But while one senses Tarantino grinning like a cruel child at the fantasies he's un- leashed Butterworth seems genuinely curious about the druggy characters

But while one senses Tarantino grinning like a cruel child at the fantasies he's un- leashed, Butterworth seems genuinely curious about the druggy characters he has created.Apart from the Elvis figure - whose main job is to hang upside down and get kicked from time to time - all the parts in this play are rich with interest and, under Ian Rickson's direction, acted with superb accomplishment. In the central role as the owner's baby-faced son, Tom Hollander brings out his character's strange mix: one minute discoursing on the beauties of the countryside, the next minute shooting a man who irritates him. This pint-sized virtuoso has an absolutely Protean talent: he was the winsome Celia in Cheek by Jowl's all-male As You Like It, and the satanic Macheath in the Donmar Threepenny Opera. His performance here suggests the compulsive sadism of a once battered child.

And of Reservoir Dogs, with which Butterworth's play has a lot in common, from the spivvy suits to the cleverly-choreographed business with guns and knives. No matter: since this theatre's admirable programme includes the script of the play, rather than the usual West End guff, one can always check later.The scene is a Dean Street nightclub, and there's a spot of bother. Something has happened to the owner, and a rival gang is moving in on the turf. The owner's son and the small-time hoods who run the joint aren't sure what's happened, or what to do. When the owner makes his entrance in two separate dustbins, violence breaks out all over.Welcome to the authentic world of the Krays, though convulsively foul- mouthed in the manner of their present-day successors.

The quick-fire patter throws out jokes like confetti, but they're only half-formed - no time to linger. Whether I'm laughing at the lines, or the manner in which they are delivered, I'm not sure - I'm bemused. Very fast, through clenched teeth, in a curious home-made rhyming slang, late Eighties grafted onto late Fifties, Stepney on the make in Soho. what could live up to all that? Bam! To deafening rock, a sequinned Elvis-figure hip-swivels in strobe lights until, with the music still pounding, the stage goes black.