Theatre

There's no secret to the success of London's longest-running musical. First, there are the songs (soaring schmaltz, lingering lyrics, and powerful pop-hooks). And then there are the sets: spectacularly film-fabulous besides being easy on the Odeon-trained eye – no need to work your own point-of-view when convicts, prostitutes, urchins and giant tilting hulls of Parisian masonry are borne ceaselessly into the proscenium frame with the super-swift aid of a massive turntable. 'Les Mis' (with a libretto lifted from Victor Hugo) is grimier than its peers: the show is often stolen by the Master of the House and his raucous pompadoured missus. But despite acknowledging its right to remain populist, the ardent score deserves an expression which is a little less distorted by histrionic syncopations and synthetic wanging.