How do you solve a problem like Cruella?

Dodi Smith’s indefatigable, fur-worshipping villainess is arguably, at this point, almost too iconic for her own good. From Betty Lou Gerson’s inimitable work in the animated Disney classic, through to equally seminal interpretations from the likes of Glenn Close and even Emma Stone’s recent, punked up anti-heroine, it’s getting harder than ever to serve up an original, satisfying take on the fan favourite queen of mean.

And yet, as the marketing for Douglas Hodge and Johnny McKnight’s new musical adaptation of Smith’s novel (nothing to do with the House of Mouse) clearly showcases, the character is still very much the big draw. Much like Disney’s 1996 live action Hollywood adaptation, which plonked Close’s Cruella front and centre on billboards, posters et al, this new touring production knows the lure of the De Vil woman.

Originally debuting at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre in 2022, to focus solely on Dalmatians’ big bad would do something of a disservice to what is, all round, a rather delightful slice of family entertainment. McKnight’s book (developed from Zinnie Harris’ stage adaptation) yanks Smith’s tale into the 21st Century, modernising relations between its human characters in particular in a way that feels mostly organic and fresh. And for sure, there’s some occasional borrowing from John Hughes’ ’96 screenplay, not least of all in having Cruella once again donning the mantle of fashion mogul (right down to the company name).

“…there’s charm and character to spare.”

Jimmy Grimes’ (War Horse) puppetry features prominently, for both the titular canines and a variety of other supporting four legged friends. From trusty Dalmatian parents Pongo (Linford Johnson) and Perdi (Emma Thornett) to a sassy Poodle, plodding Great Dane and a wonderful slinking, sass-backing cat, there’s charm and character to spare, and the talented company do great work with the majority of them puppeteering at one point or another. Notably, be it down to budget, time or vision, the menagerie of puppets and puppets here do feel a notable step up from the already pleasing work Grimes and team undertook for a similarly conceived Dalmatians at the Birmingham Rep back in 2017.

Douglas Hodge’s music for the show proves to be something off a mixed bag of spots. There are hearty anthems of home and belonging to be found in the likes of ‘Bury that Bone’, whilst Cruella herself get some fun numbers (in particular a vampy Act I curtain closer). And there’s a definite sense that, in set pieces such as a jaunty ode to criminality (featuring a cameo from a certain blonde tussled ex-Prime Minister, no less) and the show’s take on ‘twilight barking’, Hodge and director Bill Buckhurst really start tapping into the fact that this is, well, an actual musical.

“…a show decidedly of two halves…”

It’s a show decidedly of two halves, though. The onus of the first act is heavily slanted towards Cruella and her fellow humans, whilst act II makes good on the pups. It does feel slightly fractured as a result, and it’s likely that the adults will find themselves preferring the campiness, interplay and dynamics of the first half, whereas the younger audiences will lap up the more slapstick, puppet-centric antics of the latter.

But it does mean that prickly dilemma rears its villainous, two-toned head once more. Namely, that as with almost anything Dalmatians, when you have such a delicious, larger-than-life villain as Cruella at your disposal, any time that she’s not on stage or screen you can easily find yourself somewhat restlessly awaiting her return.

That isn’t to say the rest of the characters or cast underwhelm. Samuel Thomas and Jessie Elland are extremely likeable as Pongo and Verdi’s human owners, even if they are given precious little to do beyond their initial meet cute. Charles Brunton and Danny Hendrix, meanwhile, offer up toddler-friendly fun and dole out plenty of lampoonery and shenanigans as Cruella’s henchmen, Casper and Jasper, refashioned here as her nephews.

But there’s just no getting away from it – this is Cruella’s world, and we theatregoers, not to mention those pesky spotted mongrels, are simply living in it. Perhaps this Dalmatians’ biggest achievement is in how it manages to both capture the core spite, malice and malevolent glee of the character of Cruella De Vil, whilst still distilling her into something that feels different and fresh. Faye Tozer, who has previously shown serious comedy chops in the likes of Singin’ in the Rain, proves a fabulous and inspired choice for this sardonic, at times even deadpan take on the character. Full of scathing quips, side swipes and withering putdowns (brace yourself for a truly genius and oh-so-Cruella response to voiced concerns about PETA), Tozer is an absolute hoot in the role. Yes, she eventually makes good on the cackling, unhinged maniac that ultimately lurks beneath the fur coats and animal trophies, but on the way to that we get to revel in a caustic, sarcastic and deliciously dry grand dame who more than lives up to her namesake.

“Faye Tozer… proves a fabulous and inspired choice…”

Overall, 101 Dalmatians doesn’t rewrite the rulebook or drastically reimagine Smith’s novel in ways beyond some fine tuning and pleasant modernising. It hits a couple of snags and bumps here and there – there can occasionally be a bit too much going on on-stage, leading to the odd moments where it isn’t immediately clear whether animal or human is talking. Sequences such as Cruella’s henchmen attempting to bag the fifteen puppies feels plucked from something more closely resembling a CBeebies show, and an eleventh hour spot of moonlight madness with Cruella is completely baffling.

But these minor fumbles aside, there’s clearly a lot of passion being poured into what is a colourful, fresh take on the beloved classic. Amanda Ozdonmez’ costumes are decadent and high-concept (and there’s no prizes for guessing which character gets the best threads). As a musical it can feel a bit lopsided, and which half more vigorously tickles (or buries!) your funny bone will likely be determined by how old you are, but overall this is wholesome, paw-esome fun for the whole family, with a deliciously campy and original take on one of literature, screen and stage’s most irrepressible and iconic villains.

Just do yourself a favour, and do everything you can to avoid the nightmare-inducing horror that is the final realisation of its title. By the time you see a window full of soulless, floating Dalmatian heads, with others terrifyingly propped up between doors and furniture, you’ll be thinking that maybe, just maybe that wicked – and wickedly funny – De Vil woman had the right idea all along.

Thank god for that final surprise cameo to distract from the nascent horror.