.uk Until 8 May(£11 - £16)

Hair **** TNT

After more than 40 years, Hair, the rock musical that hit the zeitgeist in 1968 returns to the West End, inviting us to “turn off, tune in, drop out” and welcome the dawning of the Age of Aquarius.

New York Public Theater’s vibrant production has the hippie tribe clambering over the audience, stripping off, and sporting the iconic long hair, Afros and psychedelic kaftans of the pre-Aids era as these Greenwich Village objectors to the Vietnam War celebrate free love, sex, and getting stoned.

It no longer shocks and the thin plot still rambles, but with its great songs, powerfully poignant pacifist message and Will Swenson’s recklessly atavistic Berger finding it Easy To Be Hard, this exuberant nostalgia trip really does Let the Sunshine In.

Gielgud, Shaftesbury Ave, W1D 6AR Piccadilly Circus (0844 482 5130) hairthemusical.co.uk) Booking until Jan 8, 2011. £17.50-£65

The Empire **** TNT

Set in a bullet-ridden, rubble-filled compound in Helmand Province, DC Moore’s new play (his second) is funny, compassionate, questioning and boasts a superb performance from Joe Armstrong as Gary, a foul-mouthed yet ultimately sympathetic corporal guarding injured prisoner, Zia, who has an unexpected – and possibly unbelievable - story to tell.

He isn’t, he insists, a Taliban insurgent but a kidnapped holiday maker from East London.

Sweating in the intolerable heat and with his best mate lying seriously injured offstage, Gary’s patience is wearing thin in an alien country where the threat of attack is never far away. With him is Josef Altin’s Hafizullah, a gentle young Afghani soldier getting stoned on a spliff, who has already seen more than enough of war to make him sick of the whole business. And in charge is “posh” commanding officer Simon, increasingly calling on knowledge gleaned from training courses back home to keep control of a situation likely to implode at any moment.

Moore hasn’t quite got control of his plot, but he writes cracking dialogue which (with Bob Bailey’s dust-filled design and strong performances all round in Mike Bradwell’s excellent production) pull you right into the sweaty tension of a desert war zone where moments of calm are to be savoured and both class and race still matter.

Royal Court Theatre, Sloane Square, SW1W 8AS ( 020 7565 5000 ) until 1st May (£10-£15)

Jesus Hopped the "A" Train **** TNT

In a perfect pairing between subject matter and production company, Synergy Theatre Project has revived American playwright Stephen Adly Guirgis’s 2000 gritty, street-smart prison drama to compelling effect.

Set on death row in New York’s Rikers Island prison, Esther Baker’s taut, unfussily staged production (her assistant director is a lifer who, presumably, knows all about incarceration) casts ex-cons along with professional actors – and one can’t tell which is which.

Convicted black serial killer Lucius is awaiting extradition to Florida where he faces the death sentence. Puerto Rican Angel has been locked up pending trial for shooting the leader of a religious cult “in the ass.” Their crimes seem very different, yet the legal system makes little distinction between the two. Overseen by a sadistic, self-righteous prison guard (his compassionate colleague gets sacked), their heated exchanges raise questions of the nature of guilt, the justification of criminal behaviour and the possibility of redemption through religion.

An unnecessary atmosphere-breaking interval is a mistake, but that’s a minor niggle easily outweighed by the impassioned performances from Ricky Fearon as born-again, proselytising, ex cokehead Lucius, Theo Jones’s alternately belligerent and confused Angel, and Denise Gough as a tough, determined defence lawyer who risks her career for what she believes to be right.

Trafalgar Studios (2), Whitehall, SW1A 2DY ( 0844 871 7632) till 24th April £17.50(Mondays £15.00)

Mrs Warren's Profession *** TNT

Written in 1894, but banned by the censor and not given a public performance in England till over thirty years later, George Bernard Shaw’s social comedy no longer shocks but still holds the attention with its serious concerns about the options open to impoverished working class women.

Felicity Kendal is bright and flirtatious as Mrs Warren, a tough (if perhaps insufficiently vulgar) creature who finally reveals to daughter Vivie what drove her into a life of prostitution, made her wealthy and paid for Vivie’s Cambridge education.

The confrontations between the two women enable Shaw to air his controversial views exposing the hypocrisy of Victorian society, and David Yelland’s unctuous Crofts (her titled business partner for whom every human transaction is financial) provides excellent support in Michael Rudman’s efficient, straightforward production.

Comedy, Panton Street, SW1Y 4DN ( 0844 871 7622) ambassadortickets.com/london to June 19th (£20 - £48.50)

The Notebook of Trigorin *** TNT

19th century Russia meets 20th century Deep South in Tennessee Williams’ “free adaptation” of Chekhov’s The Seagull. The names, the characters and the basic plot are little changed, but in this culmination of a lifelong fascination with the original, the American playwright adds his distinctive voice to a familiar classic.

The focus shifts more towards Trigorin (an intense Stephen Billington), popular novelist and lover of actress Arkadina, here an insecure, attention-seeking Southern Belle who refuses to face up to the process of aging. Williams reimagines Trigorin as secretly bisexual (with an eye for the stable boys as well as for aspiring young actress Nina), clearly identifying both with him and with Constantine (Arkadina’s son) as he, too, struggles with his writing.

The servants are black, which adds an extra dimension to the carelessly cruel behaviour of the leering doctor, Dorn (a far more unpleasant version than Chekhov created) and renders alcoholic Masha’s infatuation with Constantine completely hopeless.

It’s an interesting exercise which only saw the light of day (in Vancouver) in 1981, just a couple of years before Williams’ death. But although the enterprising Finborough deserves praise for staging the London premiere, the innovations are too muted to make this a definite “must see” for fans of either playwright.

Finborough, Finborough Road, SW10 9ED. (0844 847 1652) to 24th April (£11 - £15)

Bedroom Farce *** TNT

Three bedrooms, four couples – but despite the title, Alan Ayckbourn’s 1970’s comedy is hardly a raunchy game of musical beds.

In one neat, pink bedroom long-married Ernest and Delia are getting ready for a rare night out to celebrate their anniversary, but he’s more focussed on locating the source of the damp patch on the ceiling. On the other side of the stage, Tony Gardner’s Nick is stuck in bed with a bad back, barely able to move whilst his briskly unsympathetic wife, Sara Crowe’s Jan, (who just happens to be the ex-girlfriend of the first couple’s son, Trevor) is off to a housewarming party being held by the occupants of the middle room – love struck Malcolm and Kate who are still at that early romantic stage of laughing at each other’s practical jokes which are, almost certainly, destined to become intensely irritating in the not too distant future. Also invited to the party are self-obsessed Trevor and his wife Susannah, a neurotic flake with serious insecurity issues.

Substantially recast since it opened at the Rose in Kingston, Peter Hall’s competent revival is all very innocent – with Susannah and Trevor turning up post-party to invade bedrooms where they have no right to be, disrupting the lives and the sleep of the their reluctant hosts. As ever, Ayckbourn reveals a sure touch in exposing the foibles of human nature as well as the progressive stages of middleclass marriages.

The characters may be exaggerated but there’s something eminently recognisable in each of them. And although time hasn’t been particularly kind to this rather contrived comedy, there’s still wry amusement to be had from Jenny Seagrove and David Horovitch, all passion long spent, settling down to savour the questionable delights of shared pilchards on toast in the matrimonial bed.

Duke of York’s, St Martin’s Lane, WC2N 4BG (0844 871 7623) until 10th July (£20.00 -£60.00)

London Assurance **** TNT

Simon Russell Beale and Fiona Shaw have a whale of a time - and ensure that the audience does too - in Nicholas Hytner’s sprightly revival of Irish playwright Dion Boucicault‘s 1841 comedy of town and country manners.

Beale plays Belgravia-based Sir Harcourt Courtly, a plump, preening pigeon of a man, verging on pensionable, whose plan to marry the 18 year old daughter of a Gloucestershire squire is sidetracked by the arrival of Shaw’s hearty, horsy, thigh-slapping Lady Gay Spanker.

It’s a rare treat to see two of the UK’s finest actors on stage together and there’s excellent support from veteran Richard Briers as her doddery old spouse, Nick Sampson giving a supremely supercilious performance as aptly named valet Cool, and a cat-size rat putting in a couple of perfectly timed appearances.

Olivier at the National Theatre, SE1 9PX (020 7452 3000) currently in rep till 2nd June (£10 - £44)

The White Guard **** TNT

It helps to do your homework before seeing Aussie Andrew Upton’s new version of Mikhail Bulgakov’s adaptation of his 1920’s novel.

Set in Kiev during the Civil War following the 1917 Revolution, it’s based on personal experience of this chaotic period in Russian history.

A mixture of the farcical and the familial, the historical aspects can sometimes be confusing as the various factions battle it out, but the personal relationships ring true.

Among a first-rate ensemble, Conleth Hill’s preening aide-de-camp with a yearning to be an opera singer (and to prise Justine Mitchell’s Elena from her cowardly Deputy War Minister spouse), Pip Carter’s unworldly student (who can’t take his vodka) and Paul Higgins’ Captain (who definitely can) stand out in Howard Davies’s faultless production of a less than perfect play,

Lyttelton at the National, South Bank, SE1 9PX (020 7452 3000) Currently in rep until 15th June (£10 - £44.00)

Anyone Can Whistle *** TNT

Even the biggest fans of Stephen Sondheim’s work can’t pretend that this show, with its book by Arthur Laurents, was a popular or critical success when it opened on Broadway in 1964 – it promptly closed less than two weeks after the press night. But although the plot doesn’t really hold up, several of the musical numbers have become perennial favourites.

Set in a fictional bankrupt town where everything, including the water, has run dry (or been siphoned off by Mayoress Cora Hoover Hooper and her trio of uniformed henchmen) it’s an absurdist story which owes something to Brecht in its dramatisation of the conflict between freedom and oppression. In order to get the money flowing again, Comptroller Schub (a cool, scheming Alistair Robins) fakes a miracle which fools the impoverished townsfolk. But his plan backfires when Nurse Fay Apple (who runs the full-to-the brim local asylum – the “Cookie” Jar) calls his bluff and falls for David Ricardo-Pearce’s freethinking Hapgood.

Tom Littler’s energetic production crams more people (plus their musical instruments) on the tiny stage than one would think possible.

Issy van Randwyck (vamping it up in increasingly military red and black outfits) makes a powerful Cora, and Rosalie Craig’s repressed Fay movingly captures the complexity of There Won’t Be Trumpets as well as the title song.

It certainly won’t be to everyone’s taste but, as Sondheim celebrates his 80th birthday, aficionados will welcome this chance to catch a rarely revived early work which paved the way for the gems to come.

Jermyn Street Theatre, Jermyn Street, SW1Y 6ST ( 020 7287 2875 ) Piccadilly Circus till 17th April (£18.50)

Ghost Stories *** TNT

Andy Nyman’s the man behind mentalist Derren Brown’s slick, successful and often mind-boggling live shows, so I had great hopes for this collaboration with fellow horror film fan, The League of Gentlemen’s Jeremy Dyson, in which he himself takes to the stage. He plays an apparently sceptical professor of parapsychology delivering a lecture on the paranormal which he illustrates with a trio of short tales of the spookily inexplicable.

The trouble is, none of them are more than the teensiest bit scary – despite the screams of terror from a couple of excitable schoolgirls a few rows behind me, I barely shifted in my seat. The expectation of the inevitable shock-horror denouements holds the attention, but the actualities (with their sometimes glaringly obvious staging) disappoint in what proves to be something of a letdown.

Still, David Cardy is persuasive as a night-watchman plagued with guilt over his daughter, Ryan Gage is increasingly worried as a stranded teenager driving illegally, and Nicholas Burns makes a very unpleasant expectant father.

But a book falling off a shelf or a suddenly unlocked chain isn’t really enough to shock an audience used to the sophistication of film and, although everything is tied up neatly at the end, the production needs either greater psychological depth or more original effects to really hit the supernatural mark.

Lyric Hammersmith, King Street, W6 0QL (0871 221 1726). Till 17th April (£10-25) (special offers for under 26s)