My Aunt and I spent two weeks twittering in excitement for Jan. 31, 2025, the day we would take the train downtown to see The Lion King’s theatre performance.
We spent ages checking and double-checking the weather, every day promising a relatively temperate winter evening for Friday night.
“We take the 6:00 p.m. train,” I had said weeks before the trip. “It gives us 45 minutes on the train and plenty of time to take a taxi to the theatre.”
This was of great importance. Once those theatre doors closed at 7:30 p.m., we wouldn’t be allowed in until at least 15 minutes after the show began. Should a sorry soul not arrive in time, they’d miss the incredibly iconic opening scene of the show (think of the rising orange sun, the prancing animals, and Rafiki lifting Simba into the sky).
My aunt confirmed our outfits a month before.
“A dress with heeled boots,” she said, “to arrive in the city with style.”
“A satin skirt,” I added, dreaming into the distance, “with jewelled heels and my butterfly brooch.”
On the day, I meticulously brushed the white cat hairs off my wool coat (a diva of her own kind) and checked my weather app. I put it down and looked outside. The thermometer, several degrees below zero, made for a raging snow carpet that blanketed the streets. There would be no heels worn that night.
I’d say our theatre party was a little ill-prepared to catch our train; we were still a little agog with our terrible weather prediction. With the GO Transit sign boards flashing a 6:00 p.m. departure time, we were still racing down the mushy streets — during peak rush hour, kilometres away from the station — at 5:58 p.m.
We did end up missing the train. My uncle, who drove us to the station, told us to wait until the next one came, a heavy half-hour later.
My aunt and I were beside ourselves. The new ETA of 7:12 p.m. meant that we’d have 15 minutes to get out of the station, find and jump into our taxi, drive to the theatre, get through security and somehow find our seats before the doors closed at 7:30 p.m.
It was impossibly tight. I munched on a chocolate chip cookie from the station store nervously. I felt disconnected from my own body and had to take a seat. If it was just me, I felt like I could make it on time, but with me was my aunt and her daughter — both new to downtown, and reasonable to say that they were going to be extremely slow.
The 6:30 p.m. train came. We hopped aboard, and I needed some silence. I opened my Lyft app and scheduled a ride for 7:10 p.m. I thought that if we somehow sprouted wings and reached the car before the wait time was up, it was worth paying the extra wait fees. Once our driver was selected, I immediately called them and informed them of our theatre fiasco.
All is said and done; those were the fastest 10 minutes of my life. We flew through the station, and our driver made some impressive maneuvers to park in front of the Princess of Wales Theatre. We reached three minutes before time, 7:27 p.m.
The first act had the most spectacular scenes and contained most of the iconic musical numbers from the movie. The massive puppets of the animals slowly making their way through the aisles and to the stage was show-stopping.
I was in love with the attention to detail in the costumes of the background characters. There were ladies in white robes with hats crowned with birds. Two men in a rhino puppet lumbered to the stage, wooden birds suspended between them. There was a powerful-looking cheetah that stretched her way gracefully to the stage and two massive giraffes that brought tears of emotion and appreciation to my eyes.
Scar was the most fabulous character in every scene he stalked and sashayed. With swooping eyebrows, he wore a dynamic mask that hovered over him and also covered his face anytime he knelt down; every element of his portrayal was well thought out. My aunt also commented that he was her favourite character from the entire cast, and I would have to agree that he was fantastic.
The most entrancing musical number in the first act would have to be the opening scene, followed closely by “I Just Can’t Wait to be King.” The children portraying Simba and Nala were an agile duo, and to the audience’s astonishment, they appeared on herculean bird puppets guided by reins.
The costume design team also created these conical Christmas-tree-like giraffe puppets that must’ve stood 15 feet tall. In an astonishing moment, they bent over the stage and dangled their heads over the front-row audience members! The colours and African batik-style prints on the set designs and clothing were playful and bright to emphasize the nature of all the characters in this stage of the story.
In the second act, we saw more of Timon and Pumba, whose comedic timing was impeccable. There was a lovely detail with Rafiki the baboon and her Xhosa monologue. It added authenticity to the African origins of the story and brought a few chuckles from the audience as well.
Mufasa had a very regal countenance and was similar to the courageous father who overlooked the Pride Lands in the movie. At the scene of his demise, I remember that the lionesses glided on stage towards his body, their wooden lioness headpieces and capes billowing around them. In an emotional moment, they all raised their hands towards the eyes on their headpieces and pulled out two frail paper strips from the empty sockets — tears running down their faces.
Overall, it was an incredibly thought-out production that captured many fanciful details that made the animated movie magical. The experience opened my heart up to experiencing more theatre and enjoying more Toronto productions in the future.