I remember having a good giggle six years ago when my husband recoiled in horror at the inclusion of a new Elven character, and her far-fetched love story, in The Hobbit. I thought it was a well-judged addition, bringing more female interest into an almost exclusively male story. My husband wasn’t buying that argument.Now it’s my turn to grumble as The Bridge Theatre brings The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe to life.
The Narnia books were the seminal stories of my childhood and from the age of eight I probably re-read them once a year. In adulthood the frequency dropped, but I doubt I’ve ever gone more than five years without revisiting the series. You might even suggest the books altered the course of my life, since that wardrobe first planted the idea in my head that the gateway to a better world sat in the English countryside. My obsession with England grew to something that eventually drew me here permanently. I’m not going to claim I can recite them by heart, but I know each of the seven Narnia tales exceptionally well and could probably dissect the mythological, literary and religious context in each off the top of my head.
Yes, I’m a Narnia geek. Which is why all of the things that weren’t right in The Bridge’s production got in the way of me really enjoying it.
There was the unnecessarily enhanced backstory. The idea that the children went to Professor Kirke’s by chance. The stripping away of the fancy accents, well-bred behaviour and proper syntax of 1940s English to give us democratised, seemingly modern kids. (The fact that the Pevensies came across as so posh and different from my own experience made it more credible to me they could step up to such grand adventures.) The lamp-post wasn’t right; it should be one armed thanks to an incident in The Magician’s Nephew. Father Christmas does not warn Susan and Lucy that their weapons are meant for self-defence and they are not to fight. He doesn’t give Susan her horn at all. (Thus eliminating the possibility of future stories, as that's what calls them back to Narnia for Prince Caspian.) Lucy and Susan's pacifist warning was clearly left out to create a more modern gender balance. It’s Lucy and not Peter who kills the evil wolf, Maugrim. (Thus eliminating the possibility of him receiving one of his titles, Sir Peter Wolfsbane.) And just to add to the modern twists, it’s Mrs. Beaver who ventures out to rescue the children initially while Mr. Beaver stays home cooking a vegan hotpot.
I could probably live with most of these, but had a harder time swallowing the pantomime elements. I should not have been surprised. It is, after all, the Christmas season. And while this Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe doesn’t approach full “he’s behind you” silliness, they’ve definitely souped the plot up with lashings of comedy plus several musical numbers to fight for parents' holiday theatre investment. That includes a clog-dancing Father Christmas and instrument-playing reindeer who lead the Narnians in a folk music jamboree. Quite a departure from the solemn scene in the book where the children are entrusted with the potent tools that, with their acceptance, start to transform them from human children into the kings and queens of Narnia.
Bottom line: I’ve always seen this as a very serious story, and the slapstick bits really bothered me.
I am certainly in the minority, however, as the reviews have been uniformly strong. This show is meant for kids, after all, not 55-year-old Narnia pedants. The real gulf between me and the critics, however, goes back to the source material. Hip, "woke", New Age media types can't stand the traditional morality and overt Christianity of the books. The TimeOut reviewer's starting point ... CS Lewis’s ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ – with its well-spoken child heroes, twee talking animals and heavy Christian vibes – can be left looking a bit old-fashioned ... is common amongst most media types and is, no doubt, what the modern production was trying to "fix".
If the list of variations from the book feels like unimportant minutiae, and you see no problem with the comedy injection, then you will probably enjoy the performance enormously. The youngsters in the audience seemed delighted. There's no denying that, artistically, it's gorgeous.
Bewitched Narnia ... where it's always winter but never Christmas ... comes to life as stately, white-clad dryads (tree spirits) stride in from the back of the auditorium with enormous trains flowing behind. These cross and spread over the stage to create a snowscape. The witch's sledge is a towering, ship-like prow or, when turned around, a menacing throne. There are strong elements of The Lion King, War Horse and the National Theatre's His Dark Materials here as puppetry and exotic head-dresses turn actors into the animals of Narnia. Perhaps a little too much of the last, as Wil Johnson's Aslan seems to be able to walk away from the exquisite carapace of the lion above him at will, as if they are man and daemon rather than one being. Without the lion head his costume was a bit too much music festival shaman for Lewis' incarnation of the Almighty Father. But Johnson's rich voice and compelling performance, with just the right mix of power, love and vulnerability, lets you forget he's less than leonine.
Given that the good animals of Narnia are so often played for laughs, its the bad guys who provide the most impressive visual drama. Laura Elphinstone delivers a malevolent, mercurial and icy cold Queen Jadis true to the power-hungry dictator of the books. The scene when she's sure she's won and levitates towards the roof to fill the world with her billowing, demon-drenched skirts, is magnificent. Omari Bernard's wolf Maugrim is suitably menacing and, other than Aslan, the only Narnian who actually comes across as an animal, rather than a human who's put on silly ears. The convocation of the dark beasts at the stone table and their cruel tormenting before Aslan's sacrifice is a potent reminder that these books have lasted so long because the simple stories sit atop deep, powerful themes.
Of the children, only John Leader's Edmund is truly memorable, though why he has a Midlands accent when his three siblings speak as Londoners is another of the show's weird discrepancies. (Maybe Edmund's surly chip on his shoulder is not because he always plays second to Peter, but because his parents fostered him to a family in Birmingham as an infant?) One of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe's key themes is the power of forgiveness, and the scene where Edmund returns to the fold ... Aslan having completely forgiven him, but Edmund needing to come to terms with his shame and disappointment in himself before he accepts the grace of a higher power ... is played on both sides with an emotional impact that will bring tears to your eyes.
Otherwise, the Pevensies are woefully under-realised. This is supposed to be a coming of age story for each of them, yet we see very little growth. There's lots of capering, giggling and running about ... the last in several numbers that feel like the choreography was cribbed from Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. I can't tell whether it was the acting, the staging or the script, but these remained young adults playing at being children, who never really grew into their Narnian alter-egos. This is most obvious at the very end when they should be decades older, acting with the majesty of Medieval monarchs and unable to remember their Earthly origins. That's all part of what makes their departure from Narnia so wrenching. It's an accidental eviction from Eden.
It was always going to be hard to take them as the High Kings and Queens, of course, when they were crowned with jester's bobble hats by rainbow-clad millennials (almost all animal references had disappeared by now) who look like they're giving their Glastonbury costumes a trial run for next summer. The spectacle of giant flowers being passed over the audience is joyous, the dance number fun, but these capering festival goers are a long way from the Medieval utopia of Lewis' Narnia.I appreciate that most people won't care about the deviations from the books, and may even find them to be improvements. But, ultimately, what I believe should matter to everyone is the lack of intellectual depth, and how derivative the production is. By turning it into a Christmas show, Sally Cookson has gutted a thoughtful, instructive classic that is many children's first introduction to deeper themes, and left behind only the entertainment. Her production is beautiful, but its creative ideas are lifted heavily from other big shows like Lion King and Cursed Child. Even her dance-party ending seems a repeat; we just did it in this same theatre six months ago for A Midsummer Night's Dream (where it worked much better).
London reviewers are heaping praise on Cookson, but for those two infractions this Narnian can't forgive her.
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