Thomas Adès's and Philip Hensher's 1995 chamber piece about the libidinous Duchess of Argyll has been extraordinarily successful overseas, with more than 100 performances in 14 countries. You can see the appeal: its subject matter - with its collisions of prudery and voyeurism - must scream Englishness wherever it goes.

The last time London audiences heard it was at the Barbican two years ago, when any doubts about the piece could find their excuse in the lack of stage action. This time, within the Linbury's limits, it has been staged with a vengeance, but the doubts remain.

Conor Murphy's set is a huge staircase, the steps lighting up Broadway-style as Iain Paton stalks down them, crooning the popular song that the young duchess insists was written for her. But Murphy's visual masterstroke is the huge powder compact from which Joan Rodgers's crumbling yet imperious duchess emerges like Botticelli's Venus from her shell. A naked actor also materialises, to whose crotch Rodgers sings her notorious fellatio aria. Carlos Wagner's direction is imaginative and mostly taut, but he misjudges the final minutes by showing us the Duchess running mad rather than allowing us to feel her absence.

Still, it is hard to care for her at any point in what, on stage, seems an ever more brittle, chilly piece. That has something to do with Adès's text-setting. Much important narration is given to the soprano Rebecca Bottone: she sparkles, but her words are pitched too high to be heard. Yet, more than that, it is as if Wagner, Rodgers and the rest have dug deep inside this opera to find its beating heart - and discovered it hasn't got one.

· Until June 22. Box office: 020-7304 4000.