There are some musicals that feel tailor-made for Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre, and Brigadoon is one of them. On a warm August evening, surrounded by rustling trees and a fading sky, the conceit of a hidden Scottish village that materialises once every hundred years doesn’t feel far-fetched at all. Drew McOnie’s revival leans into the atmosphere of the space beautifully: mist curling across the stage, traditional pipes drifting in from the edges of the auditorium, and a design that blurs the boundary between myth and reality. The result is a production that is transportive, occasionally uneven, but ultimately deeply affecting.

At the heart of the piece are Louis Gaunt as Tommy and Georgina Onuorah as Fiona. Gaunt gives a subtle, intelligent performance: he avoids playing Tommy as the clichéd American tourist, instead finding a gentleness that makes his yearning for belonging wholly credible. His physical ease — unsurprising given his dance pedigree — allows him to slip seamlessly between stillness and motion, carrying both vulnerability and conviction.

Onuorah, by contrast, is a magnetic presence from her very first entrance. Her Fiona is less an ethereal “dream girl” and more a woman of quiet resolve, which makes her attraction to Tommy feel grounded and real. Vocally, she is superb — rich, controlled, and capable of filling the open-air setting with emotional weight. Together, Gaunt and Onuorah forge a chemistry that feels spontaneous, and their duets bring genuine tenderness rather than just romantic gloss.

Supporting roles also shine. Nic Myers brings mischievous bite to Meg Brockie, using comic timing without slipping into caricature. Jasmine Jules Andrews and Gilli Jones provide warmth and delicacy as Jean and Charlie, while the company as a whole move with an almost ritualistic unity. In fact, the ensemble may be the unsung hero here: their movement evokes not just the bustle of a village, but the pulse of a world that only half-exists, fragile and fleeting.

McOnie’s choreography is perhaps the production’s defining feature. It doesn’t mimic folk dance so much as distil its essence – stamping, turning, surging – fused with balletic lines and modern theatricality. At times it’s joyous, at times raw, and in several moments (notably Chrissy Brooke’s grief-stricken solo) it carries an emotional truth more powerful than the text.

Visually, Basia Bińkowska’s set is restrained but potent. Weathered stone, wild grasses and shifting mist conjure a Brigadoon that feels part dream, part landscape. Jessica Hung Han Yun’s lighting transforms the stage as dusk naturally falls: a village that glows, fades, then disappears into shadow. And in an inspired choice, the live bagpipes and earthy timbres of the band lend authenticity without tipping into kitsch.

Lerner and Loewe’s score is delivered with clarity and affection, though its lush romanticism sometimes clashes with the darker undertones introduced by Rona Munro’s revised book. The wartime framing — Tommy as a soldier grappling with trauma — provides context for his desire to escape, but it occasionally jars against the show’s fairy-tale logic. Still, when the orchestra swells into “Almost Like Being in Love” beneath an open night sky, it’s hard not to be swept away.

The book remains the production’s weakest link: even with Munro’s revisions, the story meanders, and some of the moral stakes slip by too quickly. Yet McOnie and his team don’t apologise for the oddities of Brigadoon – they highlight them. This is not a show that strives for narrative neatness; it revels in atmosphere, in feeling, in the collision between romance and melancholy.

This Brigadoon is not flawless. It doesn’t always balance its whimsical core with its wartime framing, and some narrative beats remain more curious than compelling. But what it does deliver – atmosphere, beauty, and sincerity – is more than enough. In Regent’s Park, where theatre and nature meet, the story of a village suspended in time gains a resonance it could never have indoors.

An evocative, emotionally generous revival that plays to the strengths of its performers and its setting. What it lacks in narrative sharpness it more than makes up for in mood, movement, and heart.