If you fancy some fantasy this Christmas, then Sophie Anderson’s much-loved YA novel ‘The House with Chicken Legs’ has been given exhilarating new life in Les Enfants Terribles’ production. A medley of grotesque, weird and wonderful twists and turns, the story which follows a young girl who lives in a house with chicken legs with her magical grandmother enchantingly jumps out from the pages and onto the stage.
Co-directed by Oliver Lansley and James Seager and adapted by Lansley, it is based on the Baba Yaga myth of Slavic folklore, and is made with all the quintessential witchery of Les Enfants”’ previous shows. The fantastical elements are rich and mystical – there are delightful puppets and a set designed by Jasmine Swan that looks like something from another world. And yet, while the sense of mythology is ever present, it is ultimately a deeper meditation on death and loss for all ages.
Lansley’s adaptation takes a while to cast its spell, but once the narrative starts rolling, it is hard not to be charmed. Twelve-year-old Marinka (Eve de Leon Allen) is desperate for a friend, human connection and a normal life, but has the responsibility of inheriting the family business of leading the dead through a gateway onto the next realm. She meets a young girl who may or may not be dead called Nina (Elouise Warboys) and they play together at the seaside. But although initially enticing, their time together proves to be dangerous, and leads to Marinka’s grandmother sacrificing her own existence to accompany her through the portal.
It definitely needs a good edit - I’m not convinced that a show that is aimed at children should sit at nearly three hours in length. But, the kids around me seem totally enthralled by this production’s boundless creativity. Dizzying space-like projections twirl as the house jets off to its next location. Giant-sized chicken’s feet grow from the house’s underneath and slam down on the floor. An adorable jackdaw is puppeted by Matthew Burns is lifelike and bewitching as it squawks, pecks and flies.
Yet, it is the music that really glows. Composed by Alexander Wolfe, the folk-inspired score twinkles as it is sung by the six-strong cast. De Leon Allen’s voice is a particular sensation - it is as smooth as silk. On the expansive stage of the Queen Elizabeth Hall, the enchantment somewhat dwindles. Set changes swell out and feel tedious. It might look more solid in a more compact space. But, these niggles largely don’t matter. Breathlessly surreal and surprisingly poignant, it is a lesson in imagination.