20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, Theatre Royal Stratford East, London

The idea of presenting 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea at the tiny Theatre Royal brings to mind the National Theatre of Brent's staging of the Russian revolution, or The Charge Of The Light Brigade in a room above a pub. But, while those classic works used mad camping to reconcile the mismatch of theme and execution, Patrick Prior's play puts outrageousness low on its agenda.

The Jules Verne adventure tale is here used for cartoon clowning and promoting feminism, an end of class distinctions, and respect for the environment. The show isn't preachy, but the lack of passion and tension emphasise the low-budget nature of the undersea "wonders'' as well as the choppiness of the script. Still, this 20,000 Leagues is unfailingly good natured – and I am, after all, not the audience at which it is aimed. I would have been much more caught up in it when I was small enough to have been frightened by the giant squid, so huge that only two of its cardboard tentacles can appear on stage at once.

Another winning aspect of Kerry Michael's production is the Captain Nemo of Michael N Harbour. This stylish megalomaniac commands the Nautilus in a smoking jacket from a coffin-shaped throne. His vocabulary is admirable, especially in a children's show. "Someone must take charge,'' he declares, of a planet despoiled by war and ecological disaster, "and, as the gods have abrogated this duty, it will have to be me!''

Prowling the seas in his submarine, Nemo rams a Cunard liner carrying the scientist whose solar gun can cut through rock and steel as though they were mere putty. "This time science will stay in control,'' he reassures a passenger who has asked if the invention might be turned to an evil purpose, just before the captain knocks him overboard. The Nautilus scoops up not only the inventor but his valet, Lady Snide-Worthington, her sheltered but plucky niece, and a seaman whose humble garments enclose a noble heart.

Despite a script that can't decide whether she is hatefully snobbish or harmlessly amusing, Sarah Crowden infuses a great deal of fun into the grand lady for whom the major problem of being kidnapped by an insane genius is one of etiquette. I thought I could detect in her voice a hint of another domineering lady when she clucked, "This is what happens when the wrong sort of person tries to rule the world.'' And I was sure of it a bit later, when the scientist urges the others to mutiny. "Surely our own survival is secondary to the good of humanity!'' he announced, whereupon Lady S-N, genuinely puzzled, remarked in that famous acidulated purr, "What a strange thing to say.''

To 29 June (020-8534 0310)