Erica Jeal 

Wolf Witch Giant Fairy review – endearing family folk opera with an ageless streak

Little Bulb’s gently subversive show draws on the creative talents of the Royal Opera in three fairy stories combined
  
  

There’s a travelling-players feel … Wolf Witch Giant Fairy.
There’s a travelling-players feel … Wolf Witch Giant Fairy. Photograph: Helen Murray

That’s three fairy-tale villains, right there in the title of Little Bulb’s new show, when most storytellers make do with one, but the only greediness here is that of Little Red Riding Hood’s nemesis. Staged at the Linbury theatre, with Little Bulb drawing on the creative resources of the Royal Opera, Wolf Witch Giant Fairy squishes three fairy stories together to make a gently subversive family show, infused with folk music, aimed at younger children but with a wry, ageless streak.

Clare Beresford’s plucky Little Red Riding Hood meets the Wolf on the way to her Grandmother’s house but then gets diverted; she meets the witch Baba Yaga, escapes after a frantic chase, and is washed ashore at the village where the Giant has stolen the golden harp. A few magic beans later, she climbs Jack-like up the beanstalk, saves the day and finally gets to her gran’s house – where Tom Penn’s Wolf, a deliciously arch, castanet-playing baddie in almost pantomime mode, eats her. That’s where the Fairy – bearded, and twirling a beautiful pair of butterfly wings – reveals herself.

There’s a homespun, travelling-players feel to the whole thing, a kind of knowing awkwardness, that makes it feel grounded and timeless. That’s thanks partly to the delightful detail and wit of Samuel Wyer’s designs, especially the headpieces. It’s also thanks to the music, which is a flexible, almost constant backdrop to the storytelling: it draws on Italian and Balkan folk melodies, not that it ever does so self-consciously enough for you to realise. Little Bulb’s music director Dominic Conway leads from the guitar as part of a 10-strong cast; together they form an instrumental ensemble including piano, violin, accordion and dulcimer, and they take a role each. Opera audiences might recognise Peter Brathwaite’s self-important Narrator and Claire Wild’s Baba Yaga, throwing out high soprano notes with a fearsome cackle, but it’s Baba Yaga’s flamboyant Cat, played by the director, Alexander Scott, who can’t resist hogging the stage for a song.

 

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