Beauty and the Beast – review

Robin Thicke faced global controversy over the ostensibly misogynistic content of his hit song Blurred Lines, but it's unlikely the singer was reckoning on the righteous might of the Macrobert panto. Towards the top of act two, the women adopt his suit‑and-shades combo to give the song an oestrogen-fuelled makeover and the lyrics some much-needed girl power. That's before honorary woman Johnny McKnight as the dame, Bunty Buntock, strips off her Mexican wrap of a dress (the inevitable consequence of a joke about a tortilla) to reveal her lettuce‑lined underwear (cue gag about salad dressing).

In its mashup of fun and feminism, the scene is typical of a joyous show in which women call the shots. For Dawn Sievewright's Belle, the challenge is to subdue her raucous brother and resist the unwanted advances of her tedious ex. Seeing the good in Martin McCormick's towering Beast is no problem; more vexatious is getting him to treat her as an equal. And although this is that rare thing, a 21st-century panto with a principal boy, Michele Gallagher's Gaston exists not as the long-legged titillater of tradition but as a parody of male narcissism.

But let's not overstate the case. The great skill of writer-director McKnight, who is also author of Peter Panto and the Incredible Stinkerbell at Glasgow's Tron, is his unfailing showbiz instinct. He is a dangerous and delightful life force as the dame, insulting the audience as only a man in a multicoloured dress can, but he ensures this is an ensemble show and draws excellent performances throughout the cast – youth-theatre extras included.

The laughs come so thick and fast you're always two jokes behind, and the quality of the singing, under Alan Penman's musical direction, is second to none. It sends you home with a stupid big grin on your face.