★★★★
When exploring their new home, four young evacuees stumble upon Narnia, a snow-trodden land stuck in an eternal winter.
Sensible Susan (Joanna Adaran), little Lucy (Kudzai Mangombe), perfect Peter (Jesse Dunbar), and the easily led Edmund (Bunmi Osadolor) learn the true meaning of sacrifice when they meet a lion, and a witch, after tumbling through a wardrobe.
Dressed by Tom Paris in aviation jackets, utility belts, goggles, and even lacrosse racquets shaping a heroic beaver's tail, charming actor-musicians play the variety of woodland creatures that reside in Narnia. In a range of regional accents, they sing patriotic tunes (by Barnaby Race and Benji Bower) about the once-idyllic land unfamiliar to humans. Shanelle 'Tali' Fergus has beautifully choreographed accompanying forest ballets and ceilidh dance, even a Turkish delight club culture routine to a New Orleans jazz number.
There’s magic in Michael Fentiman's production. Suitcases become steam trains, lampposts appear from pianos, and flowers spring from pages. Puppetry (designed by Max Humphries, directed by Toby Olié), and magic and illusions (by Chris Fisher) create a dreamlike innocence, the same glee by sleight of hand close-up magic - and also that of nightmares; wolves wearing gas masks howl at the moon, and big-headed skeletons crawl the stage. Imagination runs wild in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, where the fantastical becomes the norm. But it all feels so real. Curiosity and belief feed C S Lewis's classic tale.
Scenes flash by as easily as turning the page in a pop-up picture book. Jack Knowles' lighting design is a stroke of genius, with black-out fades and hand-held torches zooming in on an intimate space, circling the action. Despite the perpetual cold weather in Narnia, the stage is awash with gold warmth, and flowing white drapes become hollow homes and the White Witch's skirts.
In the role, Katy Stephens is as sharp as biting frost. Her character is beautifully imagined - as is Alfie Richards' Mr Tumnus, Kraig Thornber's endearing professor, and of course, Stanton Wright's majestic Aslan - supported by a team of puppeteers, who also make an ancient cat curl around the stage.
Perhaps it's the book, or maybe it's a directorial decision, but the second act jars slightly with the first. As expected, it's darker in content and less whimsical, but it just feels a little rushed. The curious mystique unravels with a "just 'cause" sensibility to explanations by way of wrapping up the plot.
Regardless, this masterclass in storytelling could thaw even the iciest of hearts.
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