When I reviewed the last visit of Fame to the Congress two years ago, I suggested its sell-by date might be threatening.

How silly of me to have missed its notorious claim - garnered, perhaps, from the most unappetising of dairy products. After the riotous acclaim that met its return on Tuesday, I may now have to accept that it is, indeed, "gonna live forever!"

I'm all for critics being force-fed humble pie.

Maybe the show's undeniable zest in a string of song-and-dance numbers is entertainment enough.

More worrying is the suspicion that a faute de mieux situation applies - there is simply a lack of guaranteed bankable musicals suitable for national tours.

For the moment, the "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" formula is working well enough. I guess I should be booking this space for similar speculations in 2004 right now.

The vibrancy of the score and the high-octane (though slightly monotonous) dance sequences continued to impress in Karen Bruce's new take on the production.

Some individual performances were very impressively sung and the set design and lighting script served to keep the audience's attention on its toes as effectively as the cast.

The problem was the story. Alan Parker's 1980 film provoked real engagement with the trials of those proto-Fame Academy wannabes.

The television series was saccharine but still believable.

The musical, sadly, dumbed down the characterisation to a flimsiness beyond credibility and interest.

It seemed to me that, in a show about the hard work that separates fulfilment from disappointment and failed hope, a response of "who cares?" just wasn't enough.

In the cast, Ben Heathcote made, you might have said, a big thing of his boastful song Can't Keep It Down and Melanie La Barrie and Serena Katz both hit the spot in their respective solo numbers.

The other principal boys were helium-filled lightweights with the exception of Chris Copeland's provocative and exhaustingly-danced Tyrone.

The band was more guts than finesse and relentlessly loud - it was an evening to challenge the most narcoleptic and was much enjoyed by a large audience with (thank the gods of theatre-going) plenty of youngsters among them.

Even this old curmudgeon has had his scepticism dented.