This seriously weird satire by Dennis Kelly takes a scathing view of the way in which Britain's obsession with information and celebrity culture helps garble or distort the truth.

Its object of scrutiny at first appears to be Abigail Davies's cowed and childlike Donna McCauliffe. This young woman has been sentenced to life for killing her two infant children, only to be released 14 months later when the guilty verdict is branded unsafe by an appeal court judge.

Although Taking Care of Baby assumes the form of a mock-documentary and piece of verbatim theatre, it is not interested in establishing Donna's innocence or explaining how the infants came to die. Kelly focuses instead on the way in which the psychologically damaged Donna is subsumed and exploited in a media blitz. She becomes a notorious celebrity, fit for use and abuse.

Her political careerist mother, Lynn, whom Ellie Haddington paints in the primary colours of deviousness and self-dramatisation, schemes to bag a Labour parliamentary seat. Christopher Ravenscroft's crazy Dr Millard has discovered or invented a modish psychiatric disorder to explain Donna's murderous behaviour. A tabloid reporter hunts for fresh and further scandal.

All exploit the sweet withdrawn girl to advance their own lives.

Unfortunately, this trio, particularly the sex-addict journalist, is not altogether free from the taint of caricature or cliché. Only Donna and her estranged husband, whom Nick Sidi invests with a dramatically potent mixture of anger and despair, emerge as serious people.

Scorning chronology and the scenic/narrative framework of the conventional play, Taking Care of Baby darts, shifts and jumps around from past to present in Anthony Clark's elegantly flowing production.

Patrick Connellan's set is centred upon a lofty, neon-lit art work, whose centrepiece is a shrine to the child - a life-stage from which Donna has not greatly advanced.

Discursive monologue gives way to terse question and answers. An unseen interviewer, with his probing, prying, investigative questions, digs for the truth in vain.

Millard's preposterous psychiatric theorising and Lynn's eagerness to proclaim herself on TV as a mother fighting to get her sick daughter out of prison serve to emphasise this undramatic play's chronic evasiveness: Kelly raises disturbing questions about infanticide and treats them with little more than amused jocularity and some sympathy, preferring instead to take pot-shots at easy targets.

• Until 23 June (020 7722 9301).