A promising experiment that struggles to find its rhythm
Plucky Culprit’s The Girl with the Enamel Eyes offers a reworking of the Coppélia ballet that feels both ambitious and somewhat confused in its execution. Framed as a one-act musical, the show attempts to blend satire, horror, and comedy but never quite settles into a cohesive tone or structure.
One of the most perplexing creative decisions is the choice not to pair Franz and Swanhilde romantically. The dynamic between them, while featuring impressive comic chemistry, lacks narrative payoff and emotional depth. Their scenes are often lively—Franz’s ballad, in particular, is a highlight, mixing sincere delivery with musical theatre parody—but the absence of a clear arc between the two leaves a gap where the story’s heart might have been.
Likewise, Swanhilde’s motivations for exploring Dr Coppélius’ home have been altered, but without a clear reason or emotional grounding. In the original ballet, her actions carry urgency and purpose; here, they feel incidental. Most notably, she no longer plays a role in saving Franz, a change that removes a major point of tension and resolution.
Visually, the production leans into atmosphere. The dim lighting and minimalist set design do well to support the eerie, haunted tone of the latter scenes. However, the second half of the show feels underdeveloped. What begins with a promise unravels into a sequence of rapid, disjointed events. The pacing doesn’t help—time seems to stretch out comfortably at first, only to rush to a close, compressing plot developments that could have benefited from more space.
The show’s ensemble appears committed, but not always unified. While some performers aim for naturalism, others play their parts in a more heightened, pantomime style. This tonal inconsistency is especially noticeable in the portrayal of the mayor, who seems to be in an entirely different genre than the rest of the cast.
The world of the piece is similarly ambiguous. Though it gestures toward a folkloric, Eastern European setting, it never clearly establishes a time or place. Culturally, geographically, and thematically, it feels like it’s hovering near the border of something—Galicia, perhaps—but never steps fully into it. Thematically, some scenes lack a clear narrative drive; at times, the story feels like a theatrical pastiche, almost like watching a Scooby-Doo reenactment without a clear villain or mystery to solve.
Coppélia herself is portrayed not so much as an automaton but more like a half-formed idea—part uncanny creature, part symbolic presence. It’s an interesting take, though one that lacks a strong emotional or dramatic hook. The repeated breaking of the fourth wall further muddles the framing; there’s a line about dancing “for you,” but the show never establishes who the “you” is. The theatrical device feels dropped in without setup, making it more confusing than thought-provoking.
In all, The Girl with the Enamel Eyes is a bold experiment with moments of real promise, particularly in its performances and visual design. Still, its attempt to reimagine a three-act ballet into a single, genre-blending piece may be too much too soon. A clearer focus—both in tone and in story—would help ground its ambitions and give future versions more weight. That said, this feels like a promising beginning for the team behind it, and one hopes their next outing allows their obvious creativity to shine with greater clarity.