It came as a relief that the Polaroids projected onto the back of the Corpus playrooms during this wonderful production of Mark Ravenhill's 1999 play were more suggestive than explicit. Though the title might suggest a shallow portrait of debauchery, what the audience got instead was a powerful depiction of society at the advent of the new millennium: at times bleak, at others tender, always challenging, and occasionally hilarious.

The performances are uniformly strong. Aron Solomons is admirable as Nick, freshly out of prison after 15 years, cast adrift in the changed world, and struggling to come to terms with his crime. At the play's emotional high points his profound sense of frustration resounds very clearly, though he might benefit from spreading that energy through the other scenes. As his former flame Helen, Nikki Moss is entirely convincing as someone who has made a supreme effort to move beyond their old radical politics and is prepared to compromise as a local councillor, making the buses run on time. When she says she has cut bits out of herself, you believe it. The most affecting and challenging performance, though, comes from Sam Curry as superficially super-confident gay man Tim, who behind his gloriously sneering, manipulative facade is just as desperate as the rest for a sense of place and purpose. Youness Bouzinab is brilliantly funny as the Eastern European go-go boy Tim has 'downloaded', though he also seamlessly brings out the more tender (and hurt) sides to his character.

The projections of Polaroids act both as backdrop to and interlude between the scenes (a bra slung over a door, a woman seen from behind, etc.) This constant cycle of images makes the play's unfurling scenes seem like so many disjointed encounters between people unsure of where they stand, where to go, and how to relate to their own past (the stage, wisely almost bare, gives physical expression to this). Ravenhill's sharp script suggests that while Nick's grand socialist dream may have gone, the self-enforced 'happy world' of hedonism espoused by the vulnerable stripper Nadia (an impressive Ami Jones) and her friends is no stronger a way of tackling life's problems. It asks, but does not answer; 'What is a person?'

Much of this post-modern ennui - Tim's declaration that they're living beyond the happy ending - might seem very 'late 1990s'. Yet the play never seems trapped in its time, and despite its apparent assertion that society has disintegrated into estranged individuals, eventually provides a way to reconciliation, some form of onward narrative, even if it is just a collection of snapshots. There are some practical issues to be resolved - the music in the final scene almost drowned out the dialogue, for instance - but this is a production that demands and provides an unusual level of critical and emotional engagement. Unless, of course, you're the drunk man in the front row who prefers to take pictures of the semi-clad actresses. But then perhaps you're just giving the play more ammunition.