King Lear at the Barbican Theatre, London EC2

It is strange and satisfying to find that what appeals most in the Japanese director Yukio Ninagawa's new production of King Lear is its sense of tradition. Of two traditions, in fact: those of Japanese and British theatre - this is a co-production with the Royal Shakespeare Company. The characters are dressed by Lily Komine in flowing Japanese cloaks and gowns, the sets are picked out by Yukio Horio with Japanese motifs, and the scenes are linked by the utterly Japanese soundworld of Ryudo Uzak's music.

Amid this exotic surround, the actors - all (save one) British - deliver an absolutely solid old-style account of Shakespeare's tragedy, with no obviously modern emphasis or reinterpretation. The sheer simplicity with which they often remain motionless while they cast their words on to the air speaks of the noblest kind of theatre tradition, and every gesture, every change of physical focus, makes its sure impact throughout the depth and breadth and height of the Barbican Theatre. The story becomes absolutely clear, and its sheer theatricality becomes here a constant pleasure.

At the centre of it all, Nigel Hawthorne gives an impressive, hot-blooded, changeable, touching, account of the title role. He is not one of your roaring, leonine Lears. But he never feels like a comedian spluttering out of his depth; and he never forces any artificial kind of power. Hawthorne's Lear has natural authority, within which he shows us the heart that suffers, the spirit that smiles, the mind that learns.

Nonetheless, in Ninagawa's hands, the play feels less like a colossal tragedy than a rip-roaring historical melodrama. Too many of the supporting actors indulge in an actorly relish for theatrical effects. Fruity vocal tone; flashing eyes; swirling cloaks; imperious turns of head. In the case of Anna Chancellor's Regan, this was to be expected; she is an invariably camp, unsubtle performer. But I am sorry to see Michael Maloney, a gifted actor, continue his decline into over-burnished delivery; from his opening words on, you know that This Is An Ack-Tor. And I am yet more sorry to see Si�n Thomas, an actress of really rare complexity and wit, continue her decline into cheap Wicked Witch of the West exaggeration. Hiroyuki Sanada - who worked so well (in Japanese) as Ninagawa's Hamlet a year ago - joins the long list of actors who cannot bring off the role of the Fool; in diction and body language he is wholly contrived and, in a bad sense, fey. John Carlisle, however, is an excellent Gloucester. Even though this is one of Shakespeare's most actor-friendly roles, the poignancy he finds in the simple words "I have no way" has a rare impact. Christopher Benjamin is a stalwart Kent, and William Armstrong an incisive Edmund.

Ninagawa makes something unusual of the storm: heavy lumps of metal keep dropping, separately and unpredictably, from above (this device is thrilling until it is overdone) and (better) the lightning flashes come like long warm waves of strange sunlight. The lighting is by Tamotsu Harada, and I love the Liebestod glow with which he suddenly suffuses the stage as Lear dies. This is King Lear on a grand scale. The production seldom takes you into the churning core of Shakespeare's drama, but at all points it demonstrates its theatrical amplitude.