On the London fringe a ragged bird-scarer is taking a break from the Yellow Brick Road and following a less familiar path to picaresque adventure. Adapted from Philip Pullman's novel of the same name and directed by Simon Reade, this story, set in war-torn fairytale Italy, has flourishes of Candide, of The Wizard of Oz, of Don Quixote, even of Hamlet and Aristophanes' The Birds. But Reade's production for the over-sixes, though rich in dramatic possibility, remains curiously staid.

Meandering, rather than crowded with thrilling incident, inconsequential instead of intriguingly offbeat, it's short of pace and excitement despite the efforts of a diligent cast and some jaunty tunes by Chris Larner.

Lord Scarecrow (Andrew Pepper) - tatty, aristocratic and eccentric - is shocked into life by a lightning bolt and finds himself in a situation of almost Beckettian absurdity, trapped in a muddy field in a thunderstorm, lacking a leg. Jack (Finn Hanlon), a sharp-witted boy made homeless by marauding soldiers, sorts Scarecrow out by shoving a handy stick up his trousers, and a sturdy alliance of nice-but-dim master and staunch servant is forged. Scarecrow, now fully equipped with limbs, longs to return to Spring Valley, the fecund land of his creation; Jack just wants to get by with a full belly.

They encounter bloodthirsty brigands, a troupe of strolling players, a ruthless recruiting officer and plenty of the twittering creatures Scarecrow has always considered his feathered foe. Most sinister of all, their steps are dogged by an unctuous lawyer acting for the powerful Buffaloni family, whose trade in chemicals is poisoning the land and who have a mysterious and disturbing interest in acquiring Scarecrow for their own dark purposes.

Tom Piper's designs feature inventive use of newspapers and plastic bags, and there is some engagingly surreal silliness on the journey. Scarecrow loses his straw-stuffed heart to a comely broom, only to discover she's engaged to a rake; Jack, overcome

with hunger, resorts to scoffing his master's turnip head. But none of it seems to matter much, and an overall absence of urgency induces a fidget-inducing feeling of detachment.

At best, The Scarecrow and His Servant is endearingly quirky; but it's defeated by a fatal absence of emotional intensity and narrative focus.

Box office: 020-7407 0234, to Jan 10

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