KATHERINE is lost in space. Her mother has died, her diary is full of sexual fantasies, her City-type boyfriend is inadequate.

So she sends in the clowns, three work-shy decorators in the great tradition of layabout British workers, to create another form of space, a "quiet space" in her London pad, complete with fountains, Muslim artefacts, a statue of Ganesh and a reclining chair.

In that chair, as Murray Gold's comic drama opens, is leering Essex lad Jakey (Christopher Eccleston). He is flicking idly through the tabloid tittle-tattle, recounting a story of marital strife, laughing at the expense of others, and yet again avoiding work.

Jakey, his 15-year-old simple son Bizzy (Oliver Wood) and their befuddled boss, Leo (Patrick Brennan), should have finished the job in three weeks, but 14 weeks overdue, they are still no nearer completing the task.

Katherine's dream home has turned into a nightmare, the hapless trio are still filling her space, eating her food, no doubt reading her diary, and Katherine (Sophie Ward in a thankless role) is on the precipice of a nervous breakdown.

That first Jakey tale takes an age to tell and fails to set the world alight, as we adjust to the sight and sound of Eccleston in the cleanest of overalls and a clinical approximation of an Essex accent, all fink for think and dwopped Rs. Close your eyes and it could be Vinnie Jones, which is not meant as a compliment. After his Prince Hamlet of 2002, this is a pauper's role on Eccleston's return to the Playhouse, and it leaves you asking the new Dr Who why and when? Why do this play, when he looks so uneasy, overplaying the lines?

In the corner of Ruari Murchison's exhibitionist stage is a piece of faulty wiring - apt for a piece of faulty writing - and you wish that live wire could be applied to the script to liven up the 76-minute first half of this slight and overstretched folly. However, as the old advert said, you can never hurry a Murray.

Andrew Scarborough's irascible, brittle Michael does his best in his City suit and tie to sharpen up play and layabout workers alike. Too late in the day, Electricity frames itself as a clash of the classes and a study of the invasion of personal territory (both by the workman and the insidious Michael), in the manner of Harold Pinter's vastly superior The Birthday Party.

There is, too, a running theme of the danger of exaggeration and lies, how they impact on all around them. It would be a lie and an exaggeration to say Ian Brown's production has any impact at all.

Instead, Electricity is a shocker.

Electricity, West Yorkshire Playhouse, Leeds, until the workmen finish the job (April 24). Box office: 0113 213 7700.

Updated: 09:35 Friday, April 09, 2004