An American in Paris- a West End feast for the eyes.

An American in Paris- a West End feast for the eyes.

George Gershwin would have been immensely proud of his musical masterpiece. In fact his brother Ira would have been beside himself with sibling pride knowing fully that his brother had produced one of the most recognisable and much loved of productions. George Gershwin's An American in Paris is still packing them in at London's Dominion Theatre in the Tottenham Court Road and the public have responded warmly to one of the great and enduring classics of the 20th century, once a film and now a musical still deeply acclaimed by the masses in the 21st century. The theatrical, show stopping musical can never be underestimated as a force for good.

So there we were, my father in law, wife and I at the heart of London's West End in the busy, bustling Tottenham Court Road and there was an autumnal flavour in the air. Suddenly summer 2017 is now no more than a historical footnote and Tottenham Court Road has now prepared for the winter influx of tourists, passers by and those with the most insatiable curiosity.

But Tottenham Court Road has now experienced a noticeable change. It now has the appearance of a proper Tube railway station if indeed proper is the right expression for a station that had always been proper and popular. It is a station with highly decorative mosaics on most of the platform walls and those surrounding it, one that is now bang up to date and modern.

Outside the Tube station the atmosphere and acoustics are those of a London Tube station with its eye set firmly on the future and hearteningly ambitious. Tottenham Court Road now has some of the funkiest glass panelled entrances and exits you're ever likely to see anywhere. The front is a huge testament to glass, a station that now more closely resembles a spacecraft than a railway station.

Now the station is at the heart of the Crossrail revolution currently sweeping through the capital city of London. Tottenham Court Road now looks like a beautifully designed piece of architecture that now bears a favourable comparison to London's more high profile Euston, Paddington and Victoria without being quite as elaborate or ornate.

There is now a much more agreeable and appealing side to this area. Now Tottenham Court Road has its very own loud, pounding rock music appearing live immediately outside the station. It is quite the most extraordinary addition to the street furniture. A spectacular rock band played its heart out on the pavements of the West End and it was almost as if Glastonbury had never gone away. The beat was hypnotic, startling in its vibrancy and intensity. You were reminded of those local bands who set up their equipment in pubs without so much as a second thought. An outdoor concert next to a railway station seemed both unusual and weirdly incongruous but hey anything goes as they say.

And so to the main event of the evening. Gershwin's American in Paris is currently wowing audiences on the outskirts of London's West End theatreland. Originally a box office movie phenomenon many moons ago, An American in Paris starred the twinkle toed Gene Kelly and the quintessentially glamorous Leslie Caron with those sweet and winsome flutters of her very feminine eyelashes.

Essentially, An American in Paris is a throwback, a good, old fashioned musical with all of those sweepingly elegant flourishes that must have come so naturally to that very special Hollywood age. Here though was a West End musical but a West End musical that left you utterly enthralled and totally enamoured by. An American in Paris though was not so much a musical but quite the most expressive ballet that came as a pleasant surprise.

In fact this was the most exquisite ballet of all, one which certainly caught me out completely. A majority of West End musicals are normally toe tapping, foot stomping, finger clicking, hand clapping, boogie woogie and audience participation events with tongues in cheek and large, happy grins on their faces. Admittedly there were the unforgettable show stoppers such as 'I Got Music' but there was an abundance of ballet, delightfully delicate ballet, dancing at its most artistic and beautiful.

So, in many ways An American in Paris had charm, beauty, genuine athleticism and enchanting elegance from beginning to end. It was a swaying, flowing and utterly graceful spectacle. a show that oozed suppleness, nimbleness, flexibility, pliancy and mesmeric movement. It had genuine poetry in motion, a real sense of West End musical authenticity, passion and the now obligatory romance.

As the title suggests it tells the story of a struggling American musician with a groaning repertoire of songs in his songbook before falling helplessly in love, tripping the light fantastic with class and brimming style. Now unfolds the most sugar sweet love story ever told with more changes of scenery than I've ever seen in any West End musical.

Throughout the show there were frequent nods to the D'Oyly Carte and Sadlers Wells where some of the most refined of ballet feet ply their craft. There was a heartfelt sentimentality and dripping nostalgia about this production that must have left most of the audience with several wet tears in their eyes. Girls with pretty ballerina shoes stood on their toes while simultaneously pirouetting on those toes with impeccable poise. It almost felt as if they'd performed the same routine for as long as they could remember. Stunning.

And then the story fluttered and flitted across the Dominion stage in a vast homage to the diverse worlds of art and culture. What we were now presented with was a  singalong, happy go lucky musical with breathtaking ballet, classic tunes and generous helpings of showbiz glitter. Men grabbed hold of their girls and swung them across their bodies with a red blooded masculinity, the girls falling effortlessly into the adoring arms of their men folk. What followed were more balletic gestures, men and women blending effortlessly into floating, angelic and ethereal swishes.

By the end of An American in Paris, most of the audience had been taken right back to that shimmering Hollywood decade when everything seemed possible and nothing was beyond reach. It somehow belonged to an age where children had manners, the dining room was always set at the same time and the same place and everybody communicated with each other in the flesh rather than a Smart Phone. Call it simple innocence but that's what An American in Paris conveyed to us all. My father in law and wife loved it, felt very good about it and admired its splendidly and validly important message.

Meanwhile the rock band on the corner of Tottenham Court Road station had now gone home possibly content with their profitable evening, the rain now falling like rhythmic curtains from a charcoal black sky. Now the darkness had now taken up temporary residence and the new Route Master buses blinked and winked against a constant backdrop of humming West End traffic.

I now began to imagine what must have been going through the prolifically lyrical mind of George Gershwin when the great American songbook was in its infancy and rapidly growing. That whole honeysuckle Hollywood period now seems like a warm wind from the South Seas or a gentle breeze from some island in paradise.  I think we owe an enormous debt of gratitude to both George and Ira. There is a lot to be said for an American next to the Champs Elysses. So right and proper.