Jack and the Beanstalk

When the town of Hackneydale falls prey to the Rachmanesque tendencies of their Giant landlord, Dame Daisy must sell her prize cow to cover the rent. Off goes her son Jack, only to trade the beast for the magic beans that propel the cast through heartbreak, triumph, a brief appearance from the Go Compare man, a superb rendition of “I'm Every Woman” and a tap-dancing finale.

I was conscious of a little confusion during the opening quarter of an hour, in which rather too many plot strands were woven into place, and indeed the first half dragged a little as great pains were taken to establish the cast of characters, each of whom were far more solidly-drawn than one would have any right to expect in a pantomime. Jack (a charismatic Jaygann Ayah) is too cool for school, possessed of far too much charm than is entirely good for him and oblivious to the adoration of Off Her Trolley Molly (Chloe Taylor), who speaks in a languge I imagine only comprehensible to those under the age of fifteen.

Kat B, an Empire stalwart, returns as a bewitched snowman who talks – oh the irony! - in West Indian patois. He is as lively and commanding as ever, and perhaps the only cast member not comprehensively overshadowed by Rowe, who has the unfortunate effect of making everyone within fifteen yards of his wig seem rather dull in comparison. David Roberts as Silly Billy and Abigail Prosser as Fairy Sweet Pea are charming stage presences, and Tony Whittle and Jenny Dale reprise a gorgeously evil comic pairing as a couple of dastardly beans.

If there were moments when I wondered whether this performance quite matched the brilliance of previous years, there were also departures that both startled and delighted. Perhaps most surprisingly there were moments of quiet sincerity that contrived to be genuinely moving: Jack's version of Luther Vandross' “Dance With My Father Again” ought to have given me a guilty fit of the giggles, but instead I reached for a hanky. I was also delighted to see references to music hall, which were beautifully fitted to the Empire's history – Whittle and Dale's rendition of the old favourite 'How Could You Believe Me When I Said I Love You When You Know I've Been a Liar All My Life', and the joyously choreographed tap-dancing finale, could have come stright from the Windmill Theatre.

It's unlikely I am alone in saying that I would cancel Christmas if I were to forego my annual Empire treat. The gorgeous excesses of Dame Daisy's hats, her ghastly jokes (“Look!” she says, waving a bottle of milk directly in the face of a rather stupid-looking cow: “Look! It's past-your-eyes!”), and her diva's voice, together with a lively cast, make this year's show as necessary as stuffed stockings and turkeys, and a dented tin of Quality Street.

share Tweet