Begone, dull Disney! Away, all the other accretions to Carlo Collodi’s magical morality tale of the puppet who turns into a boy. Mark Thomson, the artistic director of Edinburgh’s repertory theatre, has gone back to the 1881 Italian original of Pinocchio and started with — well, with a piece of wood.

If that sounds less than promising, that’s what the cast think too.

Having begun with one of those bright and earnest ensemble storytelling routines, they go off in a sulk when they find out what the story is about. But Thomson has a good deal of fun subverting expectations such as this right from the word go, telling in the most straightforward way what is a far from straightforward story, and flying in a small tree trunk to get things moving again. It is no ordinary tree trunk, of course and, under Gepetto’s ministrations, it quickly becomes Pinocchio.

It is an ingenious beginning and Thomson, who is no slouch as a writer, never mind as a director, needs plenty more where that came from. Going back to Collodi’s story may bring dividends but is not without its challenges. The writer himself left Pinocchio hanging from a tree at the end of the first published version and only went back to it later to add nearly as much again before we get to the whale. As a consequence, Pinocchio is full of false ends and random episodes.

The biggest challenge, however, is that the original story is full of Samuel Smiles-style lessons for life, which come thudding regularly over the footlights: learn who to trust; actions have consequences; loyalty counts; and, most famously, don’t tell lies. Mostly what saves the Lyceum’s handsome — but far from lavish — production from being dragged into a twee morality tale is a sensational performance by James Anthony Pearson as the puppet. Apart from bags of energy and some handy physicality, his serious expression makes you feel that he really is learning all this for the first time. When he finally becomes “a real boy”, thanks to the azure-haired fairy, the green fisherman and Alidoro the mad dog (among other characters Thomson has resurrected), you feel that Pearson has properly earned it.

It is not all japes and capers. The fat controller who takes the children off to the Land of Toys, played with real malevolence by Molly Innes in a grotesque fat suit, will haunt the dreams of more than a few before the festive season is over. But Thomson explicitly trusts the power of the story to carry even little ones with it, uses some low-tech theatre tricks to great effect (the growing nose is economically handled), has the invaluable Jon Beales in the pit for the music and a strong company who throw themselves into it with all the necessary commitment. The result is something genuinely original — and how often can you say that at this time of year?

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