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 by 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 the ardent score deserves an expression which is a little less distorted by histrionic syncopations and synthetic wanging.
