There must have been moments on Saturday afternoon when Simon Merrells (pictured), giving a true star turn as Philip Marlowe, wished he could aim some of the weaponry in use on the stage towards the couple beside me in the stalls and transport them to their own Big Sleep. After all, he had a difficult enough job coping with his long and demanding role, in which he appears both as narrator and protagonist, without the annoying distraction of a running commentary supplied from the front row.

Actors have much to put up with. So, to be fair, do audiences — including, in this case, the problem of following a story which (as Wikipedia acknowledges) is “noted for its complexity”.

Raymond Chandler’s 1939 novel, in which the hardboiled Marlowe made his first appearance, has been expertly translated to the stage by Alvin Rakoff (who also directs) and John D. Rakoff. But so unrelenting is the drama that as double-cross succeeds double- cross, and corpse piles upon corpse, it demands immense concentration to follow what is happening.

It does not assist comprehension that a number of the seven-strong actors play multiple roles. These include the admirable Martyn Stanbridge who, having given a sympathetic picture of Marlowe’s investigator pal Bernie Ohls, disconcertingly seems to have gone over to ‘the other side’ when he reappears looking nearly identical as a criminal hit-man.

Chandler is typically witty himself about the story’s complications, which tends to disarm the nitpicking critic. Overall, this is a fun two hours of theatre, with fine work from all the performers and, especially, from Anna Doolan (pictured) as a nymphomaniac rich-bitch whose appearance beside the corpse of a blackmailing bookseller (Michael Percival) sets the plot in motion.

Until November 26. Box office: 0118 969 8000.