Syphilis and theatre have always gone together. Shakespeare jokes about it. Chekhov and Shaw campaigned against it. Wilde might have had it. But Ibsen's Ghosts, which is revived splendidly in Anna Mackmin's close-packed and subtly acted production, remains the syphilis play.

Back in the late 1800s, its depiction of that disease scandalised Europe. Nowadays, the shock factor has waned, and we see the play instead for the brilliant, progressive reinvention of tragedy it is.

There are wide-screen TVs larger than the frame of the living room in Lez Brotherston's set, which still manages to suggest an opulent, yet suffocating home in a tiny space. Its owner, Mrs Alving, has given all to prevent her son Osvald turning into the dissolute father she married for show. It proves futile - Osvald's infection with his father's syphilis is a metaphor for the deceits his mother has committed for propriety's sake, which now must return to haunt her.

Niamh Cusack's Mrs Alving is superb: an iron lady with a fluttering heart, whose passion for new, free thinking has been mindfully diverted into kindly, indomitable domestic efficiency. Finbar Lynch as Pastor Manders matches her. His smooth manner and committed piety make us believe this man has been the inspiration for both Alving's dutiful repression and her most destructive passions.

The younger cast don't fare quite as well. Christian Coulson's Oswald has a cold conviction which is interesting, but no remnants of the "joy of life" remain in this supposed Epicurean. Nor can we believe his attraction to Sarah Smart's Regine: too broadly comic. Their later scenes feel less nuanced than the rest, but by then Ibsen's clockwork plotting has us hooked.

• Until 17 Feb (020 7229 0706).