Oxford's oldest student newspaper

Independent since 1920

Review: His Dark Materials

On the walk over to the Playhouse, my companion told me how during the interview period in Oxford, in a brief moment of respite from the frantic days of uncertainty, swotting and sweating, she took a trip to the Botanical Gardens. She walked down the same path about which she had read so many times, and sat on the bench where in the heartbreaking final moments of The Amber Spyglass, Will looked into Lyra’s eyes for the last time.

For many people, me included, the His Dark Materials trilogy was the most withdrawn set of books from the childhood library. Who wants a four-eyed wizard with a small wand shouting silly words when you can have armoured bears, Oxford, other worlds, the land of the dead, Heaven, Hell, Evolution, love and everything else that make Pullman’s classics so memorable and exciting? So you can imagine the buzz in the theatre on Wednesday night, when finally, Nicholas Wright’s acclaimed stage adaptation by performed by the Birmingham Repertory Theatre Company had its Oxford debut.

We begin the epic journey where it ends in the book. Will and Lyra, sat on the bench chatting, their words rebounding off the invisible wall that separates their two worlds. The love story that lies at the centre of this book -the theme of love encompassing Iorek’s for Lyra, hers for her father, Mrs. Coulter’s for Lyra, the love between human and daemon – therefore frames the whole story.

The play does not disappoint on the visual front. The mythical world of daemons is handled superbly through the use of puppets which, controlled by on stage actors, capture the movements of real animals often with startling accuracy. The Border collie spins around, its head held up in excitement. The pine martin slinks about mischievously. It is a real treat to see the way these pint-sized companions interact with the characters on stage, often communicating through their movement the emotions that conscious human beings attempt to hide. Mrs. Coulter’s monkey, for example, is as sinister and unpredictable as I remember him from the book, while she is the modicum of restraint and polite decorum. Of course, the bears must get some mention, which puppeteers choose to represent through giant feathery frames and white fur coats. Though imposing, their appearance wasn’t quite as terrifying as I’d hoped – any scraps of fear quickly quashed after encountering a cohort of bears whose accents would better suit a Lancashire soap opera than the bear kingdom of Svalbard.

The acting is good on the whole, especially Lord Asriel, whose main scene in the Smoking room of Jordon College is a satirical treat for anybody who has ever gazed into their college’s SCR and wondered what ludicrous yet brilliant things go on within.

This is not perfect as an adaptation. The writing can be sometimes sloppy; a phrase such as ‘the poor sad stunted souls’ is a meagre reflection of the energy and lyricism of Pullman’s original. The Wagnerian length, totalling about six hours if you combine parts I and II, coupled with a west-end cost of, at the cheapest, £25, are not likely to appeal to time-poor, cash-strapped student. And it saddened me slightly that the show had to end with a cliff-hanger so wrenched and artificial one half expected to hear the ominous drums of the Eastenders ending credits.

Yet all these quibbles melted into obscurity when, as applause broke out, the author himself stepped on stage to take a bow. Awe-struck, tired and furious we’d been sitting looking at the back of his head all evening without realising who he was, we were determined to catch up with Pullman afterwards to find out the thoughts of the only critic who really matters.

‘Well, I love this adaptation’ he told me and my increasingly giggly companion. ‘It is wonderful how it condenses the book without losing any of the content.’ I suggested it would mean a lot to the cast that he should say that. He replied, ‘It means a lot to me as well’. We went away from the theatre spell-bound. The magic of the story had enveloped us from beginning to end and I realised, the soft words of a brilliant man still swirling around my mind, that anything I could possibly say seems puny in comparison.

4 stars out of 5

 

 

Check out our other content

Most Popular Articles