In 1610, Ben Jonson’s The Alchemist was a hit in London—its keen satire captured how the prospect of material gain could make anyone believe a lie. Four hundred years later, real-life get-rich-quick scandals such as Bernie Madoff’s Ponzi scheme make the play’s message still ring true.

Director Michael Kahn capitalizes on these similarities in the Shakespeare Theatre’s production. It’s been done before—the 1988 film Dirty Rotten Scoundrels is one version—but it feels right to revive a script that remains remarkably relevant.

The play opens with an argument among three con artists—a crook named Subtle (David Mans); a prostitute, Dol Common (Kate Skinner); and an erstwhile butler named Face (Michael Milligan)—who have joined forces in a moneymaking scheme while Face’s master is abroad. Their plan is simple: Subtle will pose as an alchemist who’s developing a way to turn metal into gold. Face and Dol will work together to entice the greedy into investing in Subtle, promising that they stand to gain fortunes if he succeeds.

Of course, the customers roll in: Dapper (Nick Cordileone), a clerk with a gambling habit to support; Drugger (Jeff Biehl), a pharmacist eager to maximize his profits; Sir Epicure Mammon (David Sabin), who fantasizes about buying the Philosopher’s Stone and leading a life of almost obscene luxury; Tribulation Wholesome (Timothy Thomas), a religious leader whose story about raising money to support the Church doesn’t isn’t quite convincing. Like the best of swindlers, they assume new personalities for each client.

The talents of costume designer Murell Horton and stage manager M. William Shiner really emerge here: The lavish looks are cultural references that articulate and underscore the absurdity of the con, and the fast, frequent costume changes are almost a performance in themselves.

Some of the jokes inserted to make the piece contemporary don’t work. The smirky references to Drugger’s “tobacco,” dispensed in Ziploc bags, or to the modern-day alchemy of Viagra feel a little contrived. An ongoing joke about a terrible smell in the bathroom feels juvenile and, amid the set by James Noone—a gorgeously appointed, highly sanitized luxury townhouse—scarcely makes sense. It’s not the drugs, the sex, or the scatological humor that should be the focus: It’s the play’s powerful reverberations into the present. The deliciously named Tribulation Wholesome, in his Benny Hinn white suit and Billy Graham hair, for instance, is an amalgam of televangelist personalities—and his character offers a pointed critique of the way greed can be concealed or justified by religion.

Gender roles suffer—or, more precisely, are forgotten—in this updated version. The two women in the play, Dame Pliant (Rachel Holt) and Dol, blithely remain in their narrow, one-dimensional 17th-century roles as sex objects—not so much characters as visual cues for the men’s avarice. It feels strange to leave women’s roles in the 400-year-old dust, especially when the play is modernized with touches such as male-enhancement drugs and a copy of Playboy.

The Alchemist is most successful when it talks up to its audience, not down. But the fundamental message of the play is still potent.