TORONTO -- In one of the more bizarre romps through kiddy-lit in recent memory, playwright Colleen Murphy launches her latest work in turf made familiar in the enduring tale of The Pied Piper Of Hamelin.

In a mere two-and-a-half hours, her audience ends up in territory oddly reminiscent of The Emperor's New Clothes, aching for a childish voice to ring out from the audience, correctly identifying what has transpired -- not as the great art director Richard Rose would have us believe it to be, but rather as the pretentious pap it truly is.
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