As I'm neither a 5-year-old nor a menopausal Disney fanatic, a dubbed Disney mash-up is not the kind of performance I typically attend.

And yet, I found myself recently at the Beijing Exhibition Center Theater surrounded by the glistening, bald heads of skinny 5-year-old boys and the perky pigtails of their female counterparts. I was watching Mickey's Music Festival that claimed to be a "lively concert experience guaranteed to deliver enough rockin' memories to last a lifetime."

At first, I was skeptical of this description. Five minutes into the show, I still had not received my quota of "rockin' memories". Compared to the elaborate Disney on Ice shows and Lion King Broadway musicals I had watched before, this one was strictly mediocre.

Mickey, an actor trapped in a rotund plastic Mickey Mouse suit and disproportionately large Mickey Mouse ears strutted around with his "friends", a team of pretty-faced dancers clad in Converse and miniskirts and pink polyester ties.

"Everybody clap your hands," exclaimed Minnie. Her voice, however, was dubbed in Chinese, the painfully coquettish falsetto plainly out of place.

But the kids around me watched in awe, their backs upright, mouths gaping and necks strained in anticipation. Even young parents with widened eyes toting wriggling children on their laps were unable to restrain their own enthusiasm.

Here is the truth: It does not take much to sell Disney to the public. Disney has universal appeal. Disney songs are the most popular ones at karaoke bars. Disney is Disney.

All you need to do is throw together a couple of actors in mouse and duck suits on a stage and you've got a lively show and a full, enthusiastic audience. All you have to do is dress your cast in tacky Arabic costume and tell the love story of Aladdin and Jasmine, and voila - you've got your audience enraptured.

And that is precisely what the directors of Mickey's Music Festival did. By the time Aladdin (a dashing young man with tanned limbs and a six-pack) graced the stage and began bantering with the Genie (a stout man in a turquoise blow-up suit), I was overwhelmed with nostalgia.

I remembered how years ago, as a 6-year-old, I would sit on the couch by the TV at home with a plate of sliced apples and watch Aladdin woo his princess.

I was no longer slumped back with my legs propped on the seat in front of me, eyeing the stage wearily. I was like the kids, sitting with my back upright and my neck strained.

At first, I silently mouthed the words of the actors, in the hope of concealing my interest and retaining what was left of my dignity. My efforts, however, proved to be futile. The kids began to clap in unison. I slowly uncrossed my arms and began to feebly pat my hands together. Eventually, I succumbed to the crowd mentality and Disney's undeniable universality, and ended up singing along to A Whole New World.

I must have been a strange sight - a 1.74 meter teenager sitting amid an audience of laughing parents and babies, watching costumed actors prance around onstage while singing in Chinese, "Tell me princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?" It must have been bizarre.

And yet, no one gave me a second glance. At that moment, it seemed perfectly natural. It was Disney after all. Anybody, young or old, at home or in public, New York or Abu Dhabi or Beijing, could sing Disney out loud and get away with it.

I did.