On a particularly dreary Wednesday evening midway through an equally as dreary week, I, along with around 2,000 other keen audience members had the chill in the air swept away by the stage lights of Southampton's own Mayflower Theatre.
The production of the night was the award-winning stage adaptation of Michael Morpurgo's critically acclaimed novella: War Horse.
Contextually (and some might say criminally) I hadn't previously read the book and felt that the mystery of the plot and ending would be apart of the experience.
However, it's fair to say that my blind excitement wore off significantly quicker than I had anticipated.
The theatre itself was stunningly beautiful.
Those who have experienced the sunburst decorations and crimson ornamentations know the sheer grandeur of the venue.
The opening set was awe-inspiringly simple.
On curtain-rise, projected illustrations on hanging waxy parchment depicted the lush countryside of Devon, where the majority of the first act takes place.
With the scene set, the screen rose, and the music began.
From the young colt to the midnight stallion, the stage was awash with the sheer beauty of the puppetry.
The darkness of the underlying plot themes contrasted beautifully with the visible mechanics of the animatronics.
Cogs, hinges, and pipes acted as muscles in the glistening flanks of the equestrians – each standing over six feet tall and controlled dexterously by three masters of the strings.
This wizardry extended far beyond mere horses: flapping and tweeting sparrows flew around the stage on sticks, coupled with the surprising comic relief of a wheeling goose.
The actors delivered too – blowing the roof off the theatre with their emotive display of the relationship between man and horse.
Tender emotions were portrayed with as little as the brushing of copper fur; demonstrating grief, love, and desperation so masterfully – it was a sight to behold.
Applications of naturalistic acting concluded with a heart-warming end as the 30+ strong cast bowed to a rapt audience.
My quandaries do not arise from the performances of the actors themselves.
This particular screening started at an acceptable 7:15 pm and in total spanned 2 hours and 30 minutes – not an eye-watering length for such a renowned institution.
In short, War Horse dragged like the cart behind its eponymous equine protagonist.
The novella is under 200 pages long – barely anything in the distinguished world of literature – and yet the number of times I checked my watch did not justify the evocative performances delivered by the actors onstage.
Despite my ignorance of the book (my school's choice of Morpurgo being Private Peaceful), I felt the performance could have been condensed into no more than two hours, with the remaining half being plainly unnecessary.
I found it a shame that such an acclaimed performance fell short in my eyes, but I cannot hide from the sheer boredom I felt during countless scenes.
I still recommend experiencing the talent and application of the puppets and puppeteers – unarguably one of the most majestic sights in theatre – but I cannot give the performance more than 3 out of 5 stars.
