Dying For It, Almeida Theatre, London

Not long after the Soviet authorities banned The Suicide, Nikolai Erdman found that his enemies were not as dangerous as his friends. One of the latter showed his admiration for Erdman's work by quoting some of his satirical verses to Stalin, winning the playwright a holiday in Siberia.

In this adaptation of Erdman's 1928 play, Semyon, the title character, is similarly blessed. When he says that unemployment and hunger are making him want to kill himself, Semyon's good friend Alexander, in the process of dissuading him, mentions how disgracefully easy it is to get a gun. Delighted, Semyon rushes out and quickly returns with one. But, before he can pull the trigger, his intention becomes known, and suddenly Semyon is deluged with offers of fame, love, and money, if he will leave a note claiming he made away with himself for the sake of this or that cause. Alive, Semyon can't get arrested; with one foot in the grave, he's a howling success.

Anna Mackmin's production of the play, "freely adapted" by Moira Buffini, presents a glorious gallery of comic types. Ronan Vibert is the dapper representative of the country's "finest men, the intelligentsia" who envies Semyon his suicide: "I would have such a death myself, only, alas, I'm needed." Charlie Condou is the intense, black-clad writer, "the people's poet", who wants to be in charge of the literary aspects of Semyon's demise; told that his eulogy does not scan, he explains, "It's for the peasants."

Best of all is Sophie Stanton's unsettlingly outspoken prostitute, whose easy dominance of a gathering shows why she has risen to manage the most successful business in the neighbourhood. One of her skills is stopping conversation, with lines such as "I have a tuba".

Tom Brooke's Semyon, though a touch too robust, radiates the frantic bewilderment of a simple man driven to extremities by a supposedly collectivist society in which everyone is murderously keen to promote his individualism. As Semyon's loving but exasperated wife, Liz White beautifully fills the often thankless role of the one nice, normal person.

Yet, much of the laughter inspired by the broad comedy has a hollow ring, especially since the plot, once its premise is established, has no surprises to divert us. For all their earthy humour, the characters are, mainly, weightless - the bohemian vamp, thrusting on Semyon the tribute of her body, is mechanically played by Michelle Dockery (who is too pretty and fresh-looking for the role), and when Semyon, bursting with the false optimism of a desperate man, demonstrates a sure-fire method of making his fortune, we laugh at him but we do not fear for him.

Lez Brotherston's set, however, hits the perfect note of majestic squalor. The old house where Semyon and his wife live on a curtained-off landing seems to be held up by its rotting wallpaper, and a pipe travels the length of the stage, to exit through a hole smashed in a window. While the play would be appreciated by any harried workman, one hopes that British builders in the audience will not use it to add a new skill to their repertoire.

To 28 April (020-7539 4404; www.almeida.co.uk)