Wilton’s Music Hall is the world’s oldest, surviving music hall. It is hidden behind a single set of sturdy, wooden doors in an alleyway in East London, an area of town that is steeped in a gritty history all of its own and makes no apology for it. It’s a grey stone history that seems dangerous and intriguing all at once. Behind it all, Wilton’s former glory impresses: crumbling charmingly, authentic and tingling in its space. No exaggeration, it is impossible not to gasp when you go into Wilton’s, and there is room after room of it. The problem with Wilton’s is that it’s demanding and it’s needy; its maintenance and rejuvenation gorges on money and even once it’s done it needs to house work that fills it, showcases it and plays to the style to which Wilton’s has become accustomed. The Sting, like so many before it, fails to hit the mark, and worse: it doesn’t even seem to try.

On paper, The Sting has all the raw ingredients to make it work. It is set in 1936 in the full thrum of the Great Depression and a world that is underground, underground bars and underground cons playing into the secretively intimate hands of Wilton’s. Small time, street con-artist Hooker and his pals land upon $11,000 from an unsuspecting victim. Hooker’s elder mentor Luther takes the windfall to catalyse his retirement, pointing Hooker in the direction of one time big time con-man Henry Gorndoff. Before being murdered by bent policeman Lieutenant Snyder, who is hot on Hooker’s tail, it transpires that their original victim was a number’s runner for powerful crime boss Lonnegan, who becomes the subject of Hooker and Gorndoff’s ‘sting’.

It is fair to say that The Sting is a big script, derived from a big, blockbuster film. So why when it’s put on the Wilton’s stage is it dwarfed into something at home in a school hall? First of all, there’s no real set to speak of and what is there is modern – stainless steel and shiny black worktops that look like they are fresh out of Ikea, sticking out like a sore thumb next to the venue itself and the intricately period costumes. The actors float around there and are a little too pantomime in their audience address and characterisation to create any kind of jeopardy. Tom Berish’s Kid Twist is the most successful, despite the fact that it is a supporting character. He manages to balance the inherent grandness of the subject with his own nuance and naturalness. John Chancer’s beefier role as crime boss Lonnigan peaks in areas of sharp comic timing which drives momentum through the pacey scenes that change even quicker.

Part of the joy of the original The Sting is its pace, the constant pressure of being on the run; of looking over your shoulder and of knowing the end game is far from set in stone. This version leaves a hear-thump far from being found. The style of the production, as a whole, feels old fashioned. Not in a characteristically authentic way, or even in a vintage way. But in a lacklustre, unimaginative way: leaving the audience with very little of an impression of the whole evening, bar that created by the venue itself.

The Sting is playing at Wilton’s Music Hall until 17 October. For more information and tickets, see the Wilton’s website. Photo by Wilton’s.