I had no real idea of what I was expecting walking into the Barbican for the stage adaptation of My Neighbour Totoro (the ‘u’ - correctly and cheekily - inserted into the title as the show starts). The RSC had very deliberately not released publicity photos of the puppets. Even the set is only revealed a scene or two in, and the moment of elation as this production so suddenly expands in scope and depth would be a wonderful metaphor for the whole thing. Neatly expanding both the film’s plot (from an 85 minute runtime to 2h45m on stage) and score (Joe Hisaishi being a key producer), My Neighbour Totoro takes on a deeper emotional resonance, but - thanks largely to the puppetry and light-spiritedness of the whole thing - never losing its childlike joy. I wept at times. I wanted to jump on the giant Totoro puppet’s stomach. In some moments, my breath was figuratively taken away. No one can argue that West End ticket prices aren’t insane these days, but for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’ve seen where it’s gone. Even to my adult eyes, this was pure magic - oh to have been a child in the audience seeing it (like the one at the front who very audibly whispered “hello!” to Catbus when it first arrived).