Les Misérables

Bristol Hippodrome

It is McDonalds' greatest claim to fame that their product is exactly the same anywhere in the world; a Big Mac is a Big Mac in Baltimore, Bath or Beijing. The same goes for Cameron Mackintosh's Les Misérables. Comparing the Bristol production to the original London cast recording shows how homogeneous the product is. The residents of the West Country can now get a slice of the world's most popular musical right on their doorstep. It's big, it lovely to look at, and the tunes are ... so-so.

There are, presumably, still people who haven't seen this world-embracing leviathan. Well it goes something like this. In 1830s France - a remarkably dark place in Trevor Nunn and John Caird's production - a convict, Jean Valjean is released on parole from penal servitude, taken in by a Bishop, and repays the kindness by stealing the episcopal silver. But when he is caught, the Bishop lies to the police to save him, and this generosity persuades Valjean to become an honest man and something of a sanctimonious prig. Valjean adopts an orphan child, Cosette, who grows up to be nauseatingly sickly-sweet and falls in love with a complete wimp of a student. Since all this sanctity on its own would result in an emetic evening out, the mixture is spiced up with the regular reappearance of Javert - the arch-baddy who keeps getting jobs in just the right place - and the Thénadiers, a Punch and Judy couple who revel in greed and immorality. Their daughter is a rough and ready chick called Eponine who lusts after the wimpy student and dies tragically on the barricade. The barricade is, of course, the highlight of the evening (and a remarkable piece of set design). The rebels, headed by Enjolras, sing lots of rousing songs about the bright new world to come, and then die horribly but very prettily. Javert throws himself to his death in another spectacular piece of staging, and then it's all on stage for the finale as Valjean dies a redeemed man. There's an awful lot of singing on the way.

In interpreting this melodramatic saga, the cast are limited both by the standardisation of the Les Mis product and a fairly creaking script ("Her life was cold and dark, but she was unafraid"). Yet Gemma Sandy (Eponine) and Mark O'Malley (Enjolras) manage to make an impression with their powerful voices, and Peter Corry (Javert) bestrides the stage like a very nasty colossus, yet still tempering his character with enough humanity to make his final suicide believable. Cathy Breeze throws herself heart and soul into the salacious Madame Thénardier, whilst Cameron Blakely's performance as her husband can be remarkably irritating at times (there is only so much Faginesque cheery cockney one can stomach).

There is nothing in the score which gives the listener a real gut-wrench, and the fact that most of the songs are constructed more like a rising trumpet fanfare than a melody can start to grate on those looking for a proper tune. But this is not the point about Les Misérables. This is not simply a stage show - this is a 'phenomenon'. It is the bombast, the spectacle, and the choreography which impresses: the use of the revolving stage to allow cinematic tricks such as panning and cross-cutting in the theatre, the sophisticated lighting effects and the careful positioning of actors to give the impression of a cast of thousands. The storyline and the music are secondary factors. Leave your ears at home, and feast your eyes - that way you'll be able to tell you're grandchildren what all the fuss was about.

TOBY O'CONNOR MORSE