Fourth time round, the tour de force that is War Horse is just as thrilling.
Director Tom Morris and revival director Katie Henry have tightened the script, dialled back on some of the harrowing second half scenes and added cinematic soundtrack here and there to augment the folk songs from The Singer (Sally Swanson).
This is a children’s story. Simplistic and somewhat routine (not to take away from the horrors of the war it carefully depicts), Albert (Tom Sturgess) and Joey have an unbreakable bond which even drunkard Ted’s selling the horse into calvary service cannot break. Lying about his age, the young, naïve farm boy joins up in the hope of finding his horse while "Kaisers and Kings come to their senses".
The Handspring Puppet Company’s creations are stunning, and none more so than Joey, the half racehorse, half draught-horse brought on from skittish colt to magnificent stallion by young Albert.
The iconic equine is actually 10 stone of cane, aluminium, leather and mesh metamorphosed by—on press night—Tea Poldervaart (Head), Robin Hayward (Heart) and Gun Suen (Hind) into a loveable, feisty, knowing workhorse that makes the audience accept and care. In all, 12 puppeteers play the two main horses, rotating at each performance.
Their observation is superb: Joey and fine-featured thoroughbred charger Topthorn (Matthew Lawrence (Head), Rafe Young (Heart) and Felicity Donnelly (Hind) on press night) are convincing as living, breathing beasts with every shudder of their shoulders, swish of their tails and flick of their ears; and more—we agonise with skeletal horses pulling guns through the mud, thrashing on barbed wire and facing machine-gun fire; crows peck at bodies—uncaring whether animal or human—and all the while, the erstwhile farmyard goose hisses at all-comers and is thwarted in its attempts to get into the farmhouse.
Much-needed humour is scattered throughout, never breaking the tension but juxtaposed nicely with the brutality of the mud and blood as Albert leaves the bucolic delights of his Devon village, feuding families, betting villagers and hard-working mum (Jo Castleton back as Rose) to be propelled into growing up fast in the dreadfulness of the Somme.
Rae Smith’s set is sparse: a few hurdles manipulated into auction ring, field and barn; a door and little else, set against a clever backdrop portraying a ripped sheet of paper with black and white line drawings of village, galloping horse, barbed wire, calvary, battlefields and more eventually bleeding into crimson poppies.
Yet again, a full house standing ovation richly deserved.