Ironically, waiting an hour for curtain-up due to technical problems made me quite excited that I might be in for some dazzling whizz-bangery, but, unfortunately, by the end, the mix of the spectacular with the humdrum left me only a notch or two above indifference.

The Zorro story, in a version apparently punched-up by Chilean novelist Isabelle Allende goes something like this: Spanish settlers under the even-handed rule of Don Alejandro (Jonathan Newth) gatecrash California and set up a colony. Alejandro immediately sends his son, Diego (Matt Rawle), back to Spain to learn how to be a proper soldier, leaving his paramour, Luisa (Emma Williams), in America.

Once in Spain, however, Diego elopes from the Academy and joins a travelling gypsy show, before being tracked down by Luisa who begs him to return as his father has been killed in strange circumstances and his deputy, Captain Ramon (Adam Levy), is ruling Los Angeles like an old fashioned tyrant. Diego returns, gypsy band in tow, and decides to don a mask and cape as part of a cunning plan to keep his enemy close and bring justice to the land.

Not surprisingly, given the amount of ground the story has to cover, the epic sweep of the tale ends up being more contained than one might hope. Indeed, contained is possibly the most apt description of the whole show. There are moments, particularly in the vigorous, heart-breaking response of the wives of the local farmers to the imminent execution of their husbands for a minor deception, where the flamenco dancing and soulful keening are like bombshells going off on stage leaving you breathless at their intensity. But for the most part, the show has the hallmarks of a damp squib which fizzles at times quite brightly before being dowsed out, as if by over-zealous safety officials.

A case in point are the swordfights where the relatively small stage of the Garrick appears to have the swordsmen pulling their punches, to mix metaphors, seemingly worried that a bystanding cast member might accidentally get run through. What this show has going for it is the element of danger of many of the stunts that take place. When it becomes apparent that the cast know this too and start holding back, the thrill disintegrates quickly.

All this is not helped by some rather soppy characterisation. Diego himself is more Orlando Bloom than Antonio Banderas, and his Luisa is an old-fashioned damsel in distress whose piny whining pales in comparison with the ferocious spirit of the red-blooded female gypsy, Inez (Lesli Margherita). The cast play these roles with passion but somehow what Diego could possibly find attractive about this wilting rose of a heroine is lost. And why anyone thought a swashbuckling adventure needed a sissy, eggy romantic sub-plot that acts like a brake on the whole show is beyond me.

Supporting cast members outshine their leads. Special praise must go to the members of the swing who carry the show and deliver brief moments of genuine excitement. Also worthy of praise is the nice comic turn from Nick Cavaliere as Sergeant Garcia, whose performance and look owes a big debt to Duane Doberman in The Phil Silvers Show, and the flamenco musicians who deliver their material with great energy.

For me the real blow, however, is the clichéd Disney-esque script, and the insipid musical-by-numbers compositions. In comparison with Les Misérables, a tale of revolutionary resistance on an epic scale, it is utterly bland. The sense of fun and the incorporation of reasonably well-executed illusions will make this show appealing to kids, but for the adults that go with them, its overwhelming banality may leave you wishing to perform a miraculous escape of your own.

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