If you wanted a textbook example for drama students of how not to let a director's concept overwhelm the purpose of a drama, then, franchement, look no further. We started in a disco, with Blondie playing and people in DayGlo colours bopping uncomfortably with a man wearing rabbit ears. Apparently, this is life at Mademoiselle Julie's place, which would be news to Strindberg; he thought it was about Scandinavian gloom and stultified conditions. Of course, productions move time and place. What they cannot do along the way is lose their soul and purpose. And from the moment Jean (Nicolas Bouchaud) begins to seduce Julie, things feel wrong. This ill-starred, class-defying couple are clearly not remotely into each other, and if the French can't put sexual passion on stage, then what are we paying our EU contributions for? Jean caresses her foot with all the passion of a busy podiatrist. She pulls on her knickers the morning after as if she is late for work.

The set looks amazing: a Le Corbusier-style penthouse. But that in turn diminishes the sense of division between masters and servants on which the play turns. Patrick Marber, hardly a traditionalist, managed to keep that in a much better 1995 TV adaptation, After Miss Julie, which focused on the transition of social mores and political power as the Attlee government came into office.

Really, we all turned up to see La Binoche. She does have presence and a kind of "so-what?" careless rapture. But her big speeches, unlike Ms Shaw's, don't seem to arise from any deep affinity with the circumstances and her tragic end felt like the arrival of an overdue bus. On this showing, the star of French screen should stick to celluloid. As for the British stage, I doubt she'll be back soon.