The House of Bernarda Alba

The National Theatre of Scotland, between community engagement and the occasional international hit, have a habit of reviving classics of twentieth century drama. Bernarda Alba has been translated and recreated by Rona Munro with due regard to the poetry of Lorca's original, and the simmering sexuality glints through the rather ill-judged attempt to graft a West Coast context onto the very Spanish passions.

At first, the transition makes sense: Bernarda, played with solidity by Siobhan Redmond, has a visceral nastiness and matriarchal dominance, while the references to schemes and East End gangsters lend a brooding menace. The interludes from the aged mother are amusing, the commentary from Penny insightful and the squabbles of the sisters comprehensible. At its best, the production allows the characters to play out their personal dramas directly and clearly. Yet as the drama unfolds, the Scottish dialect clashes with the rich metaphors, leaving the production in an uncomfortable gap between social realism and symbolism.

While all of the performances are convincing, none shine, and Lorca's shrewd analysis of familial power feels ripped from its context. The trinity of sisters fighting over the same man is tragic, and followed to its inevitable conclusion with almost Classical grandeur, which sits uncomfortably with the details of Glasgow life and almost comical bursts of vernacular. The pacing is oddly placid, with little deviation from a steady, measured intensity. By the end, Lorca's script triumphs – while Munro captures the patter, she does not swamp the imagery. If the finale is powerful, this is nothing to do with the new concept, but the enduring strength of Bernarda Alba's understanding of human nature.