Herons (Lyric Hammersmith)

Fifteen years ago, Simon Stephens's third play was a different beast: "a frontline report from the sink estates," according to the Telegraph. It showed an impoverished and inhospitable East London: school bullies sniping at their soft-centred classmates, damaged adults incapable of protecting their young, children preyed on by paedophiles. It asked what happened to childhood. When did kids stop being carefree? When did innocence dry up?

Fourteen year-old Billy (Max Gill) is circled by bullies. Scott (Billy Matthews), the ringleader, picks on him for a reason: Billy's dad put his older brother in prison. A year earlier, the body of a 13 year-old girl surfaced in the Limehouse canal, and Billy's dad was the key witness.

Now, Dad's washed up – divorced and depressed. He fishes insistently – Ed Gaughan's in chest waders – and wallows in his own problems, leaving his son to fend for himself. The play builds to an act of appalling brutality. The squeals stay with you for ages.

First time around, Herons was played for real. This time, in keeping with the Lyric's love of all things German, it's metaphor. Sean Holmes taps into its underlying forces; the monster lurking beneath the text's surface. Namely: fear.

This time Scott's brother Ross, issuing threats from his cell, stands for something much bigger: the something that's going to get you, whatever it might be. "I'm waiting for something terrible to happen," admits Billy's friend Adele.

We all are. Not a vengeful ex-con, but some cataclysm or other: economic collapse or environmental catastrophe. Hyemi Shin's design has floodgates that threaten to burst and, in front, of them, a roundabout shaped like an alien spacecraft. Something's going to get you, something bigger than any of us. (Herons eat fish, but fishermen shoot herons.) This is what stops kids being kids today: a world on the brink of disaster.

Holmes creates an unnerving atmosphere. Shin's rusty playground sits on a flooded stage. (Trenchfoot's an occupational hazard of acting these days.) Paule Constable's lighting is eerie and cold; Nick Manning's sound, subtly abrasive. There's menace in the air; in the golf club Scott swings; in the cackles of his devilish cronies (Ella McLouglin and Moses Adejemi, both tremendous). Even if Billy Matthews goes all-out Scarface, undermining his threats by showing his strength, his squad always make their presence felt, blowing bubbles or scrunching crisps at the side of the stage.

However, the disjointed, front-facing style causes problems of its own. Opting for symbolism over subtext, Holmes goes against the strengths of the writing. Stephens, a former schoolteacher, really tunes into teenage behaviour and language, while so many symbols – some clearer than others – risks overloading what's still quite a slight play, one that's not necessarily built for so much metaphor. Gains and losses.

Herons runs at the Lyric Hammersmith until 13 February.