Anyone who has watched Little Britain will immediately recognize the evil, yet sad, club leader stereotype, alongside a girl that eats her feelings, a curvaceous (and self-confident) sexpot, a “chubby chaser”, a dowdy mummy, and a guy who comes along just to kill some time, flirt and take the mickey.

The show opens with an overture and introduction song (“I’ve Tried Every Single Diet”) in which we learn a bit about each character and the lengths they’ve gone to (or not) to loose a few pounds. The Nazi-like club leader inducts our cast and, over the course of several scenes (or “weeks” in the club), we follow each character through their personal journeys and evolving relationships with each other. The whole thing plays out like an elongated, but enjoyable, sit-com.

The music is a bit forgettable, but inoffensive, as is the vocal talent of the cast. The lyrics are alternately cute, functional, funny and repetitive, and could use a little more spice. I found myself longing for the zingy naughtiness of something like Avenue Q.

As fringe musicals go, Fat Club is not groundbreaking, or terribly exciting, but it is entertaining and there are enough funny moments to engage all but the most critical of theatregoers.

Staged at the Savoy, this current offering of Carousel wields the star power of Leslie Garrett, and I went in with high hopes. Clearly the credit crunch has hit theatreland. Instead of an actual carousel, which is typically revealed in time with the soaring fairground overture, we get a semi-transparent projection of a digitized carousel with the actors miming the movements behind it. It just doesn’t deliver the punch you’re hoping for.

These digital ’effects’ continue throughout the show delivering lackluster results. Where the transition from the island clam-bake to the mainland docks is fairly smooth, the “stairway” to the pearly gates of heaven resembles a 1980s music video. Fortunately, the remaining sets are minimal and stark, allowing the audience to focus completely on the actors.

Garrett takes the secondary lead role of Nettie, cousin and counselor to Alexandra Silber’s Julie Jordan. With her dark looks and soulful voice, Silber is an unconventional choice for the role, but allows the feisty and wounded Julie to be freed from the typical ingénue stereotypes. Lauren Hood and Alan Vicary provide light comic relief as Carrie and Enoch Snow, while Diana Kent offers up a strong yet vulnerable Mrs. Mullin and Graham MacDuff swaggers about the stage with ease as the delightfully panto-esque Jigger Craigin.

Garrett delivers exactly what you would expect; what she lacks in characterisation, she makes up for with those fantastic vocal chords, easily delivering the best song of the night, “You’ll Never Walk Alone”. The standouts in this show are the father and daughter characters of Billy and Louise. Although she doesn’t appear until the second act, Lindsey Wise’s Louise is so full of vigor and passion, she steals the stage, easily seducing the audience in a brilliant ballet sequence. Jeremiah James is a wonderful Billy; outwardly confident, but full of turmoil, his strong baritone a perfect match to a powerful physical presence. Lindsay Posner’s uncomplicated direction allows Adam Cooper’s period-appropriate choreography to shine, and is complimented by David Firman’s unfussy musical direction.

Though not a stunning production, the actors do their best and deliver an entertaining evening. If you’re looking for a big stage spectacular à la Wicked or The Sound of Music, you’ll be disappointed, but if you like your Rodgers and Hammerstein understated and a little dark, then this show will certainly appeal.

In the cast I saw, the creatures of the Royal Menagerie thoroughly steal the show. Chloë Nicolson, a flighty, fidgety rabbit, gives a witty and rousing rendition of the anthemically optimistic Anywhere That You Go, sweeping Scott Jones’ fastidious, lovelorn, sex-starved rat and Aris Gerontakis’ stolid, rich-voiced ox along with her on an irresistible wave of hilarity. Anna Black and Jonathan Ray as queeny, lisping snake and camp rooster enjoy the innuendo of a Polari-spattered patter-song that made me grateful for many misspent hours listening to Round the Horne. As the show’s porcine lynch-pin, Pao-Chang Tsai displays a delicate instinct for restrained and rueful clowning. And Laura Harrison, as treacherous feline Charlotte, caterwauls with breathtaking passion in her big solo.

The cast don’t quite nail all the consonants required by the scatter-gun diction of the show’s pacier songs, and the drama may get slightly clogged in the trial scene which dominates most of the second act, but the massive ensemble brings astonishing emotional power to some memorable company numbers. The incorrigible up-tempo gusto of On A Holiday, with Victoria Atkin’s put-upon turtle emerging from her shell as a 1920s bathing beauty, gives way to the impassioned, candle-lit Funeral Rhapsody and the muted heartbreak of New World.

The Year of the Pig is an ambitious and uplifting piece of theatre, tackled by a cast showing genuine promise, many of whom I hope to see again on professional stages. But best of all would be the chance to see The Year of the Pig reach an audience beyond these students’ glowingly proud parents. It’s a bittersweet, fantastical, funny and soulful show, at once an affectionate homage to the musicals of the past, and an inspiring glimpse of what the musicals of the future, in an ideal world, might be.