I dream of Genie

Gauche, perhaps, to complain about Aladdin but it slightly deserves it. The terrific Genie opens the show and then disappears for 45 minutes while the plot is explained. My squirmy ten-year-old kept whispering Aladdin-related trivia at me in order to occupy himself as the rags-to-riches storyline was laid out in far too much detail. Visually the show is impressive, despite minor flaws. The rangy architectural sets are intricate confections of teetering filigree but they look a little factory-fresh and unlived-in. Behind them the daylight skies are wrongly composed of a single hue (only the night sky has a single hue).

Aladdin is played by Dean John-Wilson, a cocky slab of tanned muscle, whose reluctance to shine in the part cedes the limelight to Princess Jasmine (Jade Ewen, an absolute knockout). She plays the truculent royal as a gobby campus activist who claims the right to choose her husband and rule as his equal.