The Midnight Gang review: David Walliams channels Roald Dahl's zany imagination in delightful children's tale

The BBC drama has a big heart and a beautiful yet devastating ending

The comedian in his latest drama set in a children’s hospital (BBC)

For those who know David Walliams as a judge on Britain’s Got Talent, or for his crass, howlingly dated sketch comedy Little Britain (a show I can never forgive for tarnishing my surname), it might come as a surprise to learn that in his side job, he has quietly made a name for himself as one of the world’s most beloved children’s authors. Heralded as the heir to Roald Dahl (his first two books were even illustrated by Quentin Blake), Walliams has sold around 1.1 million copies of his award-winning books, which include Billionaire Boy, Gangsta Granny and The Boy in the Dress. Not once, mercifully, do of any of those characters say, “yeah but no but yeah but”.

At certain points during The Midnight Gang (BBC1), the latest of Walliams’ creations to be turned into a BBC film, the Roald Dahl homage almost veers into plagiarism. Take the scene, for example, in which a 99-year-old woman crashes through a glass ceiling and floats away across London – it’s pure Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. For the most part, though, the 60-minute family drama simply channels Dahl’s zany imagination, steadfast morality and wicked wit.

That wit, in particular, is a delight. Especially when it comes to Matron (Haydn Gwynne), a Nurse Ratched-like figure in charge of the children’s hospital ward where The Midnight Gang is set. When a cricket ball to the head lands Tom (Oliver Zetterström) – a young, friendless boy who resembles a meek Milkybar Kid – in hospital, he finds himself at the mercy of the sadistic chief nurse. There is to be no laughter, she tells him, no toys or games, and “boys and girls use the toilet on alternate days, except for Sundays when it’s reserved as a foot bath”.

Walliams has clearly had a riot writing Matron’s pernicious dialogue. She tells the other kids – including self-appointed leader Amber (India Brown), Robin (Josh Gottlieb), and Sally (Zaris-Angel Hator), by far the sickest of the bunch – that fellow patient George’s parents are in prison. If anything goes missing, she announces, they’ll know who to blame. “That ain’t not fair,” cries George. “That’s a double negative, George,” she says calmly. “Like your mum and dad.” It is cruel, heartless, and deliciously funny.

Matron’s soon out of the way, though, thanks to a questionable ruse involving chocolates laced with sleeping pills, and Tom discovers the magic that happens when the sun goes down. The hospital porter (Alan Davies), an ostensibly frightening figure with a hunched back and a facial disfigurement, has been spending his nights making kids’ wishes come true. Using a healthy dose of imagination, he helps Robin conduct an orchestra, Amber trek through the North Pole, and George fly.

But Sally, who doesn’t know if she’s ever going to make it out of the hospital, simply wishes for a “big, beautiful life”. The resulting scene, which owes a large debt to Me and Earl and the Dying Girl is one of the most affecting things I’ve seen on TV this year. To the bittersweet strains of “(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher”, using props, cardboard cutouts and a projector, the gang whizz Sally through the life she might never get to lead. Over the course of a few minutes, she goes to prom, gets her exam results, drinks cocktails in the sun, gets married, and retires – all from the confines of her hospital bed.

It is a beautiful yet devastating scene – a fitting climax to a drama with a big heart.