The question of a nose-job takes on intriguing new possibilities for Raymond Briggs's Snowman when he is confronted with a fruit bowl and is momentarily tantalised by the prospect of having a hooter curved like a banana or dangling like a bunch of grapes. In this enduring blend of magic and simple comedy, the episode sums up how the story of the Snowman appeals to children's deepest instincts as they try to work out the world through the mediums of fantasy and endearingly accessible anthropomorphism.
Where anthropomorphism normally begins by making a doll talk, or attempting a conversation with a teddy-bear, this Snowman is silent. The children in the audience are captivated instead by a series of moving pictures set to Howard Blake's poignant and enchanting score, as they watch a boy no less ordinary than themselves take hold of a snowman's hand and go soaring up into the air.
Unlike the sensational The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, this is not a production that will keep the adults as animated as the children. Roars of toddler laughter greet the scene where the Snowman steals the father's false teeth and gives himself a smile of crocodile proportions, but for every tittering tot you can be sure there is going to be a dozing dad who is less than inspired by the dancing tropical fruit routine, or the portrayal of cosy domesticity at the start of the show.
Even so, Bill Alexander's production is in many ways a perfect introduction for children to the theatre, giving them that essential sense of a friendly, magical world that takes them beyond their own. The frozen charms of the Snowman are reflected all around you, whether in the shining eyes of a six-year-old, or the uncharacteristic spellbound silence of a four-year-old.
The indication is that - global warming permitting - this has a long future as an institution.
The Snowman
