The Light Princess, National Theatre - theatre review

Tori Amos's first musical has been worth the wait, with flashes of foxy sophistication and a keenly political edge
Triumph: Rosalie Craig and Nick Hendrix on stage at the Lyttelton (Picture: Nigel Howard)
NIGEL HOWARD
Henry Hitchings6 September 2014

Tori Amos's first musical, six years in the making, has been worth the wait. Even if it takes a while to achieve lift-off, The Light Princess will charm existing fans of the North Carolina native and win her plenty of new ones. And though much of the music is delicate and sensuous, there are bursts of thrilling exuberance.

Adapted by Samuel Adamson from a 19th-century Scottish fairytale, the plot calls to mind Romeo and Juliet. There’s also a more than passing resemblance to the wildly popular Wicked, but the show has flashes of foxy sophistication and a keenly political edge.

The princess of the title is Althea, the teenage daughter of the King of Lagobel. Following the death of her mother she becomes weightless – condemned to disobey the laws of gravity, no matter what remedies are proposed.

Rosalie Craig is stunningly good as Althea. It’s an immensely physical role, requiring her to spend most of the time airborne. In some scenes she is suspended on wires, in others held aloft by a team of four astonishingly deft acrobats.

Steven Hoggett’s choreography is a crucial part of Marianne Elliott’s richly imagined production. Yet again and again it’s Craig herself who flies high, attacking her lines with delicious boldness – not to mention a soaring voice.

Her love interest is Digby, a solemn prince from the neighbouring kingdom of Sealand. Nick Hendrix doesn’t make a strong initial impression in the role, but in the second half he becomes more compelling and romance blooms. Clive Rowe as Althea’s father has one knockout aria, and Amy Booth-Steel brings just the right note of fierceness to her faithful friend Piper.

The design by Rae Smith is gorgeous, packed with witty touches that include amorous frogs and a cheeky pink mouse. There’s some swoon-inducing puppetry, too.

That’s not to say The Light Princess is perfect. The early passages of exposition feel overstuffed, and there are preachy moments. But its problems can be remedied, and the best of it is beautiful.

Until January 9 (020 7452 3000, nationaltheatre.org.uk)

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