Sweeney Todd, Adelphi Theatre, Seven magazine review The cardboard cut-out characters that Sondheim populates the stage with pose all but insurmountable challenges to the actors. Take, for example, Ms Staunton in the role of Mrs Lovett, the woman who obligingly makes pies out of Todd's victims. Recognising how the work is crying out for some light relief, this fine actress elects to play it largely for laughs. Her character is, however, someone who aids and abets a serial killer and ends up being burnt to death in her own oven. The actress's lightness of touch therefore ends up jarring horribly. It doesn't work, but, then again, without some degree of humour, the wily Miss Staunton knows only too well that her black character would disappear without trace into the all-consuming blackness of the piece. Ball has, of course, the ultimate challenge, trying to breathe life into Todd. This great star of a thousand musicals seems to be involved in a private battle with his old rival Michael Crawford to try to find ever more outrageous characters to play. If Ball thought that Todd would trump Crawford's Wizard in The Wizard of Oz, he is, however, sadly mistaken. The Wizard at least proved to be human in the final act. Bulked up and with his hair greased back and the mascara trowelled on, Ball undoubtedly radiates menace. His deep baritone serves him well, too. The trouble is his character, which just sings and kills. After a while, it becomes a bit repetitive. Todd has no redeeming features at the beginning of the show and he has none at the end. Honestly, Ball couldn't have found a more rigid character to play - or one more resistant to character development - if he had plumped for the Statue of Liberty. As for the supporting players, John Bowe as Judge Turpin, and Lucy May Barker and Luke Brady as the frustrated lovers Johanna and Anthony, do what they can with their parts, but they also seem only too well aware that that amounts to precious little. It is a pity because they are all plainly talented individuals. The one person who seems to have had some fun working on the production is the man who discreetly fitted the little hoses to the necks of Todd's victims: he or she had pressurised them up to the point that they were squirting out Kensington Gore as if they were fire hoses. I only wish the show as a whole could have made more of a splash for me, not least because the Chichester Festival Theatre - particularly after Pygmalion last year - is establishing itself as a purveyor of quality productions to the West End. Musicals need, however, to do what they say on the tin: which is to say, they need to add something to the gaiety of nations. This one simply fails in that respect. Adelphi, to Sep 22; www.sweeneytoddwestend.com