For generations, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe has transported young readers to a world of magic, danger, and wonder. This season’s Shaw Festival staging of C.S. Lewis’s beloved 1950 novel offers a faithful but curiously muted adaptation that may leave first-time adventurers and nostalgic fans wanting more.
Directed by Selma Dimitrijevic and co-adapted with Artistic Director Tim Carroll, this world premiere will be the last of the Shaw Festival’s Narnia adaptations. It opens with familiar promise: World War 2 is raging, and the four Pevensie siblings, Peter (Jeff Irving), Susan (Kristi Frank), Edmund (Dieter Lische-Parkes), and Lucy (Alexandra Gratton) must flee London during the Blitz. They are sent to stay with a professor (David Adams) in the countryside, where the titular wardrobe becomes a portal to the mythical land of Narnia. There, they meet talking faun Mr Tumnus (Michael Therriault) and some friendly Beavers (Jade Repeta and Shawn Wright) before being swept into a battle for Narnia between the noble lion Aslan (Kelly Wong) and the evil White Witch (Élodie Gillett).
Visually, the production adopts a minimalist aesthetic: it aims to leave scope for imagination but challenges audiences in its spareness. Scenic consultant James Lavoie (working from concepts by Beyata Hackborn) and lighting designer Kevin Lamotte have designed a space that leans into simplicity. Furniture which is wheeled on and off the stage is the primary indicator of the two main settings at the Professor’s sprawling estate house, while Narnia is distinguished mainly by hanging white streamers to denote the frozen landscape, with additional spare visual cues and props, in place of immersive design. While this achieves clarity, the experience is more suggestive than spectacular: it fails to convey the awe-inspiring enchantment and grandeur readers of the source novel will associate with Narnia.
That said, the talented cast brings energy to their performances. The Pevensie siblings are portrayed with charm – though script compression creates curious moments, such as Peter’s berating of Edmund, which is clear and well-justified in the novel, but feels abruptly excessive here. The ensemble featuring Alana Bridgewater, Leslie Garcia Bowman, Daniel Greenberg, Jaden Kim (who played the role of Lucy in the performance I attended), Graeme Kitagawa, Madelyn Miyashita, Kiera Sangster, and Mikayla Stradiotto provide lively support. Puppetry directed by Brendan McMurtry-Howlett adds warmth and inventiveness. And the scenes involving the professor (David Adams), Mr Tumnus and the Beavers (Jade Repeta and Shawn Wright) are strong.
The show opens with some playful audience engagement – a winning, if incompletely realized idea which recur at certain moments when cast members move through the audience. Music director Ryan deSouza contributes a few original songs that showcase the cast’s vocal abilities, especially Bridgewater’s, though again, these moments feel like another incompletely realized element that is more decorative than essential. Choreography by Genny Sermonia and illusions developed with Kelly Wong round out the design elements, with the overall effect being sparsely atmospheric.
My biggest questions focus on the characterization and costuming of the story’s two most elemental and iconic characters – which is head-scratchingly spare. More than just being characters, the White Witch and Aslan represent opposing forces at the core of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. The White Witch embodies fear, cruelty, and domination. Anyone who disobeys her is literally petrified. Her grip on Narnia turns it into a frozen, joyless place where despair prevails.
But this production’s White Witch is decidedly understated. Costumed in a white wig, three-piece suit, and glittery boots, she resembles a sleek, stylized rock star – more than an evil witch who is chilling and formidable. In this production, she is not the seductively attractive, subtly menacing, then primally evil presence that those familiar with the story will expect. Instead, accompanied by her one henchman and minus her signature sled, she hurls insults while gesturing and laughing broadly: more condescending mean girl than primeval and fearsome fury.
Aslan, by contrast, is meant to be an awesome avatar of courage, wisdom, power – and selflessness. His actions restore balance, inspire loyalty, and ultimately bring about the Witch’s downfall. So the most perplexing choice of all lies in how he is depicted. Played by Wong in simple brown khakis, he appears without visual markers of his leonine identity or regal stature, except for a small lion mask on his shoulder. He speaks softly and measuredly – through his speeches are augmented through sound and light by a couple of magnified roars in the second act. Instead of fearsome and inspiring, this Aslan is an average everyman. Perhaps the intent was to make Aslan less frightening and more human – a figure that embodies both lamb and lion. If so, this attempt at subtlety flattens his mythic resonance and weakens his narrative arc – which also suffers from script conflation, as the nature of his self-sacrifice and resurrection are likely to be quizzical, rather than clear, to audiences not familiar with the book.
These characters are meant to feel archetypal, larger than life, and awe-inspiring. When their portrayals are stripped down and over-humanized, their symbolic and thematic weight diminishes, reducing the narrative, moral, and emotional stakes that propel the story forward. The result here is anticlimactic . . . and slightly confusing. On the way out of the theatre, I overheard a couple of young audience members discussing Aslan’s characterization, and admitting that they “didn’t get it”.
Still, the production does offer some inspired moments. The depiction of the climactic battle using darkness with red flashes of light against a white background conjures its magnitude effectively. But overall, despite the ensemble’s commitment, the production rarely elicits gasps, cheers, or emotional release. While families may enjoy the experience (and the optional 40-minute pre-show workshop, which ends with a parade to the Festival Theatre), there’s little of Narnia’s imagination-stretching amazement – and little theatrical risk and visual wonder – that might elevate this show beyond a pleasant outing.
In the end, the Shaw’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is a safe and spare interpretation of a cherished classic. But in reaching for simplicity, it too often bypasses the awe and emotional impact that could have made this journey through the wardrobe truly epic.
On stage at the Festival Theatre until October 4, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is recommended for ages 8 and up. Tickets are available on shawfest.com.
© Arpita Ghosal, Sesaya Arts Magazine 2025
