Ever since its publication in 1867, Peer Gynt has been a drama that is easy-ish to admire, hard to love and much harder to stage. Ibsen’s baggy verse epic, which runs to 40 scenes, ranges from the vaguely plausible to the wildly fantastical and takes an incredibly long time to do so. Well-intentioned adaptors and directors have often met sticky ends long before Act Five’s encounter with the Button Moulder.

Initially, it seems as though Colin Teevan’s expletive-packed new version for the National Theatre of Scotland and Dundee Rep might have avoided a large number of Peer’s customary potholes. The setting is a working-class community in contemporary Scotland, where the local likely lads swiftly change tall-tale-telling Peer’s surname to another four-letter word ending in “t”. No wonder he takes refuge from such limited society in his imagination, and embarks on a lifetime of wandering to “be myself” and have himself proclaimed “emperor”.

There’s talk in the programme of how Peer’s quest is a reflection of today’s pursuit of empty celebrity and easy riches but Teevan doesn’t push this analogy anywhere near far enough, least of all into coherence, even though Peer gets wealthy via people-trafficking and the storm at sea becomes a crashed cheap flight. Soon enough, we’re back to this picaresque drama’s age-old problem of peculiar folklore and gruelling interminability.

Dominic Hill’s muscular production, which skilfully captures the alcohol-aided ebbs and flows of a wedding reception, has a large cast covering a huge amount of stage space for purposes occasionally unclear. There’s energetic if sometimes thankless work from Keith Fleming and Gerry Mulgrew as Peers old and young, tough love from Ann Louise Ross as his long-suffering mother and a wholesome turn from Ashley Smith as rejected dream-girl, Solveig. Nonetheless, after three hours, you’ll certainly be feeling the pressure of Peer.
Until 16 May (020 7638 8891, www.barbican.org.uk).