Velveteen Rabbit both swashbuckling and wistful

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This article was published 17/10/2022 (1451 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

ANYONE who’s ever adored a stuffed animal until it became a threadbare, one-eyed lump can appreciate Margery Williams’ 1922 children’s book The Velveteen Rabbit.

Williams’ classic tale about a stuffed rabbit who is made real by the boy who loves him is full of contemplation and melancholy; in fact, it’s probably a classic in large part because of its appeal to grownups, fully attuned to the loss of childhood magic.

In playwright Purni Morell’s adaptation, both the Boy and the Rabbit are played by adult actors. This seems like a risky proposition, but it pays off beautifully in Manitoba Theatre for Young People’s charming season-opening production, narrated with an appropriate lack of sentimentality by Eric Blais.

The Boy (Kamal Chiou) receives the Rabbit (Tom Keenan) in his Christmas stocking and immediately takes to him, with his soft velveteen fur and ears lined with pink satin. (Or so we’re told; the production is steadfastly reliant on imagination here — Keenan’s moustache could be interpreted as whiskers, but he sports no bunny ears; a soft brown blazer represents his fur.)

The little sawdust-filled rabbit is soon eclipsed by all the other toys, with their exciting, modern wind-up mechanisms. As he sits slumped in the nursery, he’s told by the Skin Horse that toys can become real when they are loved so much that “most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

When the Boy’s usual bedtime companion is misplaced, Nana (Blais) gives him Rabbit instead, and the two are soon inseparable.

Here the narrative diverges from Williams’ text to explore in detail the adventures the friends take together.

In a production that’s largely without dialogue, “show, don’t tell” is paramount; you can practically taste the salt spray as the Rabbit and the Boy sail the stormy seas on a schooner/bed and feel the icy wind as they scale a perilous mountain peak.

Chioua is a great, gallumphing Boy, tearing around with near-destructive energy, but the success of the show hinges on Rabbit, and Keenan’s portrayal is marvellous. His watchful eyes are filled with anticipation as he allows himself to be manhandled and thrown about, loose-limbed. During idyllic summer days in the garden, he appears dazed with happiness; when the boy is sick, his panic is palpable.

Keenan and Chioua are perfectly in sync (movement coaching is by Thomas Morgan Jones) and director Ray Strachan really pulls out the joy in their playful interactions — the audience howled in delight as they chased each other around the garden playing hide-and-seek. The action is augmented by lively piano accompaniment from Brady Barrientos.

Design is by James Button and the witty set is packed with surprises.

Theatre, where so much relies on illusion, is an interesting venue to take on the question of reality. When the scattered feathers from a pillow fight turned into snow, children in the audience were very concerned with whether the stuff falling from the sky was flakes or feathers. When the Boy and the Rabbit roasted marshmallows over a “fire,” the veracity of both the flames and the foodstuff were immediately questioned by whispering kids.

There are some questionable choices: it’s not clear why the show starts with three businessmen with briefcases waiting for a bus, and having Blais wearing a suit throughout seemed odd; the children in the audience had a tendency to talk over or ignore his narration, perhaps because he seems like an interloper in the nursery (they were much more attentive when he appeared as Nana, with an apron and mobcap).

At 75 minutes, including a 10-minute intermission, it feels a bit long for a young audience (it’s recommended for three and up), especially as the second act is much shorter than the first.

These are quibbles, however. The Velveteen Rabbit adds some swashbuckling adventure, but it maintains the wistfulness of the source material, and it doesn’t soft-pedal its bittersweet message of loss.

jill.wilson@winnipegfreepress.com

Twitter: @dedaumier