PANTO season is upon us and if you have a love for burly men in flamboyant dresses, jokes too appalling for even the cheapest christmas cracker, villains who are so dastardly they’d make the late Alan Rickman wince in distaste, then Panto time is a thing of unbounded joy.

For some however, the idea of mass sing-alongs, the terrible tyranny of audience participation, and the brassy bluster and banter of cheeky lovable chaps who shout a lot and are prone to breaking out in song, or for that matter, wind, at the drop of a hat, signifies an apocalypse of horrors without equal.

So it was with a heavy tread and a heavy heart I made my weary way to Theatr Brycheiniog just a few short days after Christmas to brave the delights of Jermin Productions performance of Dick Whittington - all two hours and 10 minutes of it.

Yes. That’s right. Two hours and 10 minutes of pure unbridled Panto carnage. Not many films are worthy of running over two hours, so just imagine the hellish anticipation of sitting like a trapped and defenseless animal through a tale which could be told in two minutes. Dick goes to London. Dick falls in love. Dick solves the rat problem. Dick becomes Mayor. job done!

Nevertheless. It was Christmas. The kids wanted to go and see a Panto and who but the most Scrooge like of souls would tell them, “Oh no you’re not!”

Thankfully we were seated in the relative sanctuary of the back-row. I may not be a grizzled veteran of a thousand Panto wars, but even I know enough to know that the front row at any Panto is a no-man’s land where anything can happen and usually does.

Anyhow, on with the show!

The lights were dimmed, the claustrophobia set in, and a mild panic sharpened the senses, as the drums pounded in the pit, the guitars chimed, the synthesizers soared, the velvet curtain was drawn aside and we entered another world.

And here’s the thing. Within ten minutes, something strange happened. I began to enjoy something I thought I’d be forced to endure.

It may have been something to do with being disoriented, dizzy, and befuddled from spending too much time in the alcohol friendly no-man’ land that is is the strange limbo which exists between Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve, or it may that the show was a timely reminder that when done right, Panto can be a lot of fun.

And Mark and Nia Jermin, the brother and sister behind Jermin Productions have got a canny knack of doing it right.

From the first puff of smoke and boisterous bang which heralded the arrival of chirpy cockney sparrow Fairy Bowbells (Laura Phillips) to the last mass sing-a-long, this version of Dick Whittington is as crazy as a barrel of rattlesnakes at full moon, but with a better sense of humor.

The songs were sung, the slapstick slapped, the wordplay wordy, and the story unfolded, but it was the individual performances which livened up the tale of the simple country lad from Brecon who made his fame and fortune in the big smoke.

Miles Braithwaite as Dick Whittington played it straight as the everyman hero with the big heart and big dream, and combined well with his leading lady Alice Fitzwarren (Lucesca Walters) to turn on the charm, the song and keep the punters engaged, but this is Panto after all, and it’s the surreal, strange, and sinister characters that really float the boat and rock the rafters.

And in King Rat (Billy McCleary), Jobless Jack (Adam Byard), TomTom the Cat (Robyn McDonald), and of course, the all-singing and all-conquering Dame Cookie (Marc Skone), you’ve got a gang of misfits who hit the bullseye every time.

Like a hyperactive toddler in mismatched clothing, Jobless Jack’s wild-eyed mania and infectious glee keeps the kids at fever pitch and the adults on guard of being signaled out by the ferociously energetic JJ for a bit of good old fashioned audience baiting.

Spare a thought for a poor guy in the front row called Stuart, who was targeted by Jobless Jack for not appearing vocally enthusiastic enough in the opening ten minutes and was systematically punished for this cardinal sin throughout the duration of the show. But as always it was in good jest and Stuart appeared to take it well.

Which is just the way Mrs Dame Cookie liked it. Full of innuendo and strutting around the stage with a camp flamboyance that makes Julian Clary look like Rambo, the Cookie monster plays it for laughs and gets a lot of them with some wicked one-liners and playful use of the word ‘Dick’.

But where would Dick be without a villain to test his mettle against? And in King Rat, you have the sort of hissing, plummy voiced rodent that the good guys love to hate. He’s mean, disease-riddled, untrustworthy and great to jeer at, he also does a mean Freddie Mercury impersonation to boot.

Lastly but by no means least, you’ve got Tom Tom the cat. A graceful feline, who’s also a Sat Nav, to help Dick through his troubled travels and bring the production bang into the 21st Century.

Oh! And super rugby ref Nigel Owens also makes a cameo as the British Prime Minister.

All in all, How much more bang do you want for your buck?