There’s something almost festively ironic about a show centring around a character having a bit of an identity crisis suffering from one itself.

Part musical theatre. Not quite pantomime. No longer audacious, arena ‘spectacular’. Jon Conway’s touring production of Elf the Musical is a bizarre, confusing beast. A hodgepodge chimaera of fleetingly amusing festive highs swung about with distracting technical lows and some choice creative decisions that don’t so much gel into a festive whole as scattershot into bemusement.

It’s a bit akin to a real life version of one of the show’s manic snowball fights. At first it seems like a good, fun idea, is initially entertaining, peppered with moments of fun and thrill, but ultimately sees you walking away with that cold, soggy, sinking feeling of regret.

Full disclosure; Conway and co are clearly pitching this broad and young. It isn’t so much for the gnarly, grizzled theatre critics as it is for the very (very) young, and in the performance reviewed, they absolutely ate it up.

And yet, there’s no shying away from that brand recognition. It follows the basic premise of the 2003 Will Ferrell vehicle of the same name, which sees a human (Jordan Conway) raised in the North Pole by Santa’s helpers heading off to New York in search of his family. There’ll doubtless be significant chunks of the audience along for the ride in the hopes of seeing a festive favourite transplanted to stage.

As an adaptation, Thomas Meehan and Bob Martin’s book stays fairly faithful and mostly works, checking off the most iconic catchphrases and beats from the film. Matthew Sklar and Chad Beguilin’s music is serviceable and suitably jaunty throughout, and perhaps unsurprisingly it works best when it’s (rarely) allowed to go full musical theatre, such as a fun extended tap number in Macy’s.

“As an adaptation, Thomas Meehan and Bob Martin’s book stays fairly faithful and mostly works, checking off the most iconic catchphrases and beats from the film.”

Some of Tim Goodchild’s staging from the former arena iteration of the show carries across well, and makes certain sequences, such as the aforementioned Macy’s grotto, look genuinely quite impressive and eye-catching on the Wolverhampton Grand’s stage. Giant inflatable candy canes and enormous Christmas Garland being winched up into the rafters keep things like suitably Christmassy and showy, though it only serves to draw a beadier eye to other set pieces which are reduced to nothing more than a bench on stage (and often even less than that).

Sadly, recurrent tech and sound problems were the least of the distractions in the performance reviewed. What must be some of the worst projection and video work seen in a show to date are genuinely horrible throughout. At best, they feel like cheap, royalty-free plunges from Google or Youtube, at other times they actively detract from the story being told. Why are we seeing a giant video of gingerbread men gyrating about in an oven when we’re supposed to be in a department store?

That character whose ultimate dream is to see snow, and the very realisation of this – spoilers – proves a major turning point for her come the finale? Well, maybe just try and disregard the fact that a few scenes earlier she was prancing around in front of a backdrop of New York quite literally bathed in snow.

What’s that, little girl? You saw Rudolph’s nose glowing bright and guiding Santa’s sleigh? Not according to the projections (and even some earlier dialogue) you didn’t. Say what, Buddy? Santa’s sleigh has crashed in central park? Then why is the very next thing we see is him zipping through the Manhattan skyline at a pace even Spider-man would tremble at?

It would be less egregious if they weren’t so consistently the central focus of the staging, often required to do a lot of the heavy lifting of setting a sense of place.

Coupled with the recurrent sound issues and the odd flubbed line and the overall effect is one of those cheap Temu christmas ornaments that arrive looking a lot less impressive than they did online.

“…the overall effect is one of those cheap Temu christmas ornaments that arrive looking a lot less impressive than they did online.”

It certainly doesn’t help that the company assembled for the tour – many of whom are veterans of the production, having starred in it for quite literally years – are a mixed Santa sack. Barry Bloxham is decently cantankerous as Buddy’s overworked, long-lost father, Walter, charting his character’s Scrooge-esque arc well. Nikita Coulon delivers arguably the best vocals of the night and manages to scrape off the excess cheese foisted on her character. She’s admirably supported by a solid Karis Lomax, gender-swapped and feeling perhaps a smidgeon too old here for some of the material her character is given. Natalie Gray and Dafydd Lansley give what are probably the most characterful and animated turns of the night, whilst Philip Day gives good Santa, even if his Act 2 ensemble number turned into a bit of a messy, undisciplined shambles.

Kelly Banlaki gives good choreo and a suitably quirky take on Buddy’s love interest, Jovie, whilst the younger audience members ate up the broader strokes of Jordan Conway’s performance as Buddy. But for such an iconic character (reinterpretation or no) it feels surprisingly aimless and underpowered. At times offering up flashes of Ferrell’s turn in the original film, elsewhere deviating more into panto fool territory, it’s a meandering and confusingly underpowered performance that occasionally, jarringly dials it up to eleven. Conway clearly exhibits some skill in physical comedy – arguably his best moment is an extended bit of workplace tomfoolery with one of his father’s office staff – but as a musical theatre performance, it frequently flatlines.

“Conway clearly exhibits some skill in physical comedy – arguably his best moment is an extended bit of workplace tomfoolery with one of his father’s office staff…”

It feels particularly miserly (and may etch me firmly on the naughty list) to aim this at such a light-hearted piece clearly pitched to family audiences, but if nothing else, Elf has the ignominy of featuring what are possibly some of the worst vocal performances this particular reviewer has heard in a professional production.

It’s unfortunate – particularly for someone who is a sucker for all things Yuletide – that the ingredients… or at least, recipe… are certainly here for a fun, festive offering. It has one wondering whether the current London production, starring Joel Montague and Carrie Hope Fletcher, might hold more festive promise (and certainly at least look and feel a little less… well, cheap).

If you’re in the market for an evening of pleasant, mildly diverting seasonal distractions… then there are moments of panto-y, family fun (but even then there are far better alternatives to enjoy this Christmastime). Die-hard fans of the film will likely find this invocation an underwhelming one, though as mentioned the younger audience goers seemed to be gobbling it up like festive candy.

Switch off your brain and adjust your expectations somewhere below am-dram and you’ll likely find a diverting couple of hours of tinselly nonsense here, but go in expecting a musical theatre production as fresh, energised and memorable as the film that inspired it, and you may end up feeling like you’ve opened a parcel of coal.

A nightmare before Christmas?

That would be harsh, but you certainly wouldn’t be a cotton-headed ninny muggins for giving this particular sleigh ride a skip…

Barring some sort of colossal creative misfire, awful casting or good old fashioned fatigue wracking the company, some shows seem a sure thing. A dependable time at the theatre that you know, even if not up to platinum standard, will still prove a solid evening’s entertainment.

Hairspray is one such show. Musically, it’s got good bones (or should we say roots?). Mark O’Donnell, Thomas Meehan, Scott Wittman and Marc Shaman’s Olivier and Tony-winning bubblegum adaptation of the John Waters cult classic has a veritable beehive of humour, heart and cracking tunes tucked in its updo.

And yet, even by this comforting metric, this latest touring production of ‘Spray lands with real volume and verve.

For those unfamiliar, Hairspray follows the hijinks of spirited outcast Tracy Turnblad (Alexandra Emmerson-Kirby), who is determined to realise her dreams in 1960s Baltimore of becoming a dancer on her favourite pastime, The Corny Collins tv show. Not least of all in the hopes of catching the attention of the show’s heartthrob lead dancer, Link (Solomon Davy), and righting a few societal wrongs along the way. It’s an ode to individuality, a celebration of acceptance and a cheerleader of diversity. A true feel-good hug of a show.

“…a confident, distinct yet no less colourful beast.”

Landing somewhere between the almost comic book aesthetic of the original West End and touring incarnation and the slightly more muted, retro offerings of the mid 2010 tours, this new outing, designed by Takis and directed by Paul Kerryson and the show’s own alumni, Brenda Edwards, is a confident, distinct yet no less colourful beast.

In addition to looking great, it’s sharply and kinetically directed. Kerryson and Edwards make full use of space, with an admirable amount of action taking place upstage. Bigger numbers and set pieces are alive with movement and interweaving sets of choreography, with Drew McOnie’s work here exciting and tireless. The trio infuse narrative and character beats into places never seen before – see the trio of ‘Dynamites’ (Grace Anyiam, Vanessa Dumatey and Sasha Monique) sassily blocking off the villainous Von Tussle’s during ‘You Can’t Stop The Beat’, or the hilarious, perfectly realised moulding of Davy’s Link into a dead-eyed puppet of sorts during Tracy’s fantasising of ‘I Can Hear The Bells’.

“It’s difficult to remember a production of Hairspray quite so imbued with ideas and invention.”

It’s difficult to remember a production of Hairspray quite so imbued with ideas and invention. All the staples and fan favourite moments are present and accounted for. Yes, of course there’s corpsing during ‘Timeless to Me’. But there’s such a rich infusion of unexpected moments and micro storytelling that it makes almost every corner of the stage an opportunity to witness something fun and new. Edwards, Kerryson and McOnie deserve all the plaudits here.

Plaudits shared, naturally, with a seriously impressive company. Taking the baton of new ideas and running with it, every member of the ensemble, swing and principal cast have clearly invested in fashioning their own versions of what are by now fairly iconic characters. Alexandra Emmerson-Kirby is a perfect Tracy, and whilst the core kindness and essence of the character shines through, she manages to carve out a lip-quivering, comedically hilarious, occasionally roaring Turnblad ingenue all of her own. The same goes for seriously impressive supporting turns from Freya McMahon as quirky, eccentric bestie, Penny, and Allana Taylor as bitchy love rival, Amber Von Tussle. All three are exquisite, and in fine voice to boot, with early team up ‘Mama I’m A Big Girl Now’ just tremendous.

Also impressing is the object of their affections, Solomon Davy, who is outstanding throughout, seemingly plucked straight from the era as poster boy, Link. With boundless energy, smooth vocals and effortless charisma and moves, Davy delivers what is comfortably the best Larkin to date, and establishes himself as a major musical theatre talent to watch, after this and recent notable turns in Clueless and Grease.

But carry on through the cast and you stumble upon similar standards of best-yets. Joanne Clifton chews up every inch of the scenery in the best possible way as villainous producer and former pageant queen, Velma, whilst Michelle Ndegwa brings a venerable dignity and soulful calm to her Maybelle. Neil Hurst is clearly having a ball as Edna, and the audience along with him, getting laughs to spare as a sublime Dermot Canavan bounces off of him (at times quite literally) as Turnblad patriarch, Wilbur. Kirsty Sparks and Stuart Hickey pop up throughout and are terrific fun in a variety of bit parts.

“Davy delivers what is comfortably the best Larkin to date… but carry on through the cast and you stumble upon similar standards of best-yets.”

Like any respected ‘do, Hairspray occasionally needs a bit of lift and a touch of help to be at its full height and glory. This vibrant, kinetic and joyous production delivers precisely that. It is held and coiffed by a team of creatives who find new threads to pluck on, and new ways to tickle the funny bone whilst never shying from the heartier cause at its core. When Ndegwa reaches the rousing crescendo of the anthemic ‘I Know Where I’ve Been’, the digital backdrop itself sings with images from the civil rights movement, and profiles and persons including Dr. King, Rosa Parks and Malcolm X. It’s a sign of the confidence and uniqueness of this iteration of Hairspray that this registers with purpose and impact where it could easily have felt laden. And of course, all poignantly underpinned by terrible recent news regarding one of its own company.

But speaking of its company, the joyous, high-energy cast, stuffed with a whole host of best takes to date on its lovable, colourful cast of characters, prove the perfect setting agent.

Full volume, maximum bounce and looking and sounding better than ever, Hairspray is a can full of pure, unadulterated joy, and a must-see from root to rapturous, feel-good finish.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: It would be remiss to publish a review of ‘Hairspray’ and not take a moment to send our sincerest condolences and well wishes to cast member, Reece Richards, given recent events.

The message of Tracy Turnblad and ‘Hairspray’ is one of defying oppressive figures of authority, of championing parity of rights and freedoms, and to stare down and challenge the ugly face of institutionalised or normalised bigotry and racism. We wholeheartedly condemn those who treated Mr Richards in such a deplorable fashion, and send our love and thoughts to him and all those affected by his or similar stories.

Art such as ‘Hairspray’ can be a powerful and cathartic reminder of the wrongs of our world, and the courage needed to face and challenge them. As Motormouth Maybelle memorably sings:

“There’s a dream in the future…

There’s a struggle that we have yet to win…”