Oxford's New Theatre is a near perfect venue for Bramble and Stewart's glitzy adaptation of the 1933 film, a tale of an aspiring star and the behind-the-scenes struggle of making a successful Broadway show.

The stage curtain rises on two dozen pairs of painfully in synch, high-heeled tapping feet. These feet are slowly revealed to belong to two dozen painfully in synch, high-heeled and impressively well-drilled chorus girls. The ensemble's choreographer is auditioning these dancers (or 'hoofers') for an upcoming show directed by the infamous perfectionist, Julian Marsh.

The rehearsals, on and off stage, clearly paid off. This is a very polished production, from the constant glint of the bedazzled costumes and oh-so-shiny smiles, to the chorus' wonderfully and authentically shrill American accents. The performances are equally seamless; Jessica Punch who plays the gracefully hapless Peggy Sawyer is adorably puppyish, managing to play an inherently annoying character without being irritating; a feat indeed. In contrast, Dave Willets, who plays the cantankerous director, lends gravitas and Rex Harrison-like charisma to the stage. Wait for that final number for your toes to really start to tingle. What a voice.  These are joined by Marti Webb as Dorothy Brock, the ageing star hoping for a last big break, and Carol Ball as Maggie Jones, the quirky and caring dance mistress.

There are also a host of talented male dancers, who do not allow themselves to be outshone by the plethora of twinkle-toed starlets that populate the stage. One of my favourite moments was actually a number in which the male chorus were shown preparing for a show, pausing in their red-socked tap dancing only to put their shoes on and adjust their bow-ties. It is these glimpses 'behind' the stage curtain that give 42nd Street its charm, although the politics of the production are apparently even stranger than the fiction. In a rather appealing bit of trivia, the story is that David Merrick, 42nd Street's first producer, apparently documented the 'ultimate drama' of its opening night.  He claimed to have locked this account in his bank vault only to be released twenty five years after his death. Bring on 2025.

This was my first time seeing 42nd Street and I was surprised how many of the numbers were familiar: 'We're in the Money', 'Lullaby of Broadway'. 'Keep Young and Beautiful' was particularly interesting - being now performed in a post-feminism era with the beautiful gold-leotard-clad young ladies each holding a vanity glass and their criss-crossing legs reflected in a giant mirror that hung precariously above them... 

With beautiful backdrops (swinging mirrors aside) that remind you of your grandma's biscuit tins, and numbers that Jazz hands were surely invented for, 42nd Street is a welcome taste of old-time musical theatre.  It is a show essentially about showing off - costumes, dances, even the dialogue is hyper-real. As such, the comedy was a little too broad-handed for my taste, with the jokes emphatically and unashamedly played for flat-farce throughout.

Anyone expecting a gritty take on the 1930s Broadway scene will be bemused, but I doubt anyone could remain disappointed. This show is light and light-hearted and only the most cynical will leave without a new swing in their step.