The first of George Michael's two sold-out London megashows on Sunday was big on bling but low on spark. Billed as the Final Two in knowing reference to Wham!'s 1986 Wembley Stadium swansong, the Final, these back-to-back concerts mark the culmination of two years and 100-plus dates in Michael's tour to promote his 2006 greatest hits collection, Twenty Five. Backed by a crack team of session musicians, lurking discreetly in the shadows on stacked platforms at the rear of the stage, the 45-year-old singer has had ample time to polish these songs to clinical perfection.

Perched on a spectacular supersized video screen that folded across the stage like a waterfall, Michael wore smoked-glass shades and an understated brown blazer for most of the two-hours-plus set. He still has that Rolls-Royce singing voice, fluid yet powerful, even if he looks more like a wholesome daytime TV presenter than a raunchy soul-pop singer these days. Despite wiggling his hips suggestively, this performance was more Cliff than Elvis.

Unlike many stars with 100 million album sales behind them, Michael has a warm and self-deprecating stage manner. Barely 15 minutes into Sunday's set, he was joking about his notorious 1998 arrest for a “lewd act” in a Beverly Hills public toilet. Later, he donned an LAPD uniform to re-enact the witty video for Outside, his inspired and defiant musical riposte to the arrest. Just last year, the singer sportingly appeared alongside Ricky Gervais in the Extras Christmas special, spoofing the incident once more.

Sadly, such playful touches were rare on Sunday. Michael's humour and charm rarely came across in his songs, which remain confined by the 1980s rulebook of soulful sophistication, all manicured jazz-funk and monochrome sincerity. While contemporaries such as Madonna and U2 have overhauled their sound and stage presentation, Michael continues to resist reinvention. Consequently much of this set had a distinctly dated feel, as if preserved in aspic from 15 or 20 years ago.

Admittedly Michael played half a dozen flawless classics, from the lush ballads Father Figure and Different Corner to the rousing, roof-raising anthem Freedom 90. But he virtually ignored his Wham! back catalogue, opting instead for large helpings of his more recent, blandly faceless funk-pop. He clearly still has the talent and charisma of a major pop star, but nothing is naffer than yesterday's stifling notions of good taste.

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