I really tried hard to like this. The Bush, after all, is London's most consistent unearther of worthwhile new writers, so there had, I kept telling myself despite growing evidence to the contrary, to be something in this script from Ian McHugh. Furthermore, this is the first production from artistic director Josie Rourke who, for my money, joins Rupert Goold at the top of the upcoming talent tree. Reader, I failed.

Initial plot obscurity gives way to further plot obscurity, as McHugh's three characters remain frustratingly, even comically, context-free. It's always a worry when the programme, rather than the action, reveals two key pieces of information, namely where we are (a bedsit in Great Yarmouth) and how old the characters are meant to be (17, although they look 25). Yet even the programme couldn't explain what merits might lay hidden in this strange, claustrophobic little account of bookish man-child Nick (Al Weaver) trying to whip up a magic storm straight out of The Tempest, using his friend (the programme again) Miranda (Emily Beecham) and pick-up William (Robert Boulter).

The three actors certainly give this muddle their all, bringing to mind what might happen to Harry Potter and his chums if they took a sudden lurch towards both the gothic and income support. But it's hard to care about the outcome when we understand nothing of what drives Nick to this frantic spell-making. Rourke and the Bush need to look elsewhere for the theatrical equivalent of rabbits from hats.

• Until 10 November. Information: 020 7610 4224. www.bushtheatre.co.uk