Billy Elliot

More than 20 years since the miner's son from 80s County Durham first swapped his boxing gloves for ballet shoes, Billy still shines.

When Oliver Hargreaves, the Minister at the Department for Work and Pensions (a wonderfully oleaginous Michael Gould) is introduced in the second half, we are all but invited to hiss and boo panto-style. We ache for these predicaments and lament the fact that we live in a society whose welfare state safety net is now so terrifyingly full of holes. She is determined not to cast herself as a “victim” because of her condition, but when her all-important PIP (personal independence benefit) payment is cut, Jess feels the sting deeply. The grotesque face-off at the Stone Table, with Aslan sacrificing himself to Womack and her army of demons, is properly nightmarish, a phantasmagoria set to an ominous thunder of drums. We’re whisked from the bucolic lakeside camp to elegant city streets, a gilt and velvet theatre and a mountain trail complete with hearty lederhosen-clad hikers. Gould proffers the mealy-mouthed excuse of the terminally mediocre, “I’m sorry you feel that way”, with aplomb. The huge lion puppet that accompanies him is equally handsome – but their combined impact is reduced by a lack of convincing physical connection between them. Separated as babies when their parents, Johan (James Darch) and Lisalotte (Emily Tierney) divorced, Lisa and Lottie – hitherto unaware of each other’s existence – coincidentally collide at summer camp, aged 11. Toughness and fragility, both of working-class livelihoods and Billy’s dreams, are what gives the show its tension. This new family musical dishes up a double helping of charm. The production’s choreographer, Lucy Hind, doesn’t present us with numbers so much as a relentless fight for survival set to music. His family home is represented by a towering mineshaft.