It’s probably fair to say that many audiences tend to be a touch more forgiving and receptive to anything with a lash of the festive about it. Repetition becomes tradition; the familiar becomes the favourite. Whilst not quite to same level of ubiquity as, say, A Christmas Carol, most will agree that Narnia has been done. In print, on screen (large and small, with a new Netflix adaptation in the works as of writing) and indeed on stage. Or at least so far as its first, iconic instalment (I don’t detect much of a clamour for a stage adaptation of Prince Caspian).

Even this very production of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, which houses itself at the Birmingham Rep for Christmas 2023 (and indeed for an early chunk of 2024, to boot), has already done the rounds in Birmingham a few times over.

And yet, whether it is the moody ambience of its staging, the magical whimsy that crackles through its puppetry and performances, or the bewitching, haunting throb of its folksy music, this trip to Narnia feels as fresh and inviting as those first crisp steps out of the wardrobe.

It starts bold; the journey of the four Pevensie children (Daniel Apea, Kudzu Mangombe, Jerome Scott and Liyah Summers) from home to wardship in wartime England casts stark, juddering beams from on high to simulate a cold, mechanical and uninviting train journey. Cath Whitefield’s (more on whom, later) stiff and waspish Mrs Macready offers little warmth or comfort (though a few giggles, courtesy of her sheer, unimpressed rigidity) upon arrival.

Benji Bower and Barnaby Race’s score offers urgency and even some flashes of Zimmer-esque modernity, with just enough infusions of the fantastical dancing at the edges.

Of course, eventually we follow the children on their journey through the titular gateway, and what were mere hints of fantasy and wonderment are fully let loose. Fabrics cascade down to form the hut of kindly fawn, Mr Tumnus (a beautifully delicate Jez Unwin, who does great work with one of the show’s best numbers). Streaks of ice and light ebb through cracks in the stage floor when magic is invoked, or hope ignited. The mighty Lion Aslan is dual performed, as both Oliver Hoare’s fur-robed majesty and a jaw-dropping behemoth of a triple-manned puppet. Whitefield’s villainous white witch, Jadis, lifts and floats around the stage with malevolent authority on her industrial chariot-cum-crane.

…And just you wait until she channels her inner Cirque du Soleil to summon forth her minions for war.

It may sound rote, but there’s something about the look, sound, feel and fabric of this production that regularly feels magical.

Whilst not quite a musical, it certainly boasts a considerable number of set pieces that tiptoe, prance or, in the case of a certain crimson gift-giver, even jolly jaunt their way very close to feeling like one. This particular writer still has ‘Myra the gift-giver… SinterKlaas!’ stuck on repeat in his head some days later.

The Earthy, folk nature of much of the music, with its laments to spirits of nature and water, and odes to Springtime, are gorgeous, and often beautifully accompanied by actor-musos weaving about the stage.

“Whilst not quite a musical, it certainly boasts a considerable number of set pieces that tiptoe, prance or even jolly jaunt their way very close to feeling like one.”

It’s mostly left to the Narnians to deliver up the song and dance, which makes it something of a pity that Jadis herself doesn’t get any sort of villainous refrain, but overall the music is one of the richest and most enjoyable reasons for this new version of Lion to exist.

As a fairly faithful adaptation of the source material, some of the inherent storytelling stumbles of this first part of the Narnia saga remain intact. Its high levels of kid-friendly cuteness (beavers, otters and squirrels, oh my!) can occasionally clash with the heavier concepts of war, murder and monarchy. Perils are undone almost as quickly as they are introduced, and the heavier pseudo-Christian undertones can feel a trifle old hat in 2023.

But these are minor and mostly forgettable quibbles. Michael Fentiman directs a fluid, punchy adventure filled with wonderment and delight within the playground of Tom Paris’ design work, Jack Knowles’ lighting and Tom Marshall’s fantastic and evocative sound work.

The four Pevensie kids put in warm turns, with Summers something of a standout as principled, take-charge Susan. Whitefield is fantastic as the show’s villainess throughout, with Shane Antony-Whiteley showcasing impressive physicality and intimidating presence as her chief lieutenant, Maugrim. Michael Larcombe, meanwhile, occasionally threatens to steal scenes out from under both of them as the hilarious head ‘cruel’ – a minion who seems to have graduated from the Andy Serkis school of hunched wretchedness.

Samuel Morgan-Grahame and Ruby Ablett offer up some further comic lightness as a pair of bickering but well-meaning beavers, along with David Birrell who bookends the show with his quirky, deadpan professor.

In all, the vibrant and immersive staging, hearty performances and transportive, gorgeous music layer a blanket of fresh snow over a familiar tale. This is a handsome, impressive slice of theatre that makes for an easy recommendation for families and theatregoers over Christmas and the New Year.

We may have been through the wardrobe many times over, and in many different forms, but off the back of this rich, vivid production, this particular trip to Narnia is comfortably one of the best yet.