Euripides is usually thought of as a tragedian, a luxuriant ironist and a poet of the passions. Yet his Helen is a comic fantasia — albeit imbued with a sharp note of social criticism.

Traditionally Helen herself is “the face that launched a thousand ships”. But Euripides naughtily suggests that, instead of experiencing the carnage of the Trojan War, she sat it out in the sultry obscurity of Egypt.

The beauteous woman stolen by Paris was, we learn, a phantom image. Meanwhile, the real Helen has spent 17 years in chaste exile, pining for her husband Menelaus. Now, after his ship is blown off course, they can be reunited.

The play is a love story but also a humorous frolic with darker cadences (Shakespeare’s late romances are a useful point of comparison).

Crucially, too, it has topical bite: “We fought the Trojan War over nothing,” says a minor character, reminding us of the futility of some of our own recent conflicts.

Yet while parts of Frank McGuinness’s new version are handsomely lyrical, its poetic archaisms sit oddly alongside geezerish talk of “kip”, “a mug’s game”, “carry-on”, “utter tosh” and not having “a pot to piss in”.

There are shonky lines to boot: “The gods are changeable as a child’s arse” may get a laugh but it means nothing. The idea is to enable Euripides to speak to a modern audience: the result is bumpy.

Still, the actors have fun with it. As Helen, Penny Downie moves nicely from conspiratorial allure to flailing eroticism, and Paul McGann’s Menelaus has an engaging directness. The chorus proves endearingly Pythonesque, while a shoeless countertenor in a tux lends a touch of finesse.

Deborah Bruce’s direction has verve but there are too many ideas competing for space. Gideon Davey’s set — a puzzling mix of graveyard, dungheap and tinseled cabaret — is typical of a production that affords real pleasure yet seems confused about its main intent.
Until 23 August (020 7401 9919)