Into The Woods

Into the Woods is the rare musical that manages to be clever, sincere, musically dazzling and still faintly exhausting. This Bridge Theatre revival knows exactly what it is doing, which is both its strength and its problem. It is accomplished to the point of smugness, emotionally literate but oddly unmoving, and staged with such care that it occasionally forgets to be dangerous. These woods are less dark and mysterious, more brightly lit with trimmed hedges around the border.

Wrapped around James Lapine's smart book, Stephen Sondheim’s score remains a marvel of human engineering. Every rhyme clicks, every harmony needles, every moral lesson arrives wrapped in wit and regret. The trouble is that everyone involved here respects it so much that nobody seems inclined to mess it up. Jordan Fein’s direction is handsome, controlled and polite, which is definitely not what the Brothers Grimm's fairy tales were intended to be. They wrote about good people making bad decisions, bad people intent on mayhem and murder, and the consequences of wanting things too much. This production often feels like it has been tidied up and all sharp edges removed.

The performances are uniformly strong. Katie Brayben brings warmth and grounded intelligence to the Baker’s Wife, giving her longing real texture rather than musical theatre sighing. Jamie Parker’s Baker is decent and thoughtful, a man quietly realising that wishes are a terrible idea. Kate Fleetwood’s Witch is the standout, ferocious when required and sharply funny without leaning on volume or vocal histrionics. She understands that authority is more unsettling than noise.

Visually, Tom Scutt’s design creates a forest that feels more conceptual than threatening. It looks good and behaves well. This is a wood you would happily walk through with a latte and a lover on a Sunday morn. The lighting does much of the emotional heavy lifting, supplying atmosphere where the direction and staging sometimes declines to. When the production opens up and lets the ensemble drive the chaos, it briefly finds its pulse.

The central problem remains the second act, which has always been Into the Woods at its most admirable and least enjoyable. The show insists on consequences, then insists on explaining them, then insists again just to be sure you were awake and listening. Fein handles this cleanly but not urgently. The moral weight lands, but it lands softly, like a lecture delivered by someone who wants you to like them.

This is a good production of a great musical, and that distinction matters. It never embarrasses itself, never insults the intelligence, and frequently reminds you why Sondheim towers over the genre. What it does not do often enough is surprise, unsettle or sting. Fairy tales should draw blood. This one is mostly bark over bite and, despite the potential of the deliciously dark material, is far more interested in pleasing than provoking.

Into The Woods continues at Bridge Theatre until 30 May.


Photo credit: Johan Persson