Mice upstage Wax

With that trademark gash of a mouth snarling to reveal those famous gleaming gnashers, Ruby Wax always had the potential to scare little ones. Now she's doing it for real - spitting blue bile, turning children into mice, and generally being horrid.

In Roald Dahl's darkly comic tale, the comedian and presenter has clearly taken notes from the highmaintenance women she has interviewed (Imelda Marcos, Liza Minnelli ) and turned the Grand High Witch into a diva - of dastardly proportions.

No traditional scruffy outfit or broomstick for her. La Wax stalks on in a slinky black dress by Maria Grachvogel. With her hooked prosthetic nose and red fan, she has the air of a Spanish madwoman (but with a Germanic accent).

She may not have the largest role, but producers hope that drafting her in as Dahl's ultimate witch bitch for the five-week London run of this touring production will cast a spell on the West End.

Wax is certainly more colourful than Anjelica Huston in the 1990 film. Think Wicked Witch of the West. Having started out playing bit-part whores and nuns for the RSC, Ruby waxes hysterical and comical in her quest to rid Britain of all children. She is, however, pretty much upstaged by mice.

Dahl's tale unearths a coven of witches disguised as respectable ladies in summer frocks - underneath they have bald heads full of pustules, claw-like hands and a lack of toes - plotting in a Bournemouth hotel to turn all the children in England into mice by feeding them contaminated chocolate.

It's up to one boy - a lovely performance of innocence and British pluck by Giles Cooper as both man and mouse - and his grandmother (a delightful Dilys Laye) to foil the plot.

Jonathan Church's appealing production of David Wood's adaptation, which largely eschews the temptation of camp knowingness that could come with Wax's presence, has the benefit of special effects by Paul Kieve, who worked on Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Gasp as a boy is transformed into a mouse; giggle as Ruby Wax disappears writhing into the depths of a soup tureen. And then there are the cycling and tightrope-walking mice.

These rodents, both as small puppets and life-size, supply the crucial aaaaah! factor. One scene of two mice trying to climb giant stairs and steal a huge sweet, is a deft combination of Laurel and Hardy and It's A Knockout.

The Witches is not without its hitches and glitches. Simon Higlett's economical designs sometimes have a wobbly Crossroads quality. At just 70 minutes of performance, this is not tremendous value either.

Still, in these days of child obesity, this might put kids off chocolate for a little while.

Until 2 April. Information: 0870 060 6633.

The Witches