The City Wives Confederacy, Greenwich Playhouse ****

Despite having a sturdy commitment to the original themes and 18th-century words of John Vanbrugh’s sensational restoration comedy about marriage, money and mistresses, this production certainly does highlight the many parallels that modern life has with the 1705 society this piece was written for.

Women who love shopping for items they don’t need, husbands eager to lavish their mistresses but not their wives, ever-bickering spouses, young men playing the big I am and, above all, unhealthy obsessions with wealth and celebrity – this twisty tale of deceit and greed has all this and more. Nowadays, it can also be found in a copy of the shameless celeb rag heat.

These vices are all unveiled as the sweetly manipulative handmaid Flippanta and rough but charming valet Brass (who has one of those brilliantly rugged cockney-esque accents which have - along with fine acting talents, of course - kept Ray Winstone in work for the past 30 years) plot to outsmart their wealthy masters and acquaintances out of their riches.

Almost every player makes their mark; Kali Peacock’s Flippanta for her unimpressed expression and deadpan delivery of some of the shows finest gags and Michael Palmer who hilariously conveys Moneytrap’s loveably leery and desperate pursuit of his neighbour Gripe’s wife, in a very Rik Mayall fashion.

We get a brilliant blend of spoiled teen and spirited young woman from Kate Malyon as 16-year-old Corinna Gripe and, if pushed to name a favourite, Tom Walker’s portrayal of Mrs Amlet’s son Dick, who poses as Colonel Shapely (who is as silly and egotistical as his pseudonym suggests) to get the girl, is laugh-out-loud brilliant. With all the swagger and over-elevated self esteem of Brendan Cole, he nails the shameless foppery of this status-hungry young man.

While most of the players are larger than life (and brilliantly so) Heather Tracy’s quiet-as-a-mouse housemaid – who scuttles around in the manner of Ab Fab’s Bubbles – is well worth a mention too.

These performances, teamed with brilliant direction from Sonia Ritter, prove our funny bones haven’t changed much either over the years and that Vanbrugh’s writing more than qualifies for a timeless wit label.

Audiences will relish getting the centuries-old gags. Surely enough, it’s the modern echoes which raise the most laughs; Corinna mouthing ‘oh my god’ following her first snog with Dick, Gripe (Martin Ritchie) declaring ‘I hate my wife. She’s the devil,’ in a manner which wouldn’t be out of place in sitcoms such as Faulty Towers, My Family and Till Death Do us Part, and enough innuendo to make Carry On blush.

And, if you listen extra carefully, you’ll hear the excellent live strings duo play a 1700s ditty which sounds remarkably like Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend.

While the comedy and farce barely take a breath, there is just enough time for one moving moment (if that) among all the money-grabbing madness when Brass drops to his knee, about to beg Flippanta to be his wife and before a word leaves his lips, the headstrong maiden stops him in his tracks with a simple gesture. Its poignancy is yet another tribute to this excellent cast’s talents.

These seemingly endless qualities mean the threadbare staging and simple lighting almost escape unnoticed – a touch more flair in this area would render this a five-star production.

As Flippanta and Brass’ web of deceit hilariously unravels as the end - although they have, of course, been smart enough to cover their tracks - there’s little doubt this staging is deserving of its heaving house.

And while much is to be said of the fact Vanbrugh’s time-defying brilliance is something we can still marvel at, most credit goes to The Lions Part; a company who has the commitment to the words as well as the action and, in turn, delivers a comedy worth viewing over many modern sitcoms.

The City Wives Confederacy, Greenwich Playhouse, Greenwich High Road. Until Jan 18. Box office 020 8858 9256.