Note: The following review dates from February 2001 and this production's first West End run at the Piccadilly Theatre. For current details, please see performance listings.

The promoters call Shockheaded Peter rather succinctly a “junk opera”. I’d call it a cross between the Rocky Horror Picture Show, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and the Brothers Grimm.

The show is inspired by the 1844 “Struwwelpeter” stories of Heinrich Hoffman, a German doctor wanting a better class of children’s book for his three-year-old son. Pity the poor son, who must have been reduced to a quivering mass hiding beneath the bedsheets upon hearing these gothic, cautionary tales about “naughty” children.

But all the better for us, 150-odd years later – because the source material, incredibly for its darkness, yields a fascinating and, yes, hilarious, evening’s entertainment at the hands of co-directors Phelim McDermott and Julian Crouch and their motley ensemble.

The Shockheaded Peter of the title provides the narrative thread of the piece. The long-awaited stork delivery to a happy but childless couple, Peter – with his Medusa mop of hair and Freddy Kruger-like talons – turns out to be more nightmare than blessing. The parents lock Peter in the cellar, an act that brings with it an eventual but nasty comeuppance.

Peter updates are interspersed with wonderfully grotesque musical interludes care of The Tiger Lillies – the two Adrians (Huge and Stout – I do not tell a lie – on drums and double bass) and accordionist, vocalist and musical director Martyn Jacques. In his high falsetto, Jacques belts out with glee the fates – all the same – of numerous children, including pyromaniac Harriet, cruel Frederick, fidgety Phil, thumb-sucking Conrad and head-in-the-air Johnny.

The victims are brought to life by designers Crouch and Graeme Gilmour, who have rightfully won an award for their efforts. In the programme, producer Michael Morris aptly describes the design as “an advent calendar crossed with a late 19th-century pop video”. Various marionettes, puppets and dolls are put to use, as are Kevin Pollard’s imaginative rag-bag costumes and a foreshortened puzzle of a stage upon a stage with myriad doors, trapdoors and windows. The effect is like a picture-book come alive – theatrical invention at its best.

The cast too, striving alongside the Tiger Lillies, are top-notch practitioners of physical theatre, with much of their performances comprised of mime or operation of the props. The exception is Julian Bleach’s bogeyman of an MC who gets most of the lines and delivers them with camp relish and oodles of audience eye contact (memorably, at one point, via an enormous magnifying glass).

This is Shockheaded Peter’s fourth outing in London but it’s first in the West End. Since its premiere in 1997 at the West Yorkshire Playhouse, through its three sell-out runs at the Lyric Hammersmith and its many tours, the show has acquired a staunch cult following. But don’t let its cult status nor its freakish nature put you off. Those adjectives don’t do it justice.

Try instead – spooky…funny…lush…innovative…enjoyable…original…unforgettable.

Terri Paddock