Emma Donoghue’s new folk musical The Wind Coming Over the Sea, commissioned by the Blyth Festival and currently running at the historic Margaret Stephens Stage at Memorial Hall, masterfully weaves historical authenticity with contemporary resonance. Based on actual correspondence between Irish immigrants Henry and Jane Johnson during the Great Famine of the 1840s, this world premiere production transforms their intimate letters into a sweeping narrative that speaks powerfully to our present moment.
The show is a serious historical examination of immigration – the privation and duress which drive it, the extraordinary difficulty and danger of the journey, the uncertainty and tenuousness of any purchase gained upon entry . . . and how tragedy or triumph are functions of luck, resilience and perspective. And this examination reverberates – loudly – in today’s time of anti-immigrant sentiment and politicized border enforcement. A couple of pointed jokes – and the way this story teases out common strains of family history between Canada and the United States — underline the direct connection.
But while this may sound dour and dire, The Wind Coming over the Sea soars through the magic of its script, songs and sincerity. For the show is also a celebration of the power and possibility of immigration: a paean to taking bold risks, forging new connections, weaving oneself into the fabric of a new place and culture — and recognizing the contribution of every chance encounter and small kindness experienced along the way.
The story begins with Henry Johnson (Landon Doak) imprisoned for debt – a consequence of extending credit to his struggling neighbors in famine-ravaged Ireland. Driven by desperation and hope, he makes the daring and naive decision to seek a place for his family in Canada, though this will require him to leave behind his wife Jane (Shelayna Christante) and their children. Doak brings an infectious, charming energy to Henry, balancing responsible devotion with reckless optimism. Their exquisite vocals and foot-stomping physicality draw us effortlessly into the character’s journey.
In her fiery red wig, Christante’s Jane is a sweet, slow burn as the supportive waiting wife of the show’s first half, before her character ignites in the second act, when she undertakes the perilous voyage to Canada to reunite with Henry. In the process, she faces unexpected challenges that transform her from a supporting player into the pragmatic architect of her own destiny. Christante’s portrayal, complemented by her sterling vocals, captures both Jane’s initial hesitancy and her emerging strength.
The rest of the ensemble cast proves remarkably versatile in their multiple roles. George Meanwell and his shock of white hair anchors the show in several ways. His simple announcements orient the audience to setting and date changes. He also takes on sundry incidental roles, including that of a pastor who memorably administers the Temperance Oath to Henry, and the crucial role of farmer Nettles. And most critically, he backstops the show’s infectious music with his accordion and lute playing. Meanwhile, among his various roles, Geoffrey Armour brings gravitas and growth to the role of Jane’s stern but supportive father — and Masae Day and Michelle Fisk seamlessly slip in and out of multiple roles, most notably those of Jane’s female relatives. And in an uncredited role, a delightfully poised young Gloria Garratt makes the show’s stakes real …and steals hearts in the process.
Director Gil Garratt’s staging is inventive and immersive, utilizing every corner of the theatre space. Home scenes unfold on the stage, as do ship scenes, which occur beneath and between Ken MacKenzie’s ingenious set of simple representational sails. Berths of beds and two portholes are at the back, with rows of on-stage audience members to left and right serving as fellow “passengers”. Scenes in other locales, such as the jail, spill into the broader theatre — and at several intervals the characters sing their way into and through the audience. This is a story about slipping boundaries and navigating liminal states to find new places: the audience is both a witness and a part of that process.
The show’s musical elements deserve special praise. Rather than following conventional musical theatre tropes, the show integrates traditional Irish jigs and English and Scottish ballads, which are performed by the cast, who sing and play various traditional instruments. With Celtic lilts and graceful harmonies, these exquisitely rendered songs tend to stop the action dead — cutting open a profound vein of emotion that illuminates the characters’ yearnings and struggles. This authentic music is ballast that keeps the show stable and vital as it moves forward in its ultimately unexpected narrative.
Donoghue’s script, which mines the Johnsons’ actual letters, maintains a historical authenticity that is perhaps best illustrated by the way the pacing mirrors the rhythms of 19th-century communication. The show’s first half feels slower and more anticipatory, reflecting the reality that letter-writing in the 1840s was less a process of direct communication than one of waiting, wondering and receiving only occasional updates. The pace picks up significantly in the second half as letters miss their recipients and go unsent or unanswered. In the absence of certainties, the characters must take action and move forward based on faith and love alone … because as Henry memorably states, “the leaves of a book turn in only one direction”.
Ultimately, what elevates this production beyond mere historical drama is its ability to celebrate the universal aspects of the immigrant experience – the leaps of faith, the unexpected kindnesses, the persistence of hope in the face of uncertainty, and the opportunity to create something unexpected, beautiful and vital. At the same time, the show doesn’t shy away from harsh realities, including virulent anti-Irish immigrant sentiment and the base bodily hardships of ocean passage and squalid city life (which are handled at times with surprising humor).
In our current climate of heightened anti-immigrant rhetoric, The Wind Coming Over the Sea uses the real letters of immigrants and the real songs of the 1840s — and their connections with real people sitting to the sides of the stage in 2025 — to transform a specific historical moment into a universal celebration of human resilience and connection. Running until August 12, this moving world premiere production offers a toe-tapping, heart-stirring reminder that every immigrant’s journey weaves another thread into our collective tapestry — that like the wind that carried the Johnsons across the sea, their story continues to blow through time, carrying seeds of hope, understanding, and shared humanity to new shores.
The Wind Coming Over the Sea continues until August 12, 2025. Information, tickets and a study guide with curriculum connections are available on blythfestival.com.
© Scott Sneddon, Sesaya Arts Magazine 2025
