Suddenly, two suns hang on the horizon, blazing, burnished gold. It is an illusion. Blue water flows into blue sky; the setting sun is dipping toward the sea, its reflection rises to meet it. On the hilltop where we stand, yellow beams, streaming horizontally through towering stone arches, are smeared grey by smoke belched from the nostrils of Smaug, the dragon. We have almost reached the culmination of the adventures of Bilbo, the eponymous Hobbit, Gandalf the wizard and the company of dwarves led by Thorin.
In our imaginations, we are in Middle-earth, between the Lonely Mountain and Lake-town; in our physical bodies, we are in Lancaster’s Williamson Park, grouped in front of the gleaming white, 150ft high, domed and pillared Ashton Memorial, overlooking a vista across to Morecambe Bay. The dragon stretches his wings, rises, Bilbo cries out, an arrow flies, Smaug... (No spoiler here; there still are some who have not read JRR Tolkien’s 1937 novel, nor seen the three-part film adaptation - released between 2012 and 2014.)
We have trekked from the soft green sward of the Shires, through leafy glades and dark woods where lurk: flesh-eating trolls; riddling Gollum; the skin-changing man-bear, Beorn; and mischief-making elves. Barney George’s design, Oliver Birch’s sound and Brent Lees’s lighting subtly combine to translate the real to the fantastical – ably complemented by committed performances (one among the many small children was frightened to tears, but he soon recovered). Experienced Dukes theatre summer promenade performance audiences come prepared for sun, rain, mud, heat and cold.
If, at first, I was irritated by the liberties writer Kevin Dyer takes with the story, I was won over well before the extraordinary battle climax (Joe Sumsion’s direction, here, breathtaking): his adaptation is ultimately satisfyingly faithful to Tolkien’s vision of good against evil.
