Moby Dick review

The great white whale also appears to us in different sizes, sometimes tiny, vulnerable and almost cute, sometimes awesome and stage-filling, a single glinting eye conveying the creature’s might and dignity. The smaller whaling boats are presented in miniature, which makes the ocean seem rightly terrifying and alive, an entity in its own right. The largely monochrome production is visually striking and full of memorable images. A trio of musicians provides live accompaniment, a blend of throbbing bass and thundering drums with occasional plaintive whale-song. The watery world is brought to life via a series of rippling sheets and David Lejard-Ruffet’s intricate video work. But lovely as the production is to look at, it’s also quite slow and ponderous in places.

As in the novel, the adaption is narrated by Ishmael, a lone human presence in a crew of puppets, but his poetic interjections and musings on the call of the sea mostly interfere with the pacing. The stories of the other crew members are condensed, which undermines their potential impact – the significance of Queequeg’s coffin is among many elements that get lost. The most emotive moment comes when we witness a whale harpooned and stripped of its blubber, its body peeled like a carrot before its head is detached, all while its calf watches helplessly on. It’s gut-wrenching and upsetting, but nothing else quite matches it.

The technical skill on display is impressive. It’s brilliantly lit by Xavier Lescat and Vincent Loubière, who make the puppeteers appear like shadows or wraiths, fading into the black background. The puppet design is stunning, and the propulsive music somewhat compensates for lulls in the storytelling. There’s real magic here, but it’s intermittent.