Ben-Hur, BAC, London

Up to a point, Ben-Hur is a cracking Chanukah play. Judah Ben-Hur, betrayed into slavery by the wicked Messala, saves the life of an admiral, becomes his adopted son and the greatest athlete in Rome, returns to Judea, and, in a climactic chariot race, cripples his enemy and bankrupts him too. But, while Ben-Hur is receiving the cheers of the crowd, Jewish families, and anyone sensitive to sticky Victorian propaganda, may wish to creep away. For the Prince of Hur is then told that the Messiah has arrived, one who will lift the yoke of oppression from all the Jews. (We've been wrong since, but, I think, never so badly.) The would-be liberator is reviled by his own people and killed. In his last moments, his touch cures Ben-Hur's mother and sister of leprosy. The Ben-Hur of the 1880 novel, in awe and gratitude, converts, though the BAC spares us this.

A woman behind me was in raptures over Carl Heap's production, describing it, in a phrase that always makes me want to throw up, as "marvellously inventive''. As usual, the gimmick of playing "let's pretend'' with ordinary props – tea towels are togas, a tea tray a shield – is predictable and irritatingly cute. It wasn't too long, however, before my annoyance subsided in the face of the cast's great good nature and energy. Visually, it's a bit stark, but one's attention is constantly occupied by an exciting tale performed in a way that is – well, all right – inventive. The big race (at which point Ben-Hur switches from melodrama to pantomime) was greatly enjoyable, with the audience waving flags for their favourite, human horses, and a single wheel poignantly spinning as what remains of Messala is dragged away.

Heap, who, with Tom Morris, adapted the novel, tells this busy story briskly and clearly. Will Adamsdale is a handsome, if rather Aryan-looking, Ben-Hur, noble and gentle, if a bit too much so (it's hard to believe he's really out for blood) and Rufus Jones's Messala seems too plumply complacent to be much of a threat. The best acting came from Louise Bangay, lovely and moving as Ben-Hur's mother and grimly convincing as the merchant who tricks Messala into betting away his fortune.

On the whole, then, not the jolliest Christmas show, but one that any thoughtful child should find absorbing. One such, my companion Magdalena (nearly nine), gave it nine-and-a-half marks out of 10, the half withheld for the torture scene. I had deducted two. I mean, guys, it's supposed to be Ben-Hur, not The Lieutenant of Inishmore.

To 18 Jan (020-7223 2223)