The Lyric Hammersmith’s pantomime has of late been repurposed in a highly interesting way that I’m not sure I’ve seen before. It’s now a genuinely family panto rather than a show with some bits for the kids and others for the grown-ups. There is, for instance, not a single off-colour joke. The first clue comes right at the beginning when, to my surprise, Kayla Meikle as Daisy the talking cow shows no sign whatever of boasting in song about her milkshake. One number even lampoons this approach, with the pottiest-mouthed word used being “poo”.

Joel Horwood is such a smart writer as to have no problem providing gags that are both acceptable and genuinely funny. Many are clever of the kind that kids can appreciate as well, as when Jill declares his love by sighing, “I’d risk going up a hill with you, Jack!” There’s a brief, entirely gratuitous appearance by Dorothy and her Wizard Of Oz friends, in the stage equivalent of “cutaway” gags in cartoon series. It nevertheless includes staple panto set-pieces such as a modestly messy “slosh” routine about milking Daisy, and the traditional “ghost” chase, although the ghost in this case is a giant goose that lays the golden eggs, the first time I’ve ever seen this character made into a baddie.

Wait... rewind... his love? Yes: in this show, Jack is Dame Lotte Trottalot’s daughter, Jill the wicked Squire Fleshcreep’s son. No explanation, just accept it. This show covers the entire waterfront. Corin Buckeridge’s score includes not only pop standards ancient and modern (the traditional front-cloth singalong is “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”) but other elements from as far afield as the Hallelujah chorus.

All of this is much to be appreciated, but ultimately, alas, it all feels good-natured rather than raucous, with too few opportunities to burn off a holiday sugar rush. The finest exception is not Kraig Thornber’s affable Dame Lotte, but Vikki Stone as a Fleshcreep who pronounceth all his words the old-fashionèd way and playeth the bassoon. She/he is so vivacious in villainy that I’m even prepared to believe almost all the onstage giggles are genuine.

Written for the Financial Times.