Fifty years ago, The Caretaker was Harold Pinter's first commercial success.

Now it is the first of his major works to be revived in the West End since his death in December 2008.

Like so many of Pinter's plays, The Caretaker is concerned with the exercise of control in relationships.

In a single shabby room in west London, three men engage in a brutal power struggle.

The central figure, viscerally realised by Jonathan Pryce, is Davies, a dishevelled old vagrant who is rescued from an argument in a café by Aston, a mystifyingly generous thirtysomething.

After this kindly start, Aston and his younger brother Mick gradually ensnare Davies in a sexless S&M game, a mixture of pass-the-parcel and tug-of-war.

The material is quintessential Pinter: personal, political, unflinching, and preoccupied with the use of language as a weapon as well as with servility, isolation and betrayal.

All the characters have wonderful, passionate, eerie solos and Christopher Morahan's production expertly presents their manoeuvrings, though at times it could do with a touch more pace.

The details all count. A pair of shoes become an item of occult significance. A plaster Buddha is a plaything and a bludgeon, at once actual and symbolic.

And Eileen Diss's cluttered set perfectly suggests the way loneliness and self-neglect cause people to accumulate vast miscellanies of junk.

Pryce is outstanding as the father figure whom the brothers must in their different ways repudiate.

His Davies is seemingly Welsh - the accent takes some getting used to - and sounds as though he has a tennis ball of phlegm in his throat.

A blend of vulnerability and aggression, he jabbers one moment, wheedles or ruminates the next.

He's a suburban King Lear, hunched and destitute but still capable of tenacity and the occasional underdoggy snarl.

As the initially genial Aston, Peter McDonald conveys the right mix of charity, dignity and inquisitorial rigour, while Sam Spruell's Mick is slyly articulate and predatory - a study in cool malevolence.

The rewards of the play are cumulative: perhaps at first it seems too slow and enigmatic, but you grow attuned to Pinter's language, its rhythms and discontinuities, its repetitions and absurdist fugues.

The fundamental idea in The Caretaker is that life is, unremittingly, a trial.

This production, anchored by Pryce's multifaceted performance, potently communicates the simple menace of Pinter's writing.

Until 17 April. Information 0871 297 5454.