The Coast of Utopia, NT Olivier, London <br></br>On an Average Day, Comedy, London

Revolutionary? No, just going round in circles

Come the revolution, Tom Stoppard's new trilogy, The Coast of Utopia, may well meet a nasty end courtesy of the firing squad. It'll stand accused of chronic idling among other crimes. This is a matter of great regret in that many have eagerly awaited the magnum opus, which loosely follows a band of real-life Russian radical thinkers around Europe in the turbulent mid-19th century.

Stoppard's Arcadia was the most exquisite and intelligent play of the 1990s and hopes were especially high this time as Trevor Nunn is at the directorial helm with fantastically talented actors (Stephen Dillane, Eve Best, Guy Henry, Will Keen). But, alas, the proof of the proverbial pudding...

Our hopes are badly dashed. In fact, you could become sardonic observing how this epic (with a 38-strong cast playing 70-plus roles) teaches us the hard way – via its own disappointing execution – not to be naive idealists. We might have learned that less painfully just watching a couple of Stoppard's characters through to the 1860s.

Part One, entitled Voyage, begins in 1833 at the Bakunin family's country estate. It's a world of leisurely picnics and educated talk with the youthful heir, Michael (Douglas Henshall), returning from abroad filled with Schelling and Fichte's heady philosophies. He enthusiastically proclaims the only "reality" of import is that of our spirit entwined with the absolute or abstract essence of the universe. "The outer world of material existence is mere illusion," he cries. Only a second later, he's yelping: "God, I'm starving." Stoppard is also charmingly deflationary when Bakunin and his cerebral pals feel the tug of ladies' carnal attractions. Bakunin and Vissarion Belinsky (Keen) – a critic-going-on-editor – later embrace Hegel's theories, growing more interested in political engagement.

In Part Two, Shipwreck, we follow Belinsky's associate Alexander Herzen (Dillane) – whose marriage to Bakunin's sister Liubov (Best) is sadly doomed – as he witnesses the ill-fated 1948 Paris revolt. In Dresden, Bakunin is arrested for challenging the authorities; then, more positively, Herzen moves to England in the final play, Salvage. Besides crossing paths here with Karl Marx (Paul Ritter) and the roving novelist Ivan Turgenev (Henry), Herzen prints an uncensored periodical expounding his brand of socialism. The Bell apparently helps ring the changes back home – including the long-delayed emancipation of the serfs. Beyond this though, an emerging generation of nihilists (whom Stoppard clearly condemns) are dismissing principles in favour of pragmatism and scorning the ageing Herzen's credo of reform via peaceful means.

I could watch Dillane and Co all day, which is lucky since the trilogy runs in its entirety (on Saturdays) from 11am to past 10.30pm. Keen's Belinsky, initially a mass of neurotic twitches, is cryingly funny and fiery. By contrast, Henry's Turgenev is wry and suave though touchingly loyal deep down. Best's yearning Liubov – once she's wedded to Dillane's superficially cool yet sexy Herzen – gains lovely self-assurance with fractures below the surface.

As for the script, at its acme (in Voyage), Stoppard's dialogue is erudite, wittily satirical and impassioned as he explores the history of ideas, Western and Eastern cultures, chance and change. At its worst (and Shipwreck hits rock-bottom), this work is rambling and narratively garbled. You might wonder if Nunn hasn't just unwisely yanked a first draft out of the shredder. Fundamentally, Stoppard has bitten off more than he's managed to digest. He had far more brilliant absurdist fun with bio-dramatics (involving Lenin and James Joyce) in Travesties.

Though surely meant to be knowing, the numerous echoes of Chekhov here (sold woodlands, drowned children, yearnings for Moscow) often come across as uninspired, slightly desperate imitations. Stoppard's radicals also bang on about some of their favourite theses so repetitively, you wonder if "revolutionary" only means going round in wearisome circles. The revolving set seems distinctly ironic when Dillane is trundled on – for Part Three – himself asleep in his chair.

Elsewhere, individual storylines are carelessly truncated or so full of jolts you don't know when an actor has switched to playing a new character. That's not to mention the underdeveloped, seemingly pointless temporal rewinds and micro-scenes (sometimes, just two or three lines long). Maybe Stoppard's trying to say times don't move on smoothly, and perhaps he also intended to boldly push theatre towards the sweepingly novelistic or filmic. But the result is a muddle.

Nunn's staging is relatively slick (with masses of well-drilled scene-shifters) but his banner-waving melodrama at the Parisian barricades (after Les Mis) is excruciatingly corny. Designer William Dudley goes off the boil too. After his mesmerising first image – a projected, dizzily spinning glade – we're subjected to dire computer-generated sea and cityscapes which perversely evoke cheap video games with neither imagination nor realism. One suspects Dillane's catch phrase, "What's wrong with this picture?" isn't solely referring to the lamentable state of Tsarist Russia. Capacious room for improvements.

Still I'd rather see The Coast Of Utopia with all its flaws than On an Average Day, John Kolvenbach's bog-standard, off-Broadway two-hander. This sub-Shepard homecoming drama deals with long-separated brothers and their dysfunctional family history. It's been hyped out of all proportion by the casting of US screen stars, Woody Cheers Harrelson and Kyle Twin Peaks MacLachlan, for its West End debut.

Bob and Jack were abandoned by their single dad 20-odd years ago. Jack took the paternal role for a while but then ran away. Now he's suddenly walked in to find old newspaper cuttings plastered all over the kitchen and a festering stench – both comic and symbolic – emanating from the fridge.

Bob is a motormouthed, paranoid crazy who's stagnated, obsessed with the past and possibly delusional. He greets Jack like an adoring, insecure kid but with flashes of snide rage. Jack is an apparently rock-steady guy of few words and hard truths. But – aha! – he's got a gun and an alternative backstory to launch into for a finale.

Kolvenbach is ultimately concerned with the comforts and dangers of romanticising the past. He's also interested in families replacing hostilities and despair with an upbeat option where history doesn't repeat itself.

Unfortunately, after starting well with suspense and humour, this play resorts to very obvious plot-fowarding devices and dramatic contrasts. Harrelson and MacLachlan are focused, sure-footed pros. Nonetheless, director John Crowley doesn't get subtle nuances from them. MacLachlan is fundamentally stony-faced. Harrelson, conversely, keeps on bobbing about, gesticulating, leaping improbably on to the furniture. His character's incoherent gabbling, delivered in a sing-song voice, becomes a bore too. By the end I was fidgeting nearly as uncontrollably as him.

k.bassett@independent.co.uk

'The Coast of Utopia': NT Olivier, London SE1 (020 7452 3000), booking to 17 Oct; 'On an Average Day': Comedy, London SW1 (020 7369 1731), to 27 Oct