The Government Inspector, Pleasance Theatre, London

Silent glimpses of Gogol's grotesques

The composer and critic Virgil Thomson advised: "Recreate for the reader what you have seen and heard so that he will be able to experience it for himself, and that will be criticism." So, let's see.

The Theatre de l'Ange Fou, which calls itself a "Mime and Physicality Theatre", has adapted Gogol's play by cutting most, though not all, of the text, and adding characters "to further enrich the visual atmosphere". Among these are a female angel in black, and a male angel in aviator goggles and what seems intended as a flight uniform but looks more like a Seventies leisure suit. Presumably to enrich the verbal atmosphere, Steven Wasson and Corinne Soum have also added lines from other works, including Casablanca and Richard III.

The action – a corrupt town hears of the impending visit of an inspector, a roguish traveller is mistaken for the official and showered with bribes, the truth is discovered after he leaves – takes place in the mayor's mind. A huge bed, big enough for six, on, under and around which the characters squirm, is pushed to different areas of the stage, which represents (again I am indebted to the programme) "the chambers of his thought".

The major is played by two actors, each wearing a fez, a dressing-gown, and a large nose, but I could not say why, any more than I could explain the significance of a film of two squiggles that mutated into two tilted discs. A colleague, older and wiser, was likewise baffled, but was on surer ground with the films of people marching with placards or trudging alongside a wooden cart. "That is to show," he explained, "that we are in Russia."

As well as being trimmed and enriched, the script has been reorganised. The play now opens, after a pantomime of drunkenness by the male angel, with the reading of a letter in which the traveller, Khlestakov, reveals his imposture. We then meet the citizenry, a gang of threadbare grotesques, including the mayor's plump wife, and his daughter, whose pigtails stand up.

Khlestakov (Oscar Valsecchi), with long, wavy hair parted in the middle, looks rather like Virginia Woolf, or at least, how Virginia Woolf would look if you put an electric fan under her chin. He sometimes limps, leaning on a crutch, and sometimes, like the others, leaps into the air, waltzes, or runs around in circles. Among the other expressions of mime and physicality are Cossack dancing, moving as if under water, high kicks, arm-waving, and falling to the floor. There is also a good deal of writhing.

The actors' use of movement is not limited to their bodies – their eyes roll vigorously, as do their heads, and they make faces in a way that looks like a parody of silent-film acting by people who have never seen a silent film. There is also a humorous moment, when Khlestakov drinks from a pot, another actor flips it over his head, and he staggers around, trying to pull it off. Off-stage, bells peal, women laugh, and a harsh wind blows.

The performers in this London-based company represent 13 nations. When they speak (sometimes simultaneously), they are often unintelligible, or at least quite difficult to understand. But as a friend pointed out, this might be intended to emphasise the group's international character. The prologue, however, spoken by a Japanese actor in his native language, is translated for us. It ends: "Hope you enjoy this glimpse into the mirror. A splendid time awaits, you see?"

I hope you have.

To 8 February (020-7609 1800)