Theatre - comedy of sexual frustration proves as bitter as any tragedy, writes Michael Portillo Period of Adjustment Almeida Theatre, London N1

Admirers of the golden age of American theatre, which illuminated the mid-20th century, have enjoyed a feast in London over recent years. Now the Almeida is reinforcing that renaissance with one of Tennessee Williams's least-known plays. Period of Adjustment premièred in 1960. Its first production in London in 40 years does not call for a reassessment of its place in the canon, but it does demonstrate that, even at his weakest, Williams wrote wonderfully well. He courageously raised issues that were generally thought too painful to be discussed, or that presaged the debates of a later generation.

In 1960, feminism was yet to make its mark on American society. Women were marrying young (average age 20) and the birth rate was soaring. Consumerism was inextricably entangled with marriage and children. Americans aspired to a family car and a family home, with kitchen appliances and a television to complete their domestic bliss.

Williams was estranged from all this, not least because he was a homosexual. His memories of hearth and home were bitter. His mentally ill sister, Rose, was lobotomised after she accused her father of making sexual advances. The young Williams was made complicit in her committal. She was to spend 53 years in institutions.

Period of Adjustment opens within a few hours of that moment of supreme joy for any couple, their first night as newly-weds. But as George and Isabel Haverstick (wait for the irony in the surname) arrive at the home of his former army buddy Ralph Bates, things have clearly not started smoothly. George dumps the suitcases, and his bride, and roars off in the car.

Ralph's wife Dorothea has just left him, taking their son with her. He married her despite not finding her attractive, because her father had money and a job came with the union. Isabel, on the other hand, is very attractive and, from her point of view, Ralph is understanding and gentle, in contrast to George on their first night to gether. Despite Isabel's strict upbringing, which has left her easily shocked, she soon tells Ralph enough for us to understand that the marriage has not been consummated and the couple have spent the night apart, he in the bed and she in a chair.

It emerges that Isabel and George are opposites. She is outwardly prudish, but inside pulsates with sexual energy. That much is evident when she first meets George. As a trainee nurse she was responsible for giving him alcohol rubs when he was admitted to hospital suffering from unexplained shakes. She flirts with Ralph, and has set out for her honeymoon armed with the most provocative nighties that 1960 can supply. George was supposedly highly sexually active in the brothels of wartime Korea that he and Ralph used to visit together. But Ralph has heard that, behind closed doors, he used only to talk with the girls. George is evidently worried about his ability to perform.

The most striking passage in the play comes when Ralph diagnoses that George is full of sexual violence. He warns his friend that his manhood is "not an offensive weapon" and urges him not "to clobber" his wife (you now see the irony in the surname).

The play is not particularly funny. Williams relies heavily on repetition for comic effect. Isabel tells us repeatedly how George took her off in an unheated hearse and drank all the way to the deeply unromantic Old Man River motel. Ralph says over and over that the cou-ple just need a period of adjustment and all will be well. He also reminds us, frequently, that he bought his "sweet" house cheaply because it is built over a cavern and is subsiding. Spot the symbolism regarding the American dream.

The Southern accent was a huge challenge for the cast, and there are occasional lapses. But Lisa Dillon, as the bride, has carefully studied Dixie rhythms of speech, including the exaggerated slowness with which a young woman would spit out the syllables when being sarcastic. She skilfully combines the silly prissiness and sizzling horniness of a daddy's girl.

I admired Benedict Cumberbatch's George. He has a fine way of contorting his face to show pain and humiliation as first Ralph and then Isabel guess at the nature of his problem. He handles the shakes extremely well. It is a convincing interpretation of a man who attracts all the girls, but who secretly is less cocksure than he appears.

Jared Harris is both gentle and harshly outspoken as Ralph. Sandy McDade is good as his wife, tormented by the know-ledge that Ralph cannot find her attrac-tive, not even after she has had her buck-teeth extracted.

Being a comedy, the play struggles towards some sort of happy ending. In truth, it tastes scarcely less bitter than Williams's tragedies.

Booking on 020 7359 4404 to 29 April

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