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If “Mary Poppins” is about anything at all, it’s extravagance. More than two and a half hours long, and with thirty musical numbers bursting with choreography by the energetic Matthew Bourne, Richard Eyre’s “Mary Poppins” overloads the senses to such a degree that you stumble out of the theatre in a daze. This is as it should be—certainly if you are a child, which, one assumes, is this Disney-produced show’s target audience. Subtlety of vision has never been a hallmark of Disney, and Eyre knows that. He is intelligent enough to divert us from the darker bits with, among other things, a phenomenal, constantly moving set, designed by Bob Crowley (who also took charge of the costumes): scrims and sets fly miraculously into the rafters, only to be replaced by others whenever Poppins has a change of mood. To make this particular dramaturgical medicine go down, Eyre coats the entire production (which has a book by Julian Fellowes) with spoonfuls of sugar. And we consume the empty calories gladly, not least because Eyre is a showman who means to make a success of a story that has always been somewhat fuzzy, at least on a moral level.