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The Prom is an exuberant love letter to Broadway’s “Let’s put on a show!” ethos that will earworm you till the new year and proves how a great musical – armed with a heartfelt story – unites like nothing else can.

The movie has a universalist spirit that’s wired into its very form. It turns doing the right thing into a fizzy and elating high-camp showbiz high.

The Prom is as corny as you like, and there is hardly a plot turn, transition or song-cue that can’t be guessed well in advance; but it’s so goofy that you just have to enjoy it, and there are some very funny lines.

With a star-studded cast, dazzling design, and thrilling dance numbers, The Prom is the best of what Murphy can offer Hollywood — a taste of the past with its eyes on the future.

Overall, it’s as cheesy and just as hard to resist as a Mamma Mia! with smoother production values and a LGBTQ+ heart. The fact that Meryl Streep connects the two is a delight: at 71, this is an actress who still knows how to have a good time in her craft, and the viewer can feel the joy in it.

The Prom is a loud, proud glitter-ball of a film, and doesn’t pretend to be anything else. It stumbles in the second half and the relentless cheer is a little exhausting, but its energy and wit remains infectious.

The whole thing drips with garish insincerity and preaching to the choir. Irony of ironies, that a show about out-of-touch luvvies swanning down to wave their magic wands at red-state intolerance has become… the spitting image of that, as a home cinema offering from Murphy and team.

The starry casting and heavy hand of director Ryan Murphy do the featherweight material few favors, with inert dramatic scenes and overblown musical numbers contributing to the general bloat. The movie's most undeniable value is in the representation it provides to LGBTQ teens via a high school dance that is every emotionally isolated queer kid's rainbow dream.

On stage, the contrivances might seem less glaring (although the songs truly are terrible). As a movie, The Prom is all-star, feel-good, zazzy nonsense. Long after Murphy’s film drops its cutesy cynicism, it still manages to accidentally produce a damning indictment of Broadway phoniness.

Some of the songs have charm. The cast is undeniably talented. But ultimately, the film has way too much in common with the egomaniacs at its center: It poses for an undeniably good cause, but its greater purpose is to collect the credit for having done it.