Molière's The Hypochondriac has as its central character a man who's convinced he suffers from every ailment known to man. He seeks solace in various charlatans who prescribe outlandish cures in exchange for substantial fees. Although its satire is as relevant now as it was in the seventeenth century - I'm talking about you, homeopaths - this English Touring Theatre production succeeds as a perfectly crafted comedy chock full of outstanding performances.

Argan (Clive Francis) wants to marry his daughter off to Thomas (Toby Dantzic), a rather ungainly young man whose sole virtue - in Argan's eyes - is that he is a member of a medical profession. Considering most of his money goes to local quacks, having one as a son-in-law would certainly save a franc or two. But Angelique (Lucinda Raikes) is in love with the swooningly handsome Cleante (Jake Harders). And to cap it all Argan's wife Beline (Brigid Zengeni) seems very eager to draw up a will even as she professes, without much conviction, how her husband's death would devastate her. The household maid Toinette (Leanne Best) meanwhile gets involved in every plot and counter plot - the more absurd the better. She practically steals the show doing a turn as a 90-year-old Italian doctor with an accent as ludicrous as her moustache.

Having not read the original it's hard to know how faithful poet Roger McGough's translation is. Given that it includes parodic versions of both The Sound of Music and a bit of Mozart I'd guess probably not that much. But its faithfulness is academic as the production is an absolute triumph which delights in language, humour both high and low, and hands practically every actor their own set piece. Who could resist a play which sings the praises of "lotions from China, champagne enemas - what could be finer!"

There's not a duff piece of thesping during the evening. Francis is paradoxically a force of nature as the supposed dying Argan. With his disobedient daughter and his taste for absurd wordplay he's like a music hall version of King Lear. Toby Dantzic transforms himself into the gargoyle the script requires - his awkwardness could just make him rather sad but his condescension, and his love of bleeding his patients dry (both literally and metaphorically), render him ridiculous rather than pitiable. I particularly relished Brigid Zengeni's reading of Beline which seems to be a mini tribute to Joan Collins in Dynasty. I could go on but I think you get the picture: the cast is superb.

It's got love thwarted - and then unthwarted - a bit of cross dressing, some very outlandish rhyming schemes and - I may have already mentioned this - the swooningly handsome Jake Harder. Together they make The Hypochondriac perhaps the most purely enjoyable night at the theatre I've had in years.

Continues until Saturday 10.
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