While there are many romcoms whose plot points or gender dynamics have soured somewhat over time in the eyes of their viewers, few seem as low-hanging fruit as Pretty Woman. The film romanticises a week-long dalliance between a calculating, reserved businessman, Edward, and the high-spirited prostitute, Vivian, who he’s paying for 24/7 access to.

Watching it again this past weekend, however, ahead of the stage show, I was pleasantly surprised by the quality. Powered by Julia Roberts and Richard Gere’s phenomenal chemistry, the subtle depth of the script, and the tight runtime, it was a touching romp.

Perhaps part of Pretty Woman’s success, coming off the tail end of the heady, capitalistic eighties, is it seemed alive to the (dubious) values of the moment it was capturing: upward mobility and materialism.

Two moments particularly capture this, on both screen and stage.

In one, Edward is too afraid of heights to go onto the balcony. At one point, Vivian wonders why he booked a penthouse hotel room and Edward replies simply ‘Because it’s the best’. This is said without a shred of irony and perfectly captures the materialism of the time: net worth as self-worth.

In the other, Vivian’s character mentions not having completed school. Edward then says he went ‘all the way’ with his education, implying that his success and wealth are self-made and possible for anyone. The American Dream.

And though your mileage may vary, the end of the film has a sustaining beauty to me. While referencing a fairytale, it has an ambiguity about the future between the two leads that gives it richness and depth. The meaning comes not from the happily ever after, but that in their short, charged time together, these two jaded loners gave each other hope for themselves. In each other, they found someone worth lowering the drawbridge for, however briefly. What’s more romantic than that?

So how did the show, one of a spate of musical adaptations to grace the New Theatre on tour this year, measure up?

First, let’s address the thorns. Julia Roberts's interpretation of her Vivian was so positively brimming with effervescence that she seemed like she might overflow. Amber Davies, by contrast, is brassy and curt and delivers her lines almost accusatory (although I do wonder if that’s less the choice of Davies than the broader, cartoonish tone the director set for the show).

While Richard Gere’s Edward was enigmatic and poised, Oliver Savile’s Edward here is boyishly earnest and open, implausibly bursting into song immediately about his nascent feelings for Vivian.

This direction simply does not ring true: Edward’s sensitivity makes his supposed career as a cutthroat businessman feel implausible, just as Vivian’s hostility makes Edward’s feelings towards her seem unlikely.

While music is essential for a musical, most of the songs Bryan Adams crafted here, particularly for the two leads, are schmaltzy, unmemorable ballads that seem tacked on and repetitive. And while both Savile and Davies have stunning voices, there is no sizzle between them, nor even much warmth. It’s as though they’re acting through one another.

There’s also the sense that the story here seems scandalised by its source material.

The stage show seems to go to absolute pains to point out that Vivian never wanted this life, never felt she belonged, and that she is not like the other sex workers. The hoops of apology her character jumps through, while simultaneously singing about how strong and empowered she is, left a prim, icky aftertaste. Ironically, in trying to update and ‘empower’ its characters, the story felt much more condescending and paternalistic than the original movie, and weirdly, less feminist.

Perhaps the most egregious example of this is Vivian’s best friend and roommate Kit (Annell Odarty, with an absolute powerhouse vocal performance), who is also a sex worker. Here, she claims she’s always wanted to be a police officer. We are told she then approaches an undercover policeman and he tells of the police academy’s new scheme to get people from all walks of life onto the force.

It’s a wildly unbelievable turn, which seemed strictly there to reassure the audience no sympathetic character remained a sex worker by curtain call.

Finally, Curtis Patrick, in the double role of Happy Man/Mr Thompson the Hotel Manager, gets nearly an equal third of the stage time. The two characters seem to be there to serve as a sort of Greek Chorus. But the sheer volume of the roles (particularly played by one actor, which is how they’ve been written to be) feels misguided and bizarre: from solos and dance numbers to popping up in random scenes. Patrick acted, sang and danced his heart out, and was a genuinely magnetic presence, but I couldn’t help feeling the time could have been used to give the two leads some much-needed chemistry.

Now for the roses. The show’s choreography and costumes were phenomenal, and some clever gags had me in stitches. The script is very, very loyal to the film (if you have a favourite of the many iconic lines in the film, you’re pretty much guaranteed to be hearing it).

If you like classic, slow-paced Broadway ballads, you may also find more to love in the music than I did. The atmosphere is almost aggressively sweet, fun and lighthearted. Perhaps most importantly, the audience around me seemed to adore it.

Ultimately, this is a bright, broad, pantomime-toned musical, which will make for a crowd-pleasing winter warmer, even if it has to fight its source material to deliver.