Maria and Sergio, offspring of two bigshots close to the Don in a Mafia family, are in love and hoping to get engaged. But then Maria's father Vittorio insults Sergio's father. Honour is at stake and when his father asks him to avenge him, Sergio is in an impossible situation: if he refuses he will devastate his father and break the code of family honour; if he blows Vittorio's brains out he won't exactly endear himself to his beloved.
Pierre Corneille's El Cid, a story of family bonds and doomed love, translates rather neatly to the blood-splattered fettucine milieu of the modern Mafia in Tom Kempinski's prose version. In fact, it is rather less ludicrous than the original although, as in Corneille's drama, tragedy and comedy are close bedfellows constantly tickling each other's toes.
Kempinski, however, has the advantage over the 17th-century dramatist with his exceptionally mordant wit that sounds particularly effective when embellished with a Mafiosi mumble. Lines such as "Your honour put a fucking great hole in my heart" and "If she kills herself that will be really helpful" slip down as easily as pasta al crema when delivered in a Brando-style drawl.
Of course, it is impossible to get away with this kind of thing without falling into cliche, and Ruth Carney's production sensibly doesn't even try, playing with the audience's expectations and knowledge of The Godfather and The Sopranos rather than against them. Francis Ford Coppola would have been proud of the mix of music, God and guns. There is as much pastiche as there is panache on display here.
Neither the script nor the production quite manage the change of gear into tragedy as Maria descends into madness, and often the production, with its nine-strong cast, is too busy for the tiny stage. Some of the accents are abominable, but the imperfections add to the charm of an evening that may not be very meaningful but which provides one mean night of stylish entertainment.
· Until November 18. Box office: 020-7794 0022.
