Miss Julie

At first glance, Peter Hall's Behind Closed Doors double bill for the Rose Theatre looks like an abortive game of theatrical consequences - pairing August Strindberg's operatic and misogynistic Scandinavian drama with a '70s, middle-class trifle from Alan Ayckbourn. However, unexpected parallels appear. Rachel Pickup plays Miss Julie as a conflation of all Strindberg's hatreds and desires - woman as a free-thinking, sexual agent, albeit one who is ultimately undermined by authorial intervention. For Ayckbourn, she offers a similar service as Susannah, a free-thinking, sexual woman, whom the author writes off as 'a bit flaky'.

Ayckbourn's focus is wider than Strindberg's and his instruments more subtle. He presents four likeable middle-class couples - the parents of Susannah's husband Trevor, and two couples who are friends of his (none of whom seem to like Susannah very much) - whose very existence is almost their performance to each other of middle-class couple-ness. They are bluff and affable and avoid conflict by saying 'ho hum'. Being a farce, this is all very jolly and amusing, with the usual multiple misunderstandings and numerous doors. Nicolas Le Prevost and Jane Asher (oh yes, it's quite a cast) are both hilarious as Trevor's posh parents. The point is still that all four couples seem slightly crushed by their marriages, although Ayckbourn at least has the decency to lay part of the blame for this on the men and make us laugh.

'Miss Julie' is more problematic, as director Stephen Unwin acknowledges in his programme notes. His production is straight, intelligent and detailed. In a wall-less kitchen set giving on to a backdrop of chilly pines, hobs work, water pumps and corks come from bottles with a satisfying pop. Rachel Pickup as Julie does imperious, melting ice-maiden beautifully, if rather loudly, while Daniel Betts's Jean seems almost mulishly unresponsive by contrast. 'Bedroom Farce; comes out of the head-to-head slightly better, although I suspect that's largely because we Brits tend to prefer our gender-relations pessimism when it's funny.