ODT

STILL PLENTY OF MAGIC TO BE FOUND IN THIS OLD FAVOURITE
You can tell a witch, because she has blue spit.
Witches hate children and can sniff them out. They smell like fresh dog droppings,
There were loads at the Fortune Theatre on Friday night this Caroline Claver -directed production of the famous Roald Dahl story, The Withces.
Judging by the extreme audience attention, this David Wood adaptation, though shorter, hasn't lost the magic.
Aided by some great music, lighting and sound effects by Ulli Briese and the wonderfully witchy costumes designed by Maryanne Wright-smyth, this production flowed along without a hitch.
Set changes appeared deceptively simple. Heather O'Carroll is the Grand High Witch of the world and she's in England for their Annual General Meeting.
From the Hotel window she sees a disgusting sight - hundreds of rotten, revolting children playing on the beach. Not good enough, you English Witches, why haven't you got rid of them? Even if yopu're another witch you're not safe around this dispicable female.
One unfortunate witch goes up in smoke, just for sneezing, nothing left but her witchy dress.
The Grand Witch has a plan. But she doesn't count on the boy (Clark Fulton). With help from his no-nonsense cigar smoking grandmother, he sets out to save the children of England - even that spoilt brat of a kid Bruno (Ben Sparrow).
My favourite scene was the waiter serving dinner - green pea soup scraped off the floor, saucepan stuck on the chef's head and a nasty beating with a very large cucumber.
They say growing old is compulsory, but growing up is optional. If you can't find a real kid to bring along, I thing you'll enjoy this show not matter how old you are. I did.
Rosemary Penwarden