Bat Out of Hell - the bombastic musical is back on tour

★★

"But daddy, I love him!"

Glenn Adamson (centre) as Strat and the cast in Bat Out of Hell, photo by Chris Davis Studio

Raven may as well call from her nondescript bedroom on the eve of her eighteenth birthday. It's the central plot, if you can call it that, of Jim Steinman and Meat Loaf's cult musical, Bat Out of Hell.

Peter Pan meets Romeo and Juliet in a dystopian underworld where The Lost play in the tunnels, immortalised in their prime. Clad in leather, studded belts and fishnets, they move - supposedly free but always in synchronisation - officially led by Strat, with eyes as white and sharp as the teeth he bares. The whole thing reeks of teen angst and rebellion. There's unrest, but we're not entirely sure why.

Becoming what Kristian Lavercombe is to Rocky Horror, a menacing Glenn Adamson leads the proceedings - a conductor, a pied piper, a religious leader, smearing blood on his ripped chest. Beside him as his ill-fated love, Raven, Sophie-Rose Emery earned her wings right from that opening monologue.

Veteran Batter Sharon Sexton joins them in the role of Sloane, a sex-deprived mother hungry for some excitement. She usually plays opposite her husband, Rob Fowler, as Falco - and the pair met on the show. But at this performance, Joshua Dever dons the purple suit, which has the pizazz of a kid's TV villain.

It's their raucous "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" that teases what the whole affair could have been. A troupe of their on-hand staff obligingly strip as the on-stage band, directed by Iestyn Griffiths, tear through the number. Projected onto big screens by hand-held cameras with an 80s movie filter, it's the epitome of glam rock. I only wish there were more of this weirdness in Jay Scheib's direction.

In fact, I wish there were more of all of the effects -  confetti cannons, smoke bombs, flaming fire, and strobe lighting. It never feels fully charged the way it could. The way it would if there were a way to connect these components to the power of the cast's voices and the band's instruments. Special mentions to Georgia Bradshaw as the soulful Zahara, and Ryan Carter as Jagwire, with Carla Bertran as the pocket rocket, Tink.

The spindly story is quite literally a vehicle for the numbers to roar on stage. They crash into each other with no rhyme or reason, the handheld mics confirming that this is a glorified tribute rather than anything else. Luckily, there's some excellent rock ballet choreography by Xena Gusthart, performed with intense athleticism and prowess by a high-voltage cast.

A certified crowd pleaser since its inception, you come for the classic rock and you stay for it. And in that sense, Bat is truly bombastic.