Triple Espresso, Arts Theatre, London

Let's hear it, folks, for those groups who never hit the big time, those unsung talents who sang and clowned in vain – or in little supper clubs (which amounts to the same thing). And, ladies and gentlemen, why don't we give those boys a second chance to strut their stuff and show us what they're made of? Let's pull them out of obscurity for a one-night-only reunion and for a cute li'l ol' nostalgia spree. A few vintage songs, a few gags about the career that careered into disaster (nothing off-colour mind!), lots of comic camaraderie and unresolved tension between the lads and, hey, a heck of a lot of jokey merchandise for your purchasing pleasure on the way out.

It's a format that has foisted more than a few bland, harmlessly enjoyable shows on an all-too-sus-pecting public. A few years ago, the West End imported Forever Plaid, an off-Broadway hit that purported to be the posthumous reunion of a clean-cut close-harmony group who were killed in 1964 when their car collided with a bus full of Catholic teenagers on their way to see the US television debut of The Beatles. At long last, the boys were given permission to return to earth and achieve (a concept unheard of back then) "closure".

The closure may be on a less astral plane in Triple Espresso which has just arrived from the States at the Arts Theatre. The idea, though, is very much the same. Celebrating his 25th anniversary as the cocktail pianist at the Triple Espresso café is Hugh Butternut (played by Michael Pearce Donley whose ingratiating smile is the size and colour of his keyboard). For the event, he's invited along his old performing partners, Bobby Bean (Bob Stromberg) and Buzz Maxwell (Bill Arnold, who also wrote the piece). They haven't worked together since their career-destroying debut on The Mike Douglas Show when they performed an inappropriate pseudo-striptease routine (so dated it was ahead of its time). Grudgingly and with old scores unsettled, they take us on the scenic route through the many lowlights of their career: Kiwanis clubs; freshman-orientation bashes; performing suitably doctored Seventies hits on Zairean cable TV.

Triple Espresso has proved so popular in its six year history that the performers have franchised it. They now divide their time between appearing in the piece and training replacement clones in a seeming bid for world domination. It's both a compliment to the show and an index of its limitations to say that you would not want to see it with other people in the parts. The warm, silly atmosphere much depends on the particular chemistry generated by Stromberg's rangy, verbally-challenged goofball (with his charming animal shadow-puppetry and Planet of the Apes impressions), Donley's faux-cheesy lounge lizard (who makes Barry Manilow seem tasteful) and (best of all) Bill Arnold's hilariously deadpan and simmeringly aggrieved Buzz. In his dodgy magic tricks, the latter will go to outrageous lengths to bamboozle and intimidate his volunteers – he even wields a blowtorch at one bloke. After he's shredded and miraculously reconstituted a newspaper, he spends the rest of the show shedding tell-tale scraps of the stuff at awkward moments. It's an old running gag but it's made new here by the lovely offhand timing.

The show is a virtually innuendo-free zone. These guys are about as risqué as Rolf Harris. They venture as near the knuckle as, ooh, Val Doonican. The publicity describes it as a "highly caffeinated comedy". It's actually more a triple dose of decaf, but it's nicely sugared and slips down a treat.

Now booking (020-7836 3334)