Unto us a child is born is something you hear an awful lot every year during the month of December.

Usually, the phrase starts to run out steam right around December 26. This year, however, it is experiencing an unexpected resurgence thanks to a little British girl named Matilda. Roald Dahl's telekinetic tyke finally arrived on Broadway last week, just over two years after its initial bow on London's West End, dragging its numerous Olivier Awards along behind it. Sensational word-of-mouth had been trickling over from across the pond for months, and I'm happy to report that its smash-hit status is completely deserved. The magic starts from the very moment one enters the theatre. Designed by Rob Howell (who also did the costumes), the igneous exploded Scrabble board of a set is a character all its own, calling to mind Eugene Lee's panoramic work on shows like Dude and Sweeney Todd, with the world of the play overflowing into the audience. His costumes are equally good: each character's basic template is clearly defined before they speak a single line. When Howell's work is combined with Hugh Vanstone's superb lighting design, the playful, complex world of Matilda becomes a living thing that seems to have a mind all its own. Much of Matilda's appeal comes from Tim Minchin's letter-perfect score, with an assist from a faithful, genuinely well-crafted book by Dennis Kelly. Primarily a comedian, Minchin shows himself a natural musical theatre composer, with every song emerging from or furthering the development of the plot and characters. His lyrics, too, are some of the best heard on Broadway in many a season. Their craft is apparent in the very first song, where by the second verse, a teacher has sung that it seems that there are millions of these one-in-a-millions these days, followed a few lines later by Is it some modern miracle of calculus/ That such frequent miracles don't render each one miraculous? His gleeful, ingenious rhymes are often dependent on the execution of a middle-class London accent, a touch that only adds to the evening's charm. Kelly's book, too, is high on charm and humor, even if Mr. Wormwood's insistence on calling Matilda a boy only moderately funny in the first place has worn incredibly thin by the twentieth repetition. Director Matthew Warchus proves that the fiasco of last season's Ghost was merely a misstep. His work on this visually sumptuous production is top-notch. There's been carping among some critics that his direction is too unsentimental, but anything less would have watered down Dahl and hurt the overall tone of the show. It is impossible to overstate the impact that choreographer Peter Darling and orchestrator Chris Nightingale have on the production. On paper, the second act is tonally darker than the first, leaving the possibility of another Camelot wide open. On stage, however, the show maintains a remarkably consistent character and tone throughout, thanks in large part to their labors. Nightingale's robust orchestrations capture playful, macabre humor that was Dahl's specialty, and Darling's energetic choreography draws from the impulsive, ungraceful movements familiar to anyone who has ever spent time around young children. Speaking of which, I refuse to believe that the young ensemble of children are actually under thirteen. Eight nights a week, they perform complicated choreography that would wind experienced adults. The performances are top-notch across the board. Gabriel Ebert and Lesli Margherita deliver hilariously theatrical, over-the-top performances as Matilda's parents, complemented by Taylor Trensch's one-note portrayal of Michael Wormwood a portrayal, I hasten to add, that is no reflection of his acting ability. The character exists to sit there and display a complete lack of brains there's not even an attempt made to develop him further. Frenie Acoba, one of the pint-sized wonders mentioned above, is winningly optimistic and stubborn (and maybe slightly ADHD) as Matilda's self-proclaimed

best friend. As Bruce, the young boy who steals a piece of Miss Trunchbull's cake, Jack Broderick (lately of Into the Woods in Central Park) makes the most of his big moment at the end of the first act, and Philip Spaeth is great as the stereotypically over-passionate Rudolpho. Much has been made of Bertie Carvel's hilarious turn as Miss Trunchbull, and rightly so. His has been dubbed the best performance of the season, and, while undoubtedly good, I found it to pale in the shadow of Lauren Ward's wonderfully grounded, nuanced performance as Miss Honey, the teacher torn between fear of Miss Trunchbull and a sense of responsibility for the emotionally neglected Matilda. Unfortunately, the less showy a performance is, the less likely it is to be recognized. It's a shame, because if ever a performer deserved accolades upon accolades, it's Lauren Ward as Miss Honey.