Whether it’s a bout of Scrooge-itis or a dose of Brexit-eria, the manic excitement with which the brightly-dressed and shrill-voiced Whovillians celebrate Christmas – think munchkins on crack or to be more polite wind-up dolls on their fastest setting with their volume up to the max – risks infecting the audience with the same bah humbug sentiments espoused by the small-hearted Grinch who after 53 years of forbearance has decided to cancel Christmas by stealing everyone’s presents.

And if Gregor Fisher’s pre-show cameo as the narrator was supposed to inject proceedings with a chestnuts roasting on an open fire glow, I’m afraid his limited interaction with the audience and the assembly of kids who had been plucked from the stalls was more warming your tootsies in front of one bar of an electric fire. The words under-rehearsed and (as he admitted himself) overly-“terrified” spring to mind.

Which is not to say the calibre of the cast and the quality of their performances is poor. Far from it. Edward Baker-Duly is terrific as The Grinch, delivering his one-liners with a Mae West drawl and singing and dancing with the chutzpah of a Las Vegas showman. And Matt Terry more than lives up to his X Factor-winning credentials as Young Max, though it’s a pity he doesn’t get more of a chance to shine as he spends a lot of the show on his hands and knees as a literal dog’s body to The Grinch.

Equally impressive – some might say more so because of her age – is one of four rotating Cindy Lous (Isla Gie) whose pint-sized demeanour and powerhouse of a performance is straight out of the Shirley Temple school of acting. A pivotal role which she nails with aplomb. And Steve Fortune does a fine job as Old Max, bringing a grandfatherly charm and gravitas which was absent from Fisher’s opening narration.

Where the show loses some of its sparkle, however, is in the nuts and bolts of its construction which for the first half in particular is a manic assault on your senses which lacks spectacle, variations of pace and tone, and – apart from a couple of big numbers such as One Of A Kind and Albert Hague’s You’re A Mean One, Mr Grinch – catchy tunes.

Thankfully, the second half is a more heartfelt and subtle affair which like Scrooge after waking from his third visitation swells the heart of both The Grinch and more importantly the audience who face their own trio of ghosts in the shape of a bleak midwinter, a general election and Brexit. Not so much ho, ho, ho! More no, no no!

Peter Callaghan
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