A tender, gently magical piece of theatre that reminds us stories survive through connection and care
Descending beneath Waterloo into the basement venue of The Glitch, you enter a softly lit magical archive – VAULT Creative Arts returning production of The Lost Library of Leake Street (written and directed by Oli Savage). From the moment you step inside, you’re no longer just an observer: you’re invited into the traverse-style bookless “library”, shelves cloaked in fairy lights and loaded with objects; each a tiny relic of someone’s life, each waiting to whisper a story. Warm chandeliers, rugs underfoot, odd trinkets glinting in soft light, alive with memory.
At the heart of the show are two actors whose chemistry is quietly magnetic: Ronay Poole as teenager Isla Greenwood, and Malcolm Jeffries as Maximilian Crimp, the librarian. Isla stumbles across this mysterious “library” when searching for a Christmas gift for her mum, encountering the reclusive Max, who somewhat reluctantly shares the secret magic that allows stories to be re-lived through objects. Poole brings Isla to life with a luminous blend of innocence and hope – wide-eyed, curious, full-hearted. As she moves through the library, she slips effortlessly between roles: sometimes a wonder-filled girl seeing treasures for the first time, other times an echo of grief or joy tied to a dusty trinket. Jeffries offers a quieter, restrained counterpoint: Max carries years of sorrow, regret, and gentle weariness. Yet when the objects stir memories, he loosens, pain, tenderness, and lost love flicker across his face. Together, Poole and Jeffries build a small world that feels both fragile and alive, full of longing and possibility.
Oli Savage’s language is poetic, elegant, knowingly mischievous and unpretentious, yet weighted with emotion. It asks the audience to lean in, to trust that even a chipped cup or a rusted toy can hold a life inside it. The tone stays gentle, almost tender – but beneath that tenderness is real shared grief, loss, and the longing for connection. The stakes are not earth-shattering. The show doesn’t aim to shock or dazzle. It asks for presence, empathy, and memory, with a confident and conscious storytelling frame focused on heart and a shared wink. A wink that Savage handles with characteristic ease in the direction.
Design-wise, the transformation of The Glitch’s basement into this cosy archive is nothing short of magical. Every shelf, every object, every flicker of light is curated. Despite the clutter, the space never feels heavy or overwhelming – instead, it becomes intimate, personal, like stepping into someone’s maximalist attic. Fairy lights circle the space, lending weight to certain objects, framed by soft shadow. The result is immersive, really tapping into a sense of magical possibility and making me feel like a child again.
There are moments when the logic of the “magic” does test the limits of your belief and the script repeats itself a little in exposition, with some contradictions carried more by tone. The nature of the connection between characters, the youthful Isla left alone with middle-aged Max, was sometimes on a knife’s edge of uneasiness, particularly with Poole multi-roleing as Max’s wife during the piece. But the production handles these risks with care. The direction is confident yet subtle; the actors anchor every moment with humanity.
The tone overall is warm, wholesome, and quietly enchanting. Some of the tropes are familiar, but they feel lovingly revisited. Because the performances are generous, because the space is inhabited, because the storytelling comes from a place of respect and remembrance.
The magic of The Lost Library of Leake Street lies in empathy. What if every discarded object held a story? What if remembering those stories helped people connect – across loss, life, time? In that basement under Waterloo, with fairy lights and dusty relics all around you, for an hour or so, you let yourself be warmed by the hope of a shared story.
Review by Ariella Stoian.