RichardIII is arguably Shakespeare’s top villain. Unlike Macbeth and Iago, he’s deformed as well as evil – offering unrivalled opportunity for hams to limp about the stage, hunched and clutching a withered arm as they leer at the audience.

And with his opening delivery on Tuesday’s first night, it seemed Jack Chedburn was about to follow this ignoble tradition. But soon it became apparent that somebody, presumably director Natalie Holden, had hit on the novel concept of portraying this rather turgid history as a light comedy. (The fact that the theatre company goes by the name of Naughty Squirrel Productions perhaps put this ambitious move into context.) It may have been coincidence that the smirking, impish Chedburn’s lines prompted ripples of laughter rather than revulsion at the plotting of an “elvish and mark’d” madman. A few titters might have been encouraged by the fact that Richard and his crony Buckingham (Ed Boulle) sported facial stripes that recalled the troubled 1980s pop star Adam Ant.

Not that Chedburn appeared a bad actor. His enthusiasm for the role was obvious; his timing and delivery were more than adequate and he gives the impression of being a versatile performer.

As is customary, the running time had been slashed, although I was surprised to find it clocked in at only two hours including a 20-minute interval (after which, the pace slowed and the delivery was somewhat staid). Hence some of the morbid poetry, such as “bid him bring his power before sunrising, lest his son George fall into the blind cave of eternal night” were lopped to allow time for the student audience to wheeze at the camp antics of the Murderers (played by the delightfully-named Adam St-Leger Honeybone and Rob Hoare Nairne).

Charlie Holt cut an imposing figure as the king’s nemesis Richmond, and Edwin Black’s pathetic, spindly Clarence – his corpse dunked in Malmsey wine – suited a more conventional treatment. To describe this as a “production with a supernatural twist” (not so much a twist as a mild curve) and an invitation to “enter Richard’s warped psyche in his dark and disturbing quest . . . a gripping thriller” was far fetched.

Given that the OFS is a forbidding, skeletal venue, more could have been made of the opportunity for a Gothically-infused rendering of the tale – a conceit only half-heartedly attempted with candles, lace and sporadically eerie lighting.

As it was, the project proved abortive, like the bloodsoaked monarch.

Performances of Richard III continue at the OFS until Saturday.