After a run at Theatre Royal Drury Lane this April, manga-based Your Lie In April has transferred to the Harold Pinter Theatre. Unlike Spirited Away, which chooses a faithful representation of the anime world (much like most 2.5D theatrical adaptations of anime in Japan) to cater to anime and manga fans, director Nick Winston takes a different approach with Your Lie in April. It panders to the tastes of West End audiences, making it enjoyable whether you’ve watched the anime/manga or not. It feels inherently West End, and an above-average one at that.
Kōsei Arima (Zheng Xi Yong), a piano prodigy, became unable to hear his own music after losing his mother. situation starts to change when he encounters young violinist Kaori Miyazono (Mia Kobayashi). Together with his best friends Tsubaki (Rachel Clare Chan) and Ryota (Dean John Wilson), Kōsei gradually rediscovers his passion for music, and learns about love, loss and courage when facing heartbreaking truths.
The cast blows your mind with exceptional performances. Zheng Xi Yong showcases the capabilities of West End musical actors at a new level. Besides his singing, he plays an exceptional long piece in the second act, where Kōsei eventually overcomes his inner demons and plays wholeheartedly for Kaori. The music seamlessly integrates with the narrative. Mia Kobayashi perfectly embodies the original manga character, stepping out of the pages with a deep, soulful voice that contrasts with Zheng Xi Yong’s more delicate tone. Their relationship is convincing: Kaori illuminates Kōsei. She is his life guide.
Chan and Wilson bring a slightly overt cartoonish quality to their roles, helping to preserve scenes with an intense anime-manga vibe of youth (seishun) and fervour (nekketsu), such as the beautifully choreographed bicycle scene. Most of the music (by Frank Wildhorn with lyrics by Carly Robyn Green and Tracy Miller) is ear-pleasing, though I find some melodies overly familiar.
Unlike the manga and anime, which leave much to the imagination with literary metaphors and imageries, the two-hour-long show sometimes feels too packed both temporally and spatially. The pacing is a bit too hasty. For a story with such rich and nuanced emotions, some breathing space between scenes is needed for the audience to build empathy with the characters. Especially in the final sad yet touching part, I feel uncertain about the decision to arrange repeated emotive and loud duets, as it can feel like an attempt to forcibly stir our emotions.
The set (Justin Williams) is also overly gaudy, with intricate projections sometimes featuring the haunting face of Kōsei’s mother, and other times displaying different scenic CGs with an anime texture. The lighting (Rory Beaton) seems at capturing and reflecting the characters’ subtle psychological states, but most of the time it just looks like a dazzling and colourful disco hall.
