Romeo and Juliet, Festival Theatre, Chichester<br></br>Frank Pig Says Hello, Finborough, London

Wherefore art thou a Muslim, Romeo?

As the grim anniversary of 9/11 approaches with Bush and Saddam Hussein apparently heading for a pitched battle, Indhu Rubasingham's new production of Romeo and Juliet pleads for peacemaking between Christian and Muslim.

Shakespeare's tragedy is translated to 15th- going on 17th-century Istanbul: a multicultural crossroads between East and West. Garbed in embroidered silks, the Capulets are of wealthy Orthodox Greek stock (or so the programme notes imply); Romeo and the Montagues wear simple Islamic turbans.

In the textually slashed opening scene, the families brawl in the market place with clanging scimitars, and religious banners are desecrated. By the close of play, the city's governor has overseen an entente. But, of course, this is after the deaths of the lovers and, in a pessimistic final twist, an infant Capulet spits on a would-be playmate, failing to learn from history. Unfortunately, Rubasingham's cultural relocation often seems more fudged than pointed. Friar Lawrence exchanges a salaam with Romeo then instructs the banished lad to await imminent instructions in Mantua – as if he knows an abbot with a private jet. You also keep wondering what alternative marriage ceremony the holy father rustled up, with no mention of conversions.

Another mystery is why the Sultan hasn't exiled fussing Una Stubbs to Timbuktu for being the most irritating nurse on the planet. As Lord and Lady Capulet, Paul Shelley and Victoria Carling are terrific by comparison – affectionate but frighteningly irascible parents. What's really heavenly about this production is Emily Blunt – a star in the making. Her Juliet is exquisitely innocent, amusingly impatient, intelligent and tender as she dangles her arms over her balcony like a true, smitten and playful adolescent.

Though also impressive as a newcomer, Lex Shrapnel struggles to keep up as Romeo. Like many of the cast, his verse-speaking is clear and vigourous, yet he's more belligerent than touchingly ardent. Rubasingham fails to compensate using a slushy soundtrack and – I might add – at the tragic climax on press night, the plummeting of a technician's hefty logbook from a wobbling lighting platform above my head obliterated my concerns about Romeo and Juliet meeting an untimely end.

While the Bard laments the devastation of two noble houses, the London premiere of Frank Pig Says Hello appears to have trashed a pub. Head off to the Finborough Arms to see Patrick McCabe's stage adaptation of his 1990s novel, The Butcher Boy, and you find the bar dark and full of debris. On the stairs leading to the box office skulks a white box marked "Rodenticide".

It's not the cheeriest greeting. Still, you might muse, a fleapit is quite fitting for McCabe's tale about a lad who snorts like a hog and who, growing up deprived in rural Ireland, becomes increasingly delinquent after initial jolly japes. Frank ends up so delusional that he thinks his dead, flyblown dad is napping and he brutally slaughters a neighbour in revenge for ostracism.

You may be relieved to hear Catriona McLaughlin's production isn't as crumby as the venue (which, truth be told, is undergoing refurbishment). Her staging is resourceful and pretty slick – with one iron bed, some mime and neat sound cues (segueing from snoring to buzzing blue bottles), and with three actors energetically playing multiple roles (from yapping dogs to little ol' fellas on bicycles).

That said, Thomas Power as Frank has more elfin eagerness than menace. Moreover, the mix of cute comedy and gloom often feels so formulaic, you start itching to leave.

k.bassett@independent.co.uk

'Romeo and Juliet': Festival Theatre, Chichester (01243 781312), to 5 Oct; 'Frank Pig Says Hello': Finborough, London SW10 (020 7373 3842), to 14 Sept