The Shaw Festival Theatre Review: The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe
By Ross
Four children play before being joined by many more. Jumping rope before the bomb sirens ring out, when overcoats are layered on with suitcases standing by, ready to flee. This is the war-torn landscape that lives in our imagination around C.S. Lewis’ iconic novel “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe“, published in 1950. It was the first in a celebrated series of seven that would eventually become known to almost everyone around me in school as “The Chronicles of Narnia“. I still remember how we all devoured these books, probably years before we did the same with “The Lord of the Rings“. The series completely captivated us with its clever and imaginative descent into a world of wonder and white-knuckled fear, but also made us think about a framing of good and evil that played with our curiosity and our forever attempt to understand the complexities of an adult world that was years out of reach.
Returning to the land of Narnia, thanks to the Shaw Festival, their most talented cast of actors, and the valiant attempt to adapt and visually transport us to the land of Narnia, inside their new staged version of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, courtesy of Selma Dimitrijevic and Tim Carroll. The two, credited with this adaptation, deliver the desired effect within those first few moments of construction, filling me with a solid anticipatory glee. It engaged my sense of wonder and thoughtfulness in the construct, when four young children, two brothers and two sisters, find themselves shipped off to an English countryside mansion to hopefully find shelter and safety from the Second World War and the bombing of London by the Nazis. It’s a well-tuned unfolding, that journey, filled with a sad sense of adult abandonment, as the four well-delivered children try to assuage their anxiety by playing games of combat and adventure in the halls and numerous rooms of this endless mansion. The owner, Professor Kirke, played delightfully by David Adams (Shaw’s The Secret Garden), remains somewhat removed, with a warning by the stern (yet delicious) Mrs. Macready, interestingly well played by Kiera Sangster (Shaw’s One Man, Two Guvnors), to not disturb the Professor and his work.
The four are also told to stay out of that one particular room, the one that only has a large wardrobe in it, standing sturdily and covered center stage, taunting the children to come explore what it may contain in its deep corners. Mrs. Macready should have known (or maybe in some way she did), that the best way to get a child to do something is to tell them they simply can’t and to never go in there. Because within what feels like minutes, during a game of hide and seek, the youngest sister, the wide-eyed Lucy, played solidly by Alexandra Gratton (Shaw’s On The Razzle), climbs into the mysterious wardrobe, not knowing what lies deep inside behind rows and rows of heavy English coats (which will come in great use later). Lucy soon discovers, with a quick, clever rotation, a land of cold-hearted, dangerous adventure, similar to the frightening reality of war that is raining bombs down on their London. But here, in the snow-covered land of Narnia, the children have a pre-determined role to play and are not left on their own, like they have been in the real world, without any sense of clear control or engagement.
Up until the moment when Lucy steps into that magical land full of snow, wonder, and fairytale creatures, like the deliciously complex creation that is Mr. Tumnus, embodied well and true by Michael Therriault (Mirvish’s The Producers), The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe stands tall like that well-crafted, guiding lamp post in the forest. It had me fully pulled in, feeling the emotional upheavals and sense of both wonder and loss. But the magical effect of this adaptation, courtesy of the play’s direction at the hands of adapter and writer Dimitrijevic and the production’s design team (scenic consultant James Lavoie; costume designer Judith Bowden; and lighting designer Kevin Lamotte), faltered almost immediately as Lucy found her way through the rows of coats on hangers. What lies before her when she finally stumbles out the back into what should have been the most magical of lands fails to overtake us. White streamers are unraveled and lowered from the heights of the Festival Theatre stage, to unsuccessfully represent the snowy, cold landscape of Narnia, where a White Witch, who calls herself a Queen, portrayed by Élodie Gillett (Shaw’s Gypsy), has cast a spell and frozen all aspects of joy, pleasure, warmth, and love. The White Witch has transformed the place into something cold and uninviting. And, I guess, in a way, the creative team has achieved this, unintentionally, as their depiction of this land made me as sad as can be. It’s as if all the sweet, magical treats that were promised at the beginning were snatched away, leaving me hungry and wanting for something much more transporting and ingenious.
The scenarios play out, setting the stage for the conflict to come between ultimate good and definitely bad and evil, without a lot of nuance in between. Their young, troubled brother, Edmund, portrayed dutifully by Dieter Lische-Parkes (Crave’s “Mistletoe Time Machine“), is the first to get caught in the web of confusion and bad moral decision-making moments, brought forth by a tantrum-fueled discontent that registers. He wants to finally believe that he is special and worthy, and maybe more important, special, or clever than his older brother, the good and fair Peter, played perfectly by a very solid Jeff Irving (Shaw’s Anything Goes) or his older sister, Susan, played honestly and thoughtfully by Kristi Frank (Shaw’s My Fair Lady). The White Witch knowingly feeds into that framing with delicious intent, and uses it to her full advantage with the young boy. The unfortunate framing in this moment is that the White Witch doesn’t ever really feel dangerous, more like a privileged cartoon cackling with pleasure without the simmering of darkness within. Maybe the enriching embodiment of the White Witch by Tilda Swinton in the inspiring 2005 Disney film adaptation has forever been embedded in my imagination as the ultimate wondrous and frightening formulation, but what I saw played out, thanks to the vision of the director and adaptor, is one that never made me anxious or nervous. She was more like a nasty neighbour who, you’re pretty sure, will get her comeuppance quite soon for her selfishness and discontented ways of dealing with the world.
This White Witch is a different creation, formed inside a cackle and a snappy, sassy comment, that never really put me under her spell like the bad and good faun that befriends and saves Lucy. Therriault’s Mr. Tumnus is the one Narnia creation that truly captures the wonder that we all wanted when we arrived alongside Lucy and her siblings in this land. The Beaver couple, formed by Shawn Wright (Mirvish’s Harry Potter…) and Jade Repeta (RMTC’s Into the Woods), is a sad misfire that, because of the less-than-inspiring puppetry by Brendan McMurtry-Howlett (Punctuate/Theatre Center’s After the Fire), disconnects us and stalls the momentum of the piece. We can’t see them as the true animal creatures they are working so hard to present, like we are able to do with stronger shows like The Lion King. We had trouble seeing them as they were intended, singing songs of no consequence, and playing for humour when something more tense and honest might have pulled us inside this adaptation in a deeper, more meaningfully rich way.
The other major disturbance lies in the unimpressive embodiment of Narnia’s true ruler, the great and powerful lion, Aslan, portrayed by the game and steady Kelly Wong (Shaw’s Snow in Midsummer). He stands proudly before us, determined to roar, but the poorly concocted costume fails the stance. Aslan has returned to Narnia after several years of absence, but his power never fully materializes in this production. The fault doesn’t lie with the actors who valiantly strive to bring meaning and power to their overly simplified, symbolic formulations, but as crafted together as a whole, this Narnia feels clumsy, pedestrian, and uninventive, without any feelings of true danger or tension. The Spirit of Narnia, embodied and sung by Alana Bridgewater (Soulpepper’s Spoon River), swings in as a metaphor for the desire to return to a land of joy, song, dance, and festivities, but the abstraction falls flat as it doesn’t quite fit the formula, and fails to save the day from the piece’s ultimate blandness.
Sadly, there is little sense of wonder in this unfolding, and as adapted for the stage by Dimitrijevic (Shaw’s Mother Daughter) and Carroll (Shaw’s A Christmas Carol), the staging wanders into a place of safe, non-disturbance, placating for the kids while never really capturing any of our sense of wonder that would truly engage them. It does aim to tell a more complex story about “doing the right thing” and admitting to ourselves and to others when mistakes have been made; both things are good additions, unlike the original material’s attempt to craft an allegory of Christianity with the goodly King lion returning to save the day in the end. Yet, here, the writers struggle to keep us tuned in, while also not trusting us to fully feel or understand the piece’s mature complexities. They remain steadfast, trying to unpack the complicated ideas about war and politics in simple re-framings, while also attempting, somewhat successfully, to craft a more interesting construct that adds true, heartfelt reconciliation and a more solid involvement by these siblings in the war to regain the goodliness of Narnia, all the while trying to remain kid-friendly.
I wish the White Witch had me more under her spell in the Shaw Festival‘s final adventure in the world of Narnia. After tackling a few other tales in Lewis’ series, including Prince Caspian and The Magician’s Nephew, this unfolding left me uninspired and underwhelmed. I wanted to tremble with something that resembles fear at the idea of Aslam, the White Witch, and the war that overtakes Narnia. Maybe in the hands of a more visually creative team, stronger and more magical puppetry, and a different directorial framing, this adaptation of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe might uncover the real wonder and tense mystery required to engage all who come to see it. The strong cast valiantly tries to deliver this into our youthful imagination, like it successfully does with Mr. Tumnus and his charming sitting room. But ultimately, this creation feels more solidly connected to the real world than the enchanting land of Narnia. As a long-time lover of these tales, I left feeling the reverse of what I was hoping to rediscover, and also a little disappointed, mainly because all those children in the audience will not leave the theatre excited and desperately wanting to know more, or read more. They’ll shrug with casual indifference, rather than roar like a fierce lion. And that, my dear readers, is the opposite of what theatre can offer the young creative mind and the inner child of us adults.
