The Grapes of Wrath portrays the social consequences of economic crisis, and this revival of Frank Galati’s version of John Steinbeck’s classic novel should therefore feel uncomfortably timely. But its depiction of poverty, compromise and the redemptive power of kinship at first seems remote, rooted in the particular circumstances of the Great Depression.

The play focuses on the Joads, a family of Oklahoma sharecroppers lured to fertile California by the promise of fresh opportunities. Relinquishing their dusty farm, they toil along Route 66, only to find that in the Promised Land the milk and honey are less than copious.

In its vision of man’s war on weakness and despair, Galati’s play is faithful to Steinbeck’s original, and Jonathan Church’s production conveys the story’s narrative sweep as well as Steinbeck’s weighty symbolism.

The stage slopes alarmingly, as if to suggest the imminence of social collapse, and water gurgles at its edge — first seductively, then menacingly. Simon Higlett’s design looks shabbily authentic and, skilfully lit by Tim Mitchell, is raked with shadows, while John Tams’s songs and music are mournful and atmospheric.

The cast is large, and some of the performances lack clarity and consistency. Accents wander. Galati’s fractured mode of storytelling makes certain characters seem flat. But Oliver Cotton excites as the disillusioned preacher Jim Casy, Sorcha Cusack proves knowingly robust as the determined Ma Joad and Rebecca Night’s Rose of Sharon, considered fragile on account of her pregnancy, combines petulant naivety and delicate humanity.

After a somewhat sluggish first hour, the ensemble comes alive, and the play’s mood, initially didactic and lumpily portentous, grows more tightly poetic and tense. Parts may seem dated but the anger is still raw, and in this ambitious production its power is slowly revealed.
Until 28 August. Information: 01243 781312