Matilda and the Tales She Told

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Save for a muddled opening five minutes—when Hilaire Belloc himself would struggle to tell what’s going on, let alone the young audience members at whom this play is essentially aimed—Tell Tale Theatre waste little time in charming their audience. Indeed, their rhyming adaptation of one of the prolific early 20^th century Anglo-French writer’s most famous cautionary tales (its title agreeably softened from the somewhat blunt original: Matilda, Who Told Lies and Was Burnt to Death) turns out to be colourful, exuberant and funny.

After their parents pass away, Matilda and her older brother Charles are sent to live with their uncle and aunt, a highly-strung, heartless pair who miss the days “when children were not seen and not heard.” Charles—tubby lad, “eats breads and makes no crumbs, enjoys his sums” and so on—is the goody two-shoes golden boy upon whom their guardians bestow endless praise. Often, this is only to emotionally wound his sister, whose overactive imagination and longing for her tragically departed folks causes her to tell tall tales and do mischievous things like prank call the fire brigade, with The Boy Who Cried Wolf­-style consequences.

For all the painted faces, bright costumes and multi-part harmonising songs, it’s possibly all a little too quick-fire for kids to keep up. But the performances fizz with energy, and there are a few wickedly funny flourishes for the grown-ups. Perhaps best of all is the wise-guy travelling animal trader, who stocks tigers, frogs and pythons but needs to work on his sales pitch. “I had an auntie who had a python,” he deadpans, “she died.”