The Beggar's Opera, Orange Tree, Richmond <br></br>Road, Lyric Hammersmith, London <br></br>Through the Leaves, Southwark Playhouse, London

John Gay's The Beggar's Opera caused a political rumpus and was hugely popular when it burst on to the English stage in 1728. Set in London's criminal underworld, it was seen as a covert satirical portrait of the Prime Minister and his cronies, with Peachum – the chief crook who shops the roguish Macheath – identified as Walpole. This folk musical has been eagerly reworked and updated ever since, and you can now catch Vaclav Havel's little-known 1970's version at the Orange Tree.

At the time of writing, Havel was a Czech dissident risking his neck during the Soviet occupation, and the authorities banned this piece after just one performance in Prague. At first it's hard to see why from Geoffrey Beevers' revival, performed rather blandly in pretty, late 18th-century costumes with little sense of menace. Havel seems mainly interested in womanising as Howard Saddler's cool, laddish Macheath gabs lengthily about whores, wives and mistresses. If any system is being mocked in Paul Wilson's English translation, it's surely modern capitalism, where geezers brag of mergers and business opportunities. Today's average British spectator might also mistakenly take Bruce Alexander's Lockit for a good cop, being a London police chief who speaks ardently about "the war on crime".

But gradually it becomes clear that really we're in the Eastern Bloc in its darkest days. Macheath is ensnared by double-crossing informers. The underworld that Lockit talks of eradicating could be the underground resistance. The only other character, besides Macheath, who is arrested, yells about freedom for the press. By the close, when Macheath urges the state-serving harlot Jenny to liberate her individuality by loving him instead, one can envisage the secret police preparing to clap Havel in handcuffs.

In spite of some wooden acting, this production becomes increasingly thought-provoking. Still, you might wonder how Havel would rejig Gay's piece now, after rising to become Czech president in 1990. Let's hope he'll return to writing when he quits that office next month.

The locals in Jim Cartwright's Road are stuck below the poverty line but lack criminal canniness. This "modern classic" from Mrs Thatcher's divisive 1980s leads you down Lancashire's Skid Row, bumping into delinquents, pissed slappers and a boozing tramp called Scullery. Most of them are manifestly depraved by their lousy living conditions. Some are nostalgic for innocent times, and a few youngsters hope to escape.

Pilot's production looks impressively grungy with shards of derelict flats on a central revolve. Director Marcus Romer also emphasises, in a programme note, that he wanted "to create Road for now". So Cartwright has inserted references to Posh, Becks and Big Brother and Romer has added some projected video footage plus a rock soundtrack. Live cameras also follow the cast into the theatre bar, where they act in the interval as if they're at a cruddy pub disco.

Pilot has an adolescent fan base and this treatment may appeal to them. Romer's ensemble have energy, especially Steve Owen's scraggy Scullery. However, the acting is uneven and can be crudely caricatured. Moreover, though Road won Cartwright newcomer awards, it has aged badly with its endless string of characters and strained poetic patches. Romer's video work is visually muddy and it's hard to believe in a scuzzy dance floor next to the Lyric's cafe, selling prosciutto and focaccia. Then again, maybe highlighting that social gulf is a lesson in itself.

Another grimy flat greets you in Southwark where Simon Callow is roughing it with Ann Mitchell in Through the Leaves by Bavaria's Franz Xaver Kroetz. Callow plays a chauvinist pig called Otto who shacks up with Mitchell's dowdy, devoted Martha in the rooms behind her butcher's shop. Otto can't cope with emotional commitment, slaps Martha down and seethes about her independence.

The transmogrification of the normally fruity Callow into a shorn-headed, swaggering cockney is startling, and his Otto can switch sharply between passion, viciousness and vulnerability. Mitchell, in turn, betrays glints of steely anger under Martha's naive patience. There's suspense, involving some cleavers, and moments of deep inarticulate tenderness. But Kroetz shapes the duo's conflicts too carelessly and director Daniel Kramer hasn't quite fine-tuned his stars: Callow is, in general, excessively mannered while Mitchell is too muted.

k.bassett@independent.co.uk

'The Beggar's Opera': Orange Tree, Richmond (020 8940 3633), to 15 Feb; 'Road': Lyric Hammersmith, London W6 (020 8741 2311), to Sat, then tours to 1 March; 'Through the Leaves': Southwark, London SE1 (020 7620 3494), to Sat