Dirty Dancing, the stage adaptation of the iconic 1987 film, is kitschy, uninspired and almost insultingly vapid. At its best, it is moderately enjoyable; at its worst, which is approximately 90% of the show, it is tedious and painful. Yes, I found myself physically pained by the theatrical atrocity being committed before my £35-paying eyes.

It may come as a surprise, then, that Dirty Dancing is possibly the most successful West End show in history. Well, financially, at least. It sold £13 million in tickets before the show even opened (a London record) and is currently sold-out through May. Packed audiences whoop and weep nightly. They even buy the tacky pink Dirty Dancing paraphernalia. (Kellerman's hot pants, anyone?)

Still, don't let these facts fool you: Dirty Dancing is appallingly bad.

Dirty Dancing is set in the summer of 1963, at Kellerman's, a chichi resort in New York State's Catskill mountains. There, while on vacation with her family, Baby Houseman, a young, awkward, yet unconventionally attractive girl, meets bad boy Johnny Castle, a supposedly irresistible working-class dance instructor. He teaches her to dance dirtily and they fall in love. Of course, their love is forbidden. Baby's father, a respectable Brooklyn doctor, disapproves.

But wait, there's also the hilarious pretence of social relevance! The show is, after all, set in the tumultuous early 60's. So, naturally, the rich Ivy League waiters want to travel to Alabama as freedom-riders, one of the dancers endures a back-alley abortion, and let's not forget the coup de grace: in once scene, some random black girl, hitherto not seen in the show, sings "We Shall Overcome" as a giant image of Martin Luther King, Jr. is projected on a two-story-tall screen. This is both illogical (from a theatrical perspective) and disprespectful (to the legacy of a great civil-rights leader).

The two leads have a seemingly simple task: they don't have to sing (nearly all the singing is done by glorified extras—sometimes from off-stage!), the script isn't exactly Waiting for Godot, so delivery shouldn't have been a challenge, and the dancing is, although central to the effectiveness of the show, quite simplistic (relative to West Side Story’s choreography, for example). Needless to say, they still manage to fuck it all up.

Johnny is played by Australian-born Josef Brown. His dancing is sensual and consistently strong, but in no way extraordinary. His acting, however, is extraordinary. Extraordinarily awful. He begins each sentence with a crisp, cool Californian accent, but has, by the end of the line, as if exhausted by the arduous task of attempting to act, regressed into a thick Aussie twang. His Adonis-like physique is admittedly impressive, but still, he lacks both the charm and, most detrimentally, the talent of Patrick Swayze. (Who, incidentally,   refused to have anything to do with the new production.) Baby, played by Georgina Rich, is less noticeably awful, which isn’t saying much. She appears to have been cast as the leading lady for one reason only: her uncanny resemblance to Jennifer Grey. The one commendable performance in the entire show was that of David Rintoul, who plays Baby's father with brio and (in the context of the rest of the show) nuance.

Unlike a conventional musical, in which the songs help tell the story, the songs in Dirty Dancing are little more than coincidental, and at times completely irrelevant. Most of the songs are early-60s pop classics, such as "This Magic Moment," "Mama Said," and "Duke of Earl." Of course, only a few of these are actually sung by the actors. Most are sung by the glorified extras who stand gracelessly upstage.

The only true show-stopper is the much-hyped finale, "(I've Had) The Time of My Life." I must admit, this was a legitimately brilliant musical number. Some might even call it fabulous. But then again, it should be noted that my friend and I had five shots of vodka at intermission. Perhaps that's the secret to enjoying Dirty Dancing: get completely, impossibly inebriated.

If for some reason (for example, masochism) you still want to see the show, tickets and additional information are available at the Aldwych Theatre. For credit card bookings, call 0870 400 0845.