I shed a tear. Perhaps my review should end there as you have all that you need to know. It’s touching, effective and heart-warming. Enough said, plenty to see here and sell your granny to get a ticket. Perhaps not sell your granny—take her.
The audience is made of those of a certain age who want to see the piece because of a long-forgotten love from childhood for this enchanting tale and those seeing this freshly for the very first time. It is a powerful mix, and, on the day I popped in, had us all on the edge of our slightly damp, wooden seats. Classic tales need to be adapted well and then delivered by a cast with sufficient reverence and skill that they are not overawed by the former and confident enough in the latter. Here we had both.
Elizabeth Newman’s adaptation manages to bring the core of the story—the change in Mary, played beautifully by Elizabeth Rowe, as she is brought out into the world without schmaltzy sentimentality. The message, that your environment can be transformational to a child, is as relevant today as it was when first imagined in the mind of Frances Hodgson Burnett. The Secret Garden may not have a hint of the contemporary, but its core message smacks you as it delivers a message of love and redemption as director Ben Occhipinti skilfully handles those themes.
Set, as it is, within the environs of a real garden, there are some issues around translating the theatrical into the magical, as the outdoor amphitheatre hints rather than delivers that magic. It holds real challenges for all the designers—set designer Nick Trueman, costume designer Natalie Fern and composer Ben Occhipinti. It’s a subtle response with little by way of trickery, sound design having the subtle air of the times, costume reflecting the Victoriana required for authenticity and the delivery of a secret place in which transformations happen, troublesome because you have no architecture to make it happen. It can but be a nod, a wink and a hope. And yet it is achieved, though initially I did wonder why in such a place of natural beauty more was not made of the environs in which we were sat.
This is mainly because of the quality and commitment of the cast. Alongside the principal, Colin as played by Luke Thornton has both the joy of life and fury of illness in a child’s body well imagined and delivered; as Dickon, David Rankine demonstrates just why he is increasingly sought after as an artist of such depth and width; as Ben, Oliver Cookson brings the world of authority and the elder eye of a patriarch; as Mrs Medlock, Irene Allan delivers the perfect Victorian busybody and servant / expert ready to be proven wrong by the naïveté of youth; as Robin, Myles Miller is a skilful narrator, taking up the role of the bird talking to us rather than Mary; as Martha, Wendy Paver gives us that servant who wants the best but is fearful of being caught supporting it, whilst Mr Craven as played by Theo Diedrick shows us that fear can be as destructive as wonderment can be quite, well, wonderful.
Pitlochry has once again pitched this perfectly. It is a performance which shows Pitlochry’s ensemble rising to the occasion with the arrogance of class tempered by the humanity of Yorkshire fowks. It’s pitch-perfect, and any doubts I may have had over the lack of rose bushes amongst us was dispelled by the young audience member beside me becoming vocally upset over the scene between a berserk Colin and a hectoring Mary before expressing delight and wonder at the reconciliation between father and son at the end. It may not have transcended my cynical auld point of view, but my fellow naïve and better emotionally educated guide taught me better of myself.
The amphitheatre must be a great place to programme, if not a bit of a nightmare. Scotland. In July. Outside. What can possibly go wrong? But the hint of some rain did not deter the enthusiasm of the audience, as they were enthralled by the entire experience. I can, however, see how the setting can be a bit of a hindrance as the matching of the space to a narrative, when so obvious as The Secret Garden, comes with its own challenges—how do you imagine such beauty in amongst such beauty but without it being used quite as it could be—there are no rose bushes or walls in the backdrop to the show to be used, but a breathtaking example of Scottish magnificence. You may not be able to bottle it, but you have to use it, somehow.
Or do you?
Here they managed without it, but there is a hint of challenges around such a tremendous story being brought to life onstage, and, whilst the puppetry entranced, the direction kept us focussed and the performances built us into a beautiful emotional crescendo, it cannot be underestimated that the simplest often take the most complex of belief to happen in such a magnificent fashion. And for that, Pitlochry has an absolute cracker on its hands.