Jack and the Beanstalk Review: Dazzling, Impressive — and Just a Little Too Slick

Jack and the Beanstalk at the Festival Theatre arrives polished to a mirror shine. It is technically dazzling, lavishly produced, and performed with the kind of professionalism that would shame many straight plays. And yet, for all its brilliance, something does not quite land.

As ever, Allan Stewart and Grant Stott are the spine of the production. They are seasoned panto performers with an instinctive understanding of rhythm, audience, and the peculiar alchemy that turns chaos into comedy. They work hard, very hard, perhaps almost too hard. The cast had already delivered an earlier performance for the Festival Theatre’s invaluable schools outreach programme before taking to the stage last night, and while the energy never dipped, there was something missing. It wasn’t the Hibs v Hearts jokes, they were still there in abundance. Perhaps it was the noticeable absence of current affairs jokes. Not that the past year has been short on news. But even the most skilled gag writers might balk at mining humour from the 2025 political landscape.

This season also marks Allan Stewart’s 50th year in panto, a milestone quietly acknowledged through moments of retrospection. At one point, programmes from across his career beam up on a vast HD screen, pristine, perfectly rendered. It is a lovely gesture, and yet it stirred something unexpected. Perhaps it was the passing of Stanley Baxter just days earlier, or simply the weight of that history, but watching those images unfurl prompted a longing for pantos of old. Not lesser ones, but looser ones. Shows that wore their joins openly and trusted the room to meet them halfway.

Nostalgia surfaces elsewhere too. Robbie Williams’ Let Me Entertain You returns to the soundtrack a full 28 years after its release. It remains effective, but its reappearance feels less like a wink and more like muscle memory. Reliable, but safe. 

What truly shifts the temperature in the auditorium, however, is the Giant. The creature is astonishing. A feat of engineering, performance, and stagecraft that rightly earned an Olivier nomination after its run at the London Palladium. It is also genuinely terrifying. Children shriek. Some hide under seats, others bury their faces into parents’ shoulders, several demand to be taken out altogether. Consider this your mild peril warning for more timid younger panto goers.

The Giant epitomises both the production’s triumph and its dilemma. It is almost too good. The technology, while extraordinary, begins to dominate. Panto has always thrived on artifice, but a particular kind. The knowingly wobbly, the cheerfully threadbare. The Crossroads or Acorn Antiques aesthetic where something going slightly wrong is half the fun. Where each night feels different because it is shaped by the audience as much as the cast.

Here, everything is locked down. The costumes are immaculate, the wigs flawless, the choreography slick, the lighting sculpted to within an inch of its life. It is award worthy across the board. It is also edging towards something closer to a family friendly West End spectacle, almost Hollywood in its precision.

And so the question arises. Is this still panto, or has it evolved into something else entirely? Where is the bed sheet with the lyrics scrawled across it for the sing along. Where are the gags that collapse under their own weight. The moments of glorious imperfection that make adults laugh like children and children feel like co conspirators.

The loudest laugh of the night comes not from the spectacle, but from the fart jokes. That should tell us something.

Jack and the Beanstalk is an impressive achievement. It may simply be too impressive for its own good. It will be fascinating to see what happens when the team returns next year to the King’s Theatre, panto’s spiritual home, with Pinocchio. I for one am hoping for a little less perfection, and a lot more glorious mess.