However, one can at least safely say that Sophocles' Oedipus trilogy is not a comedy. Jonathan Kent's remarkable new production of the first part, Oedipus Tyrannos, in a new version simply called Oedipus by Frank McGuinness, is heart-rending. Despite a few faults, this is theatre at its best. My prejudices against subsidised theatre, and the luvvie establishment generally, are silenced by work like this. Oedipus is running at the Olivier Theatre at the National until 4 January, and although it has had some mixed reviews, I think it is one of those few productions it would be a pity to miss.

This play, first produced in 430 BC, is notoriously difficult to represent, because of the obvious differences of thought and convention between then and now. Kent's production feels very close and contemporary, and very moving, without losing its otherness. It is remarkable.

Most theatregoers can remember Greek tragedy productions of silly tunics, clumsy language and embarrassment, with choruses bleating meaninglessly, like a herd of lost Greek goats.

In this production, the chorus is put to inspired use. Dressed in anonymous modern suits, they are deployed both as separate characters, with individual personae and comments, and also as one. The way in which they move across the stage, separately and together, and in which they chant and sing in harmony as well as speak, even dance briefly with Oedipus and respond individually to his final agony, makes the chorus a living part of the drama, rather than an awkward piece of classical business. The composer Jonathan Dove deserves much of the credit for this, as do the music director Derek Barnes and the movement director Denni Sayers.