Erick D. Patrick in “The Lion King”, Photo by Matthew Murphy ©️ Disney
Though the original animated film is my favourite of the Disney Renaissance era, this was actually my first time seeing the stage production of The Lion King. This return engagement presented by Mirvish is an absolute gift. The goosebumps started at Zama Magudulela’s opening clarion call as Rafiki. When that big elephant trundled past me in the aisle on its way to the stage for “Circle of Life,” I lost my shit and never really got it back. Director Julie Taymor’s production, enriching the story with authentic African imagery and cultural signifiers, is such an overwhelmingly resonant spectacle.
The book by Roger Allers and Irene Mecchi is true to the original with some minor adjustments of the story to suit the stage. The familiar songs by Elton John (music) and Tim Rice (lyrics) and Hans Zimmer‘s persuasive score feel fresh as ever. Lebo M and Mark Mancina’s African sound has been significantly enhanced and developed for Taymor’s re-imagining and is a prominent aspect of her vision.
I’m sure you know the story; if not, here’s the gist: a rambunctious lion cub, Simba, getting into mischief with his bestie Nala, is next in line to be king of the Pride Lands, a vast section of African savanna. When his resentful and scheming uncle Scar frames him for his father Mufasa’s death, he runs off into the jungle where he meets a meerkat and warthog, Timon and Pumba. Under their carefree influence (“Hakuna matata”), he grows up to be, well, a feline libertine. He’s eventually drawn back to take his rightful place as king and save the Pride Lands from his selfish uncle’s tyranny.
It’s all very Shakespearean, of course. There are also chilling echoes of the Third Reich as Scar rallies the stupid yet bloodthirsty hyenas in his plans for domination (“Be Prepared”). Salvatore Antonio as our villain has a certain conniving charm in his sullen and mannered portrayal. Scar has, like many Disney villains, an arguably gay coding, though I’ve never found it particularly offensive. I can’t help but love to hate a snarky queen being evil. And we can sort of understand where he’s coming from, shrinking from a society that only has eyes for his muscular, oh-so-noble brother and cocky nephew.
Brian Sills and Trevor Patt as Timon and Pumba, the key comic relief, make the characters their own as much as they can. Sills in particular has his work cut out for him and does admirably well, schticking and kvetching in the shadow of the great Nathan Lane. Together with the red-billed royal steward, Zazu (Will Jeffs), they are the three characters designed to most closely resemble the original animation. Most of the costumes, masks and puppets (by Taymor and Michael Curry) are a significant departure from that aesthetic, through the vibrant colours of the African fabrics and striking line-work retain animation’s essential expressiveness.
Richard Hudson’s scenic design is remarkably immersive despite its relative minimalism. That paper lantern-esque rising sun has become as iconic as the film’s opening shot. Panels of tall grass drift by suggesting the movement of characters through fields; expansive fabrics and shaped flats drop in and out, conjuring vast African environments and creating theatrical depth. The elegant rotation of the angular step unit that represents Pride Rock feels imposing through integration with the choreographed movement on and around it.
One of the most impressive effects sequences is Mufasa’s spectral apparition, achieved through Donald Holder’s moody lighting and modular puppet elements that come together and break apart. The wildebeest stampede is also astonishing, an eerie blend of projection and forced perspective that triggers claustrophobia and megalophobia in equal measure.
Magudulela’s Rafiki is our spiritual guide through the story and her grounded, impish presence sets the tone. David D’Lancy Wilson‘s Mufasa is arresting. It’s no small feat to project nuance and gravitas underneath that totemic lion head. And one of the inspired gestures of Taymor’s production is his removal of that headdress for a heart-to-heart with Simba. This not only intensfies the intimacy of the moment, but our awareness of it as a a symbol, looming off to the side, makes it clear that his persona and the responsibility of governing is a burden he takes on, not who he is.
Erick D. Patrick is a charismatic older Simba and his heartfelt rendition of “Endless Night” is very stirring, though his most powerful moment occurs during the finale. When Rafiki places the royal sash on his arm and shoulder, his face breaks, conveying a potent blend of pride and grief as he takes his father’s place—overcome with an internal struggle to reconcile the great honour with devastating loss.
There are huge puppets and small puppets and eensy-weensy shadow puppets and puppets swooshing through the air and leaning precariously out over the audience. The fanciful flora and fauna are abundant and the gestalt of it is immersive without being overwrought.
I don’t feel I’ve done The Lion King justice here. I’m not even sure I can, not in the space allocated. It is my hope, though, that this at least conveys a decent sense of the magic, majesty and emotive power of this awesome production. Again: it is such a gift.
The Lion King
running from November 2, 2024 (indefinitely)
Princess of Wales Theatre (300 King Street West)
running time: 2 hours, 30 minutes (including intermission)
Zama Magudulela in “The Lion King”, Photo by Matthew Murphy ©️ Disney