"Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat". New Theatre, Oxford.

All I can say is, Eh bien, raise your berets to a joyful, original and utterly irresistible revival of Andrew Lloyd-Webber's and Tim Rice's early, and most beloved, collaboration.

Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat may be almost old enough to get free prescriptions at Boots, but it still feels as fresh as the day it first got young fans hooked on Genesis as a fifteen-minute pop cantata in a school hall. Lloyd-Webber himself had already given up on Oxford after one term at Magdalen. But with this show he's back in town again, and I'd be more than happy to give him an honorary degree in Entertainment.

Joseph has evolved over the years, with new songs and dances bulking out those fifteen minutes of fun to a blink-and-you’d-miss-it two hours. Like the multi-coloured coat itself, the show is a patchwork of pastiches, incorporating rock, country, calypso, Piaf-style chanson, and pop anthem. I've seen it so many times, from its 'basic' days, through the Jason Donovan rebirth, and countless school productions.

This production outdoes them all. And the main reason for that is its biggest and most daring new idea: the way it includes, trusts and gives responsibility to child performers.

Normally children provide a backing choir in Joseph - a reminder that this is a story for kids. Essentially it treats them as a Jackanory listening audience that occasionally produces a melodic 'Aaaaaaah'.

But in director Laurence Connor's vision, the kids take over, and not one of them looks older than ten.

Joseph's brothers, Benjamin and Judah, are played by a pair of minuscule boys with obviously false beards. The unfortunate goat who is supposed to get ripped to shreds by the brothers is a girl in a goat costume who draws the line at being sacrificed, and walks off stage in a huff, dignity intact. Potiphar, normally an old Pantaloon, is a cocky little kid (and in a sensitive move that defangs the outdated notion of the frustrated and sexually predatory housewife, the Narrator plays Mrs Potiphar). The imprisoned butler and baker are a girl and boy with wonderful singing voices. And the Benjamin Calypso - another moment which might nowadays raise cultural hackles - is rendered both harmless and delightful through being sung by children. Forget School of Rock. This is School of Pyramids.

If anyone reading this is old enough to remember The Double Deckers (here's a link), that's the troupe these kids most resemble: fizzing with energy, precision, talent and enthusiasm. And when they reappear at the end, back in simple, modern clothes, to wheel Joseph's golden chariot off into the wings, the sense of completion and compassion was too much for this reviewer. I wept into my notebook.

This production is about enjoyment first and last, and there's just so much to enjoy everywhere you look. The Narrator, played by the insanely talented Christina Bianco, doesn't just sing. She uses her background as a vocal impressionist to become Edith Piaf, she corrals the children like Julie Andrews, she plays the elderly father Jacob while winking reassuringly at the audience, and as Potiphar's wife she even transforms into a giant leopard.

Adam Filipe as Joseph is simply ideal: bursting with cockiness and musical style, and sporting the now-obligatory chiselled torso (although he is outdone in the pec department by Alex Woodward's ripped Pharaoh). His rendition of Close Every Door To Me is the most powerful I've ever heard, moving beyond the confines of his own cell to encompass the generational trauma of the Jewish people in the 20th century, bitterly accepting a number instead of his name, and yearning for a land to call home.

Brilliant and funny dance routines pop up in places they've never been seen before. Joseph's Dream now includes a cool and catchy tap dance, and perhaps the standout number of the whole show, Those Canaan Days, is interrupted by, of all things, a Can-Can, on the hilariously silly basis that Can-Can sounds like Canaan.

Morgan Large's set design is evocative, witty and, well, frankly quite beautiful. Egypt simply glows with gold, and the massive statues of Horus and Anubis actually open their mouths to sing along with Pharaoh's Elvis-pastiche showstopper. The back of the stage is dominated by a massive setting sun, simply but effectively evoking the heat and vast deserts of the Red Sea coast. Ben Cracknell's lighting is a perfect complement, and I nearly knelt down with respect and gratitude when his set-framing light tubes changed shade to match every colour in Joseph's coat in the right order and in perfect time with the words.

Sound Design is not the sort of thing that often gets a mention, but here, Gareth Owen's mix is simply phenomenal. Although good and loud, this show doesn't have that distorted feel that amplification often produces. Every voice, every instrument, every spit of a camel, is clear as a biblical bell. And the orchestra, under John Rigby, is tight as a well-tuned nut.

It all just goes to show, creating entertainment of this incredibly high standard is no accident. Technical prowess, artistic skill and sheer imaginative vision are required. Producer Michael Harrison makes it look easy. It's not.

Until tonight, the closing song, Any Dream Will Do, had always struck me as a bit of an afterthought. It didn't seem to have much to do with the rest of the story. At last, after 58 years, it makes sense. As the show comes to a close, the Narrator returns to her little group of children sitting on stools listening intently, as if the entire show had been in their imaginations. 'May I return to the beginning', sings Joseph. And that is exactly where they are.