There is always a danger that productions of "The Tempest," the play Shakespeare set on an enchanted island, will indulge in too many theatrical effects and, thus, destroy its magic. Yet in the latest production to arrive in Tokyo, no spirits fly through the air nor is anyone soaked or tossed about in the opening storm. Instead, less perpetually hints of more.

Philip Voss as Prospero and Nikki Amuka-Bird as Miranda in Shakespeare's "The Tempest"

Celebrating 21 years of mobile theater from Britain's Royal Shakespeare Company and directed by James Macdonald, this is a fresh treatment of Shakespeare's well-loved play.

Instead of flying, the spirit Ariel simply runs up a steep ramp and perches against a film of clouds. Prospero's shipwrecked enemies slide down the same ramp through projected waves and rise through billowing silk in dreamy slow motion.

The island "full of noises, sounds and sweet airs" is evoked with minimal fuss. A fiery gong is struck here, a shivering zither there. And a chorus of "spirits" drift in and out humming strange harmonies. Like stage assistants in kabuki, the chorus is dressed all in black. Occasionally its members quietly clear props from the scene.

There are also surprises in the unconventional acting, which ranges from brilliant strokes of comedy to moments of silent tenderness.

Philip Voss brings a dignified bearing and powerful, intelligent voice to the main role of Prospero, the usurped duke of Milan. One wishes, however, that the costume designer had not made him wear a tattered cardigan -- and that Nikki Amuka-Bird's portrayal of his innocent daughter Miranda had been set off by something better than a hideous white shift.

For all his woes, this is a cool Prospero. After being stripped of power by his brother Antonio, with the aid of King Alonso of Naples, he and his daughter were set on a boat and set to drift at sea. For more than a decade, they languished on a remote island, with Prospero's only subjects being the monstrous Caliban and the spirit Ariel. He is stirred to use his magic to take vengeance when his enemies come in sight, but he is not overly wracked with bitterness.

Although there is no great inner struggle at the dramatic moment when Prospero breaks his magic staff, having achieved his ends, there are more subtle transformations taking place. As he surrenders his occult powers, and resumes his rightful position as the duke of Milan, he actually grows in authority. And as he forgives his enemies, like a true Christian, he becomes more humane.

Earlier, he has cruelly threatened Ariel to obey his commands. Now, as Ariel helps him cast off his magic garments forever, he gives the slave-spirit a word of tenderness. Yet at the moment of long-awaited release, Ariel vanishes without a word, sound or backward glance into the night.

The unconventional performance of Ariel by Gilz Terera will no doubt raise a few eyebrows. For the most part dressed in severe charcoal gray, his slim figure has dignity and grace. When reporting to his master, he holds himself rigid and delivers his lines in clipped, precise tones. This reminds us that Aerial is not of this world and is an unwilling slave of human concerns.

Yet below a controlled surface, this talented actor suggests longing, fear and frustration. When he describes the pitiful prisoner Gonzalo of the shipwrecked crew, whose "tears run down his beard, like winter's drops from eaves of reeds," he hints, by the merest emotion, of his own longing to be free.

Occasionally, one might wish for more poetic readings by some of the younger actors, but again the music by Orlando Gough provides a magical touch. Ariel's songs, such as "full fathom five thy father lies," are delivered in a haunting voice and set to a kind of jazzy, ethereal syncopation.

But it is not all whispers and dreams. The earthy combination of Julian Kerridge, as the jester Trinculo, and James Saxon, as the stout butler Stephano, provide hearty buffoonery. Yet, beneath the belly laughs, we are offered a telling parable of the abuse of power.

Into this island paradise staggers the worthless, drunken Stephano, who quickly sees himself as lord of all he surveys. With delicious irony, Caliban, the resentful slave of Prospero, kisses the boots of his new master, Stephano. Then throws himself about yelling, "Freedom!"

Zubin Varla's excellent, unusual Caliban elicits both our revulsion and sympathy. "You taught me language," he spits at Prospero, in something between a wail and an accusation, "and my profit on't is I know how to curse."

When Shakespeare wrote this play, Europeans were indeed discovering brave new worlds. The long process of destroying native people and untouched wilderness had scarcely begun. Yet today we can read in the play sobering reflections on paradise found and lost. There is, for example, the utopian vision of Gonzalo (a role well played by Robert Langdon Lloyd) and Miranda's innocent admiration of the newcomers, "O brave new world that has such people in it." That the visitors include liars, thieves and would-be murderers is an irony as important now as it has ever been.