‘Paddington: The Musical’ review: London has one of the best family shows in years

At one point during “Paddington: The Musical” at the Savoy Theatre in London, I could swear I saw the bear actually start to cry.

That’s impossible, of course. Pad’s a puppet. 

But his artificiality is easy to forget, because the adorable creature designed by Tahra Zafar is so instantly real from the second he takes the stage to entrance applause that the audience wants to file interspecies adoption papers.

The artistry behind the Peruvian marmalade fanatic is impeccable; a mesmerizing fur de force. 

Not to mention a huge relief for fans of the books and movies. Getting Paddington perfect down to the very last hair was essential. Otherwise, there’d be no show — or, at least, an extremely awkward one. 

Well, the production figured it out — and how. One of London’s hottest tickets, “Paddington” is the best family musical in years. It’s surely the finest since “Matilda.” 

Now, the show is not 100% there yet. Composer Tom Fletcher and book writer Jessica Swale need to get their claws out and cut about 15 minutes of hibernation fat. A couple kiddos in front of me were getting restless toward the end.  

Even so, the experience on the whole is a truly magical one. Broadway must be eyeing this big-hearted little bear with envy, because New York’s got nothing close that hasn’t already been chugging along for over a decade.

Back to the bear. While the title role is a feat of innovation, he couldn’t be further from a cold theme park robot. Paddington radiates a richness and a soul, thanks to a pair of humans lending him their personality.

The character is not animatronic — well, not completely. An actress (Arti Shah) puppeteers the body from inside a surely sweltering suit. At the same time, actor (James Hameed, with a voice as pure as snow) does triple duty as he sings, talks and remote-controls Paddington’s facial expressions offstage. The combo of tech and performer is seamless. 

Forget trying to fool kids. It’s the emotional adults who have to keep it together.

Just as harmonious as the main event is Fletcher’s witty pop score, which pleasantly falls somewhere between “Dear Evan Hansen” and “Matilda,” and Swale’s wholesome but intelligent and funny script.

If you’ve seen the excellent first “Paddington” film starring Ben Whishaw, the stage adventure hits the same beats while carving out its own unique, theatrical identity.

A gentle bear from “darkest Peru” arrives on a train in London. Lost and alone, he’s taken in by the Brown family of Windsor Gardens. They decide to name him after the station they found him in: Paddington. 

Mrs. Brown’s passion is drawing comic books. As the dreamer mom, Amy Ellen Richardson sings a warm ballad about her goal of “saving the world one page at a time.”

Her buttoned-up husband works as a risk analyst and appropriately lives in fear of the unknown — such as inviting a talking animal into his home. 

Actor Adrian Der Gregorian gives into Mr. Brown’s lack of enthusiasm a tad too much. When dad lets his hair down at a posh office party with a rock ‘n’ roll headbanger, it should be hilarious — like the stern Salvation Army leader of “Guys and Dolls” joining in on “Sit Down You’re Rocking the Boat.” Alas, he barely budges.

Delilah Bennett-Cardy plays their teen daughter Judy, who’s going through a rebel phase, and young Jasper Rowse nails the nine-year-hold Doogie Howser-type brainy prodigy Jonathan.

The music by Fletcher, formerly of the band McFly, is more varied than you’d expect, with moving anthems, a group sing-a-long ode to marmalade featuring campy human oranges and a Cruella de Vil-style baddie introduction. 

A spirited ode to the UK’s capital city with a calypso is called “Rhythm of London.”

And in the payback tune “Hard Stare,” the bear gets his own “Eye of the Tiger.” 

The most ruthless spotlight hoggers, other than the fuzzball, are his grizzly enemies. They chew scenery with even more gusto than Nicole Kidman, Hugh Grant and Olivia Colman do in the films. Hard to believe, I know.

Tom Edden is a chatty, angry Mr. Bean, who constantly whips out zany physical gags as get-off-my-lawn cab driver Mr. Curry.   

And there’s the snooty head of the Geographers Guild, who the fantastic Amy Booth-Steel wrings laughs out of as she pretentiously mispronounces basic words. I chuckled every single time she called her high-class group’s members “mahm-bahs.”

But best is the sadistic taxidermist Millicent Clyde, who has one foreboding empty spot in her collection of stuffed creatures bearing the word “bear.”

Lent a sultry voice by Victoria Hamilton-Barritt, who I last saw here as the stepmom in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s (pre-“Bad”) “Cinderella,” she makes Jafar and Ursula look like tax auditors. Her calling-card number “Pretty Little Dead Things” is absolutely wicked. Hamilton-Barritt is a knockout.

We’re not always in the land of milk and marmalade. A number that tickled the audience more than I was that of Mrs. Bird, the quirky Scottish woman who lives with the Browns. Bonnie Langford acts with broad winks and, in a random tune called “It’s Never Too Late,” breaks character and sings about how she once appeared in “Cats” and then does the splits.

As Broadway audiences saw in “Old Friends,” that’s a favorite go-to move of hers, even in Sondheim! The song, however silly, is a scenic detour at a point where we want the quickest route.

Road bumps are few and far between.

Luke Sheppard’s staging — and I mean this nicely — has more bells and whistles than an instrument emporium. Flyers reading “Have you seen this bear?” rain down from the ceiling. And this marks the first time I’ve ever come face to face with a water cannon in a theater. It’s all in the service of genuine fun, instead of dime-a-dozen manufactured attraction.

Let’s face it, though. Nothing can top Paddington.

When he, or rather the wonderful Hameed, sings his soaring ear-worm of a ballad called “The Explorer and the Bear” near the end of Act 1, the animal’s eyes realistically close as he hits the high notes, a la Adele or Celine.

That’s when I thought, “Huh. Maybe Paddington really did cry.”