Joe Orton's outrageously irreverent farce perfectly embodies the spirit of London in the Swinging Sixties - smart, sexy, exuberant and overflowing with the cocksure adolescent attitude that animates the Beatles' earliest recordings.
The play stands the test of time - thanks to Orton's brilliantly acerbic wit and wildly inventive plotting
- but also shares the limitations of the sixties revolution which triumphantly tore apart the hypocritical establishment but was less successful at building a viable alternative.
For all its vitality, Loot is a seriously amoral, nihilistic play that proposes a deeply cynical view of human nature and lacks the righteous indignation that inspires the best satire.
To some extent the show is a victim of its own success as Orton's shock tactics helped to create a climate that is unsurprised by anything and set the mould for much of what came to be considered as cutting edge.
This is most apparent in scenes that have a couple of simple-minded gangsters engaging in breezy, comical banter while they inflict unspeakable indignities on a corpse. The technique - which scandalised audiences when Loot premiered in 1965 - has become a stock item in Tarantino movies and shows like The Sopranos.
Orton's humour draws on the madcap energy of farce but updates the tradition by introducing a kind of Goon Show surrealism that is neatly juxtaposed with the gritty, kitchen-sink realities of English working-class drama.
It is a volatile mixture and Michael Hurst has assembled a superb cast who rise to that challenge in a flamboyant display of theatricality. The style demands that the actors show absolute conviction while proclaiming the most extravagant absurdities and the two leads carry this off in different ways:
Cameron Rhodes uses highly energised physicality and vocal flourishes as he brilliantly takes hold of a role that must constitute one of the most caustically scathing attacks on corruption in the British police force.
By contrast, Mia Blake employs finely balanced poise and perfectly judged irony as she plays a shrewdly calculating serial killer who piously mouths Catholic doctrine as she lines up her next victim.
David McPhail brings a surprisingly funny tone of woeful despondency to the cruelly victimised widower whose unwavering respect for authority somehow makes his fate seem justified.
