Theatre down the tube

Anyone enticed into believing that performance art company Shunt would offer a blast of novelty with its latest show is in for heavy disappointment.

Devoid of meaning, coherence or wit, Tropicana aspires to waft us down to the underworld of the ancient poets and Dante. Instead, it skylifts us to the heights of boredom, leaving us stranded in the darknness of the vaulted spaces beneath London Bridge station.

I regularly feel more threatened or entertained strolling about the West End. Borrowing freely from Dada, surrealism, the Theatre of the Absurd and formerly avantgarde theatre troupes such as the People Show, the Stunt performers strike pretentious gestures marked by the ring of familiarity. So much, or rather so little for theatrical youth's narcissistic vanity.

The company's first, tired tactic is to disturb the audience, a ploy that only succeeds with claustrophobes such as me. Initially, groups of us were crammed into a waiting room where recorded voices assured us we were "safe".

Having been locked into a pseudo-lift, which shook like the real thing, we emerged to be led into a dungeon-like room where, true to the underworld spirit, a performer announced:

"I'm a dog trapped in a body of a woman." Sitting on benches in the vaulted darkness, we listened to a sound score that sounded like the roar of an approaching London Underground train rather than anything underworldish.

Spotlit images of two red shoes, a man stamping on a pineapple and the gliding progress of a funeral car, on whose roof danced minimally clad girls in feathery headdresses, all struck me with the force of a snigger.

The second act's gibberish, in which a mock autopsy yielded first a feather and then a human head marked a nadir of silliness. One performer's line: "I'm also an arsehole," sounded a single, authentic note.

No individual, from more than 80 people involved in the show's production, is credited with script or direction. That the Arts Council and National Theatre supported this outstanding drivel completely mystifies me.

Until 16 January. Information: 020 7452 3000.

Tropicana