Nation

Terry Pratchett's Discworld, which sails through space on the back of a giant turtle, is a ludicrously enjoyable joke at the expense of our own. But fans of our pre-eminent satirical fantasy novelist may be disappointed by how po-faced and worthy this family-friendly staging of his non-Discworld novel 'Nation' is. Itis set in a parallel world. But, rather than cocking a hilarious snook at the one it diverges from, it seems determined to give it a lesson in cultural relativism. It's 1860 and posh white English teenager Daphne (a science-lover in a crinoline) is shipwrecked on an island where young black tribesman Mau is suffering a crisis of faith, a tsunami having destroyed his entire family. Just as they're learning to understand each other, they're joined by a ragged bunch of grass-skirted survivors in need of leadership. A series of crises (birth, death, sharks, cannibals) add up to a big opportunity: to forge a new nation that includes justice and rationalism as well as woefully synthetic tribal music and witchdoctors.

As fantasy islands go, this one could have been dreamed up by a National Curriculum committee: it's uncharacteristically bland stuff from playwright and adapter Mark Ravenhill. Director Melly Still fails to bring the powerful clarity or burgeoning sexual tension that could have made our teenagers (cleanly and fairly played by Gary Carr and Emily Taafe) into characters as well as cultural templates. Where Still succeeds marvellously (as in similar voodoo-styled moments in the 18th-century fantasy 'Coram Boy') is in the fantastic spectacle: three huge translucent panels filled with seawater, blood and drowning Victorians are theatre's answer to the Blue Planet. There's a well-judged and well-staged yuck factor: puppet birds pull sausage-string entrails from corpses and, shortly after meeting, Mau and Daphne share the unique bonding experience of suckling milk from the engorged tits of a monstrous maddened sow. If only the makers of 'I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out of Here' had inflicted that poetic justice on Jordan... Jason Thorpe's turn as a foul-mouthed ship's parrot provides most of the fairly peg-legged comedy. But it's the endlessly bland negotiations between respect for science, native religion, duty and people's touchy feelings that makes this feel more like a raft of PC issues than a voyage of discovery.