Take Aeschylus’s trilogy of ancient Greek plays, schedule an hour’s performance for the lot, update the scene to "The House of Atreus" Las Vegas Casino, and replace all scenery and props with a projector and a sound-system for good measure.  The result of Alex MacKeith’s play-cum-experiment is glitzy, speedy, and barmy in equal measures.  At its high points it reaches the style and energy of Kill Bill and Goodfellas; at its lows it smacks more of Dynasty. While the significant response of the first night audience hit bathos more than pathos, for the most part it achieves the twin goals of being funny and clever.

The big tragic themes of Aeschylus’ works – love, lust, revenge – translate neatly into a melodramatic modern setting without the extra clever stuff.  They are, after all, universal issues.  But the ways and means MacKeith finds to give his production that extra bite and relevance are a source of constant intrigue.  Troy becomes a casino, Helen becomes "the most beautiful software you could imagine", the Erinyes become the television game-show "Trial by Furies".  The perennial awkwardness of dealing with a Chorus is wittily swept away in a dialogue with Sally Bowell's Elektra when the girl asks Will Karani’s old man his name and he scratches his head, reluctant to admit to his anonymity and the clumsy title of "Chorus Leader".

Other instances of self-consciousness are less successful, as when Bowell’s Elektra over-emphasises her faith in the narrative qualities of Call of Duty.  Looking down at her father’s grave and sagely uttering "Game over" is unsubtle and annoyingly callous, while the Chorus’ line "video games taught you right from wrong?" screams  "relevance" a little too loudly.  However Bowell’s performance in general, while (intentionally) intensely irritating, strikes the right chord with the audience.

Andrew Room’s Watchman is full of fizz, Will Peck’s Orestes does hilariously serious karate chops in the air, Stephen Bermingham’s Apollo has a magnificent Southern drawl and the divine self-confidence of a plantation owner.  These are performances that don’t need AV to shine.  The same cannot be said of Emma Hall’s Clytemnestra, Laura Batey’s Cassandra, or Theo Boyce’s Agamemnon, all of whom are slightly monotone and unconvincing as great tragic figures.  Despite this tendency to reach only for the modest heights of soap opera, they work well with Tony Dent’s technical direction, using the stage and sound creatively and to excellent effect.  Hall’s murder scene is a masterclass in innovative staging, slicing an electronic knife across the backdrop with a terrible screech, while Cassandra’s prophesying in a toilet cubicle is remarkably claustrophobic, despite her using the whole stage. Oresteia is, at the very least, a play which never fails to surprise.

The Oresteia runs at the ADC at 11pm until Saturday