A Filipina lioness roars in West End
September 24, 2001 | 12:00am
9:15 p.m., Sept. 13, 2001, Lyceum Theater, London. The intermission has almost finished for Disney’s best-selling musical production, The Lion King. All around the stall bars and foyer areas, people are finishing their drinks and rushing from powder rooms to winding aisles that will eventually lead them back to their seats. A curious air of anticipation fills the audience, almost as if they are trying to hold onto their enjoyment of the magnificent First Act for fear of some sporadic distraction seizing it away. For outside the red-velvet enclave of the Lyceum Theater, the world is still reeling from the shock of the terrorist attacks on America.
Each person, now tucked in their plush seats for the Second Act, is determined to enjoy this show before returning to the bombardment of bad news. This is not about escapism, for which we feel guilt. Theater, particularly feel-good musicals, such as The Lion King, is about remembering. Remembering the good things, through which we feel hope.
And, on with the show. The story – the lion-cub Simba flees the kingdom he was to inherit when he is made to believe that he was responsible for the tragic death of his father, Mufasa, the Lion King. He finds solace in a milder part of the jungle where various friends, Timon the cat and Pumba the boar, encourage him to live by their motto Hakuna Matata – "No worries." As he grows up to be a strong albeit carefree lion, the home he left steadily declines under the rule of Scar, uncle to Simba and the true murderer of Mufasa. Simba’s "cubhood" playmate, the lioness Nala, is at the forefront of those who are eager to save the prideland from the deadly future under Scar’s rule. Nala finds and convinces Simba to come home, overthrow Scar, and take his rightful place as king. Oh, and of course, he gets the girl; or in this case, the lioness.
Ever since its blockbuster run in cinemas as a Disney musical animation, through its multi-awarded stage version, The Lion King has gained critical and commercial acclaim on both sides of the Atlantic.
Director Julie Taymor’s masterful conception of the puppets as cartoon, Elton John’s pop creations, Lebo M’s moving African music, and the light and punchy wit of Allers and Mecchi’s book, all combine to envelop the audience in a three-dimensional feast for the senses.
Of course, there are the performers. It is easy to dismiss performances in a musical marketed for children as being mere provincial pantomime. But let not this misconception come near any of the actors, singers and dancers in this show. They are some of the best all-around theater artists anywhere in the world.
Sharon D. Clarke, as the storyteller Rafiki, has a voice and presence that transports you both to exotic places and to gospel-choir celebrations. Think Bloody Mary from South Pacific) meets Aretha Franklin and Stevie Wonder (had he been a woman).
Roger Wright’s Simba is a beautiful packaging of brawn and energy. When he makes his entrance as the grown-up Lion King swinging from a rope, all youthful exuberance and rippling muscles, there is a palpable sigh from all the ladies in the audience. He prances, leaps, moonwalks and cartwheels his way through the show, never buckling a step. It is when he enters the quiet moments, when stillness grips him, singing the yearning ballad, Endless Night, a fatherless son lost among the stars, that he is at his strongest. As the chorus and Rafiki join him in the climactic chorus, every punter in the house is doubtless that he is the true King.
The comedic relief is provided by the lovable duo of Ian Hughes as Timon and Howard Crossley as Pumba. They are sharp, they are funny and most of all, one understands and appreciates that their job is far more difficult than it seems to be, and in the manipulation of the puppets and the easy stream of punch lines, they are magnanimous in their efforts.
The most sparkling of the performers is Filipina Gia Macuja as the lioness Nala. She has been understudying the role since July, but tonight is the first time she actually performs it.
From the moment she enters with her pride of young lions, and then drifts past them to sing her solo Shadowland, you are entranced. The song is a call to power, power within herself to find the strength needed to save her dying home. It is a kind of Joan-of-Arc-prayer-before-the-battle number, if that helps. And when Macuja calls, she triumphs. Her voice is resplendent with all the colors of fear, of strength beyond the fear, of a cogent yearning for all that her home once was and of a resoluteness to do exactly that. As she does her lioness dance towards Rafiki, you feel all the same colors in every outstretching arm, every kick to the sky, every clawed finger. When Rafiki chants her blessing to Nala and they both crescendo to the song’s final verses, that "money moment" comes, and all the effort the theatergoer gives to come to the theater gets its pay-off.
But Macuja is not all strength and empowerment as Nala. When she chances upon her old friend Simba and feels those first tinglings of attraction, you can literally see her disarmed. Suddenly, the warrior is a young blushing girl.
During the duet Can You Feel the Love Tonight, Macuja and Wright’s voices blend perfectly. It is their harmonies that root the whole number, giving the on-stage spectacle – of trapezed dancers pas-de-deux-ing mid-air – its heart.
Looking at Macuja’s bio in the program, one sees a very classical background. Her theater credits in her native Philippines range from Queen of the Night in The Magic Flute to Clara in Sondheim’s Passion; from Cosette in Les Miserables to Christine in an excerpt from Lloyd Webber’s Phantom of the Opera. Throughout, one imagines that with years of operatic training under her belt, she would have been miscast as cover to Nala. It is comparable to imagining Cecilia Bartoli attempting to belt out a Christina Aguilera pop hit.
But Macuja, who has been in The Lion King’s ensemble cast for the past two years, has managed the incredible feat of distilling her considerable coloratura soprano quality into the more raw, earthy and "blacker" sound required for this part. It is also this same dossier of theater experience that has infused truth into the acting, and using this acting to sing; that elevates her performance from most run-of-the-mill musical sopranos. Most performers around can belt out the same notes in Nala’s songs well enough, but not every one will leave entire audiences believing and understanding every intended notion behind the song. Few performers actually achieve what all performers most desire, and that is simply, to be believed. It is not thunderous applause, now showers of compliments that actors crave, although that came anyway after the rendition of Shadowland, the opening numbers for each act, and Wright’s Endless Night. I believed, as did the rest of the audience, that Macuja was Nala.
I believed that while they sang of a sun shining to end the darkness, somehow my own life will be better. I believed that when the true Lion King vanquished the evil ruler, so will the dangers lurking in the world be snuffed out. I believe that when performers like Macuja, Wright, Clarke and the rest of the glorious Lion King cast are able to pour out their bursting hearts on-stage at a time when the rest of the planet is recoiling beside their CNN broadcasts, well, not all news is bad news. Hope springs eternal.
Each person, now tucked in their plush seats for the Second Act, is determined to enjoy this show before returning to the bombardment of bad news. This is not about escapism, for which we feel guilt. Theater, particularly feel-good musicals, such as The Lion King, is about remembering. Remembering the good things, through which we feel hope.
And, on with the show. The story – the lion-cub Simba flees the kingdom he was to inherit when he is made to believe that he was responsible for the tragic death of his father, Mufasa, the Lion King. He finds solace in a milder part of the jungle where various friends, Timon the cat and Pumba the boar, encourage him to live by their motto Hakuna Matata – "No worries." As he grows up to be a strong albeit carefree lion, the home he left steadily declines under the rule of Scar, uncle to Simba and the true murderer of Mufasa. Simba’s "cubhood" playmate, the lioness Nala, is at the forefront of those who are eager to save the prideland from the deadly future under Scar’s rule. Nala finds and convinces Simba to come home, overthrow Scar, and take his rightful place as king. Oh, and of course, he gets the girl; or in this case, the lioness.
Ever since its blockbuster run in cinemas as a Disney musical animation, through its multi-awarded stage version, The Lion King has gained critical and commercial acclaim on both sides of the Atlantic.
Director Julie Taymor’s masterful conception of the puppets as cartoon, Elton John’s pop creations, Lebo M’s moving African music, and the light and punchy wit of Allers and Mecchi’s book, all combine to envelop the audience in a three-dimensional feast for the senses.
Of course, there are the performers. It is easy to dismiss performances in a musical marketed for children as being mere provincial pantomime. But let not this misconception come near any of the actors, singers and dancers in this show. They are some of the best all-around theater artists anywhere in the world.
Sharon D. Clarke, as the storyteller Rafiki, has a voice and presence that transports you both to exotic places and to gospel-choir celebrations. Think Bloody Mary from South Pacific) meets Aretha Franklin and Stevie Wonder (had he been a woman).
Roger Wright’s Simba is a beautiful packaging of brawn and energy. When he makes his entrance as the grown-up Lion King swinging from a rope, all youthful exuberance and rippling muscles, there is a palpable sigh from all the ladies in the audience. He prances, leaps, moonwalks and cartwheels his way through the show, never buckling a step. It is when he enters the quiet moments, when stillness grips him, singing the yearning ballad, Endless Night, a fatherless son lost among the stars, that he is at his strongest. As the chorus and Rafiki join him in the climactic chorus, every punter in the house is doubtless that he is the true King.
The comedic relief is provided by the lovable duo of Ian Hughes as Timon and Howard Crossley as Pumba. They are sharp, they are funny and most of all, one understands and appreciates that their job is far more difficult than it seems to be, and in the manipulation of the puppets and the easy stream of punch lines, they are magnanimous in their efforts.
The most sparkling of the performers is Filipina Gia Macuja as the lioness Nala. She has been understudying the role since July, but tonight is the first time she actually performs it.
From the moment she enters with her pride of young lions, and then drifts past them to sing her solo Shadowland, you are entranced. The song is a call to power, power within herself to find the strength needed to save her dying home. It is a kind of Joan-of-Arc-prayer-before-the-battle number, if that helps. And when Macuja calls, she triumphs. Her voice is resplendent with all the colors of fear, of strength beyond the fear, of a cogent yearning for all that her home once was and of a resoluteness to do exactly that. As she does her lioness dance towards Rafiki, you feel all the same colors in every outstretching arm, every kick to the sky, every clawed finger. When Rafiki chants her blessing to Nala and they both crescendo to the song’s final verses, that "money moment" comes, and all the effort the theatergoer gives to come to the theater gets its pay-off.
But Macuja is not all strength and empowerment as Nala. When she chances upon her old friend Simba and feels those first tinglings of attraction, you can literally see her disarmed. Suddenly, the warrior is a young blushing girl.
During the duet Can You Feel the Love Tonight, Macuja and Wright’s voices blend perfectly. It is their harmonies that root the whole number, giving the on-stage spectacle – of trapezed dancers pas-de-deux-ing mid-air – its heart.
Looking at Macuja’s bio in the program, one sees a very classical background. Her theater credits in her native Philippines range from Queen of the Night in The Magic Flute to Clara in Sondheim’s Passion; from Cosette in Les Miserables to Christine in an excerpt from Lloyd Webber’s Phantom of the Opera. Throughout, one imagines that with years of operatic training under her belt, she would have been miscast as cover to Nala. It is comparable to imagining Cecilia Bartoli attempting to belt out a Christina Aguilera pop hit.
But Macuja, who has been in The Lion King’s ensemble cast for the past two years, has managed the incredible feat of distilling her considerable coloratura soprano quality into the more raw, earthy and "blacker" sound required for this part. It is also this same dossier of theater experience that has infused truth into the acting, and using this acting to sing; that elevates her performance from most run-of-the-mill musical sopranos. Most performers around can belt out the same notes in Nala’s songs well enough, but not every one will leave entire audiences believing and understanding every intended notion behind the song. Few performers actually achieve what all performers most desire, and that is simply, to be believed. It is not thunderous applause, now showers of compliments that actors crave, although that came anyway after the rendition of Shadowland, the opening numbers for each act, and Wright’s Endless Night. I believed, as did the rest of the audience, that Macuja was Nala.
I believed that while they sang of a sun shining to end the darkness, somehow my own life will be better. I believed that when the true Lion King vanquished the evil ruler, so will the dangers lurking in the world be snuffed out. I believe that when performers like Macuja, Wright, Clarke and the rest of the glorious Lion King cast are able to pour out their bursting hearts on-stage at a time when the rest of the planet is recoiling beside their CNN broadcasts, well, not all news is bad news. Hope springs eternal.
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