Ripples in New York

Toby Young turned abject professional failure into commercial success with his 2001 bestselling account of the five years he spent working for Vanity Fair in New York.

Young swapped Kensington for Manhattan and set about committing career hari-kari - each step of which is recounted in this production - sending abusive, supposedly irreverent, notes to his boss on hiring lapdancers to perform in the hallowed halls of Conde Nast.

Tim Fountain's stage adaptation plays it for laughs, resulting in a breezy 50-minute monologue that serves as a digest of the book's best bits, perfect for those who haven't read it.

Those who have will find little appeal in hearing a series of anecdotes they already know the punchlines to, which seem more moronic than funny second time around, especially given Jack Davenport's portrayal of Young as an over-privileged undergraduate.

Given the broad comedy of the piece, this mostly one-note performance is perfectly functional. It's just a shame Davenport (whose presence is the theatrical equivalent of casting Catherine Zeta Jones as the lead in the Julie Burchill biopic) isn't given much else to do.

Ignoring the depths of Young's alcohol-induced self-loathing keeps things frothily laddish, but, without much in the way of light and shade, the last-minute refutation of his celeb-obsessed hack work rings even more hollow on stage than it does on the page. More evidence that an enjoyable book doesn't necessarily make for must-see theatre.