IAIN Banks's debut novel, about a teenage islander's very special rites of passage, has been the oddest of beasts ever since it was published in the mid-1980s. Malcolm Sutherland's stage version, which followed shortly afterwards, was a hi-tech, state-of-the-art model predating the wave of Scot-lit made fresh as theatre.

IAIN Banks's debut novel, about a teenage islander's very special rites of passage, has been the oddest of beasts ever since it was published in the mid-1980s. Malcolm Sutherland's stage version, which followed shortly afterwards, was a hi-tech, state-of-the-art model predating the wave of Scot-lit made fresh as theatre.

Ed Robson's new production is the boldest statement yet of his radical new vision for Cumbernauld Theatre since his appointment as artistic director two years ago. He has taken material that has already transcended its cult status to become popular, and such sleight of hand sets the tone for what follows - which certainly isn't cuddly.

The family at the centre of the play is a wildly dysfunctional trio. Brothers Frank and Eric are possessed by murderous instincts, barely watched over by a drunken father who, isolated from society, lords over things in a manner somewhere between Prospero and Frankenstein. A private landscape mapped out with an assortment of remodelled beasties finds Frank similarly playing God.

Robson tackles all this with self-consciously theatrical brio on a set ripped asunder by the elements. His cast of three go hell for leather via a non-stop barrage of physical tics framing an increasingly troubling narrative.

The shock of the skeleton in the family closet is blunted somewhat by having a female - an irresistibly fierce Nicola Jo Cully - playing Frank. Supported by Robbie Jack as Eric and Ian Sexon as the father, she nevertheless carries things with luminous abandon in a work that sheds light on Frank's road to self-discovery, even as it takes us to a very dark place.

From yesterday's later editions.