The producers of this jet-black comedy thriller, who include Jon Plowman, until recently head of comedy at the BBC, have added to the show’s title the name of the author of the novel on which it is based. They judge that his name will sell this play, and they are probably right.

Although Carl Hiaasen’s novels are not entirely formulaic, you know roughly what to expect from them. There is generally a plucky but down-on-her-luck female heroine, a compromised but likeable male lead, some moronically stupid redneck bad guys, a nod in the direction of the environment of Florida (where they are mostly set) and a wildly improbable and yet inexorably logical screwball plot that has a suitably bathetic climax. In this case one of the bad guys is caught by a giant crab.

What has generally stymied previous attempts to adapt his novels for stage or screen (and there have been many) is how to get in Hiaasen’s mordant commentary alongside the plots and sub-plots. Here, Francis Matthews (who also directs) and Denis Calandra simply have the actors play many characters with the simplest of changes (some clever business with jackets that zip up the back allow characters to change even quicker) and by speaking the necessary descriptions. And lo, on a single chaotic set of trailer park detritus (shop signs, broken TVs, licence plates: designs by Leslie Travers) the book comes to life in at least some of its glory.

The plot concerns a winning lottery ticket belonging to said plucky heroine, the suitably named JoLayne Luck, played by Nicola Alexis in fine form. The ticket is stolen by Bode and Chub, the two redneck bad guys who plumb new depths of dimness even for Hiaasen. JoLayne wants to spend the money on protecting local woodland; Bode and Chub want to spend it on creating a militia. The out-of-luck local reporter Tom Crome (played by Trevor White) gets in between them, along with a waitress from Hooters, who is not as stupid as her bust size would normally require, and a dopey truck-stop assistant.

The thrust stage of the cavernous Assembly Hall is not kind to the show, which really needs a more contained space, and it never quite reaches the levels of deranged hysteria that it needs. But the original music, by Loudon Wainwright III, no less, adds a dash of suitably fractured country to the mix. For what it’s worth, Hiaasen, who required a command performance at his home before he gave the final OK, apparently liked it a lot.

Box office: 0131-623 3030, until August 25; then at Oxford Playhouse (01865 305305), September 1-6