Kurt and Sid, Trafalgar Studios, London

(Getty)

Plays which the audience knows will end with the main character putting a shotgun into his mouth might seem to be an acquired taste, but the producers of Kurt and Sid have certainly acquired it. Last July they presented the Hemingway musical, Too Close to the Sun; now they bring us the last day of Kurt Cobain. The shows also have in common an unremitting puerility – this is a two-hander for theatregoers who, like the characters, are mired in petulant adolescence.

In a grungy attic strewn with plastic toys and dirty dishes, Kurt, kissing a gun barrel, is interrupted by a chap he takes for a Sid Vicious imitator. Given Danny Dyer's string of disconnected mannerisms, this is understandable, but it seems that Kurt's obsession with Sid has called forth the latter's ghost to join him in extremis. There is also a suggestion that Sid's wandering soul has been returned to earth for a chance to save another and redeem himself for murdering Nancy Spungen. So, when Sid isn't dismembering dolls or agreeing with Kurt's sentiments about rock journalists ("They labelled me to destroy me"), he tries to keep him from becoming another self-destructive rock legend. In this he is bucking not only history but Roy Smiles' dialogue, which is limited to put-down, whinge, and harangue, its ping-pong nature ("You hate everything." "It's a lifestyle choice.") underlined by director Tim Stark having the two play an actual game.

Doleful and wooden, Shaun Evans' Kurt recites a list of life's atrocities. He has been a victim of censorship ("We had to change the title to get the album in the store!") and of insensitive fans ("If only I had quality control I would have culled millions of the bastards"). Sid tries the political tack to dissuade Kurt from suicide ("Your country still needs someone to scream for them"), he tries the personal ("When your daughter wants a hug, can she get it from a cremation urn?"), but finally concedes defeat with "I gave it my best shot". Though Kurt repeatedly complains of stomach pains, I was unmoved until Sid plonked himself down on a carton; after I stared at its logo, PMS International, for several minutes, the power of suggestion had its way with me. When a cardboard box can create more empathy than a script, I think the god of theatre might be trying to tell its writer something.

To 3 October (0844 871 7615)