TWELFTH NIGHT
October 4, 2012
Globe Theatre, London, until Sunday, October 14, 2012, then at the Apollo Theatre from November 2
THE advance publicity may have been all about Stephen Fry’s Malvolio and the chances of his absconding under the pressure of stage fright and/or the critics, as he did once before from a West End show.
But the reality of this new Twelfth Night, traditionally staged and cast – with men playing the female parts – is that it is very much an ensemble piece.
Certainly, Fry is magnificent in his role as the pompous, overblown steward. His delivery of the verse is impeccable, his comic timing unquestionable and his use of the verbal tics and expressions that we know so well from Blackadder and other outings is carefully judged only to add to the amusement, rather than relying on them or detracting from the performance in any way.
But he is far from alone in his contribution to the sheer exuberance of the occasion. Across the company, there’s a palpable sense of friendly rivalry as a number of choice performancespable sense of friendlt rivalry to outdo the occasionce in any wya.now so well from Blackadder and other outings is caref compete to outdo each other in panache and entertainment value. Chief among these are the three women’s roles, each one played to perfection.
Johnny Flynn is touching and vulnerable as the cross-dressing Viola – the first I’ve ever seen to resemble her twin Sebastian so closely as to be genuinely mistakable. Paul Chahidi is in danger of stealing the show as the gentlewoman Maria, whose bustling gait and facial expressions offer some of the show’s finest moments.
And Mark Rylance is almost unrecognisable as Olivia, the mourning countess at the heart of a transgender love triangle. She’s so often played as a simpering, pathetic figure, but Rylance mines her character for huge depths of comedy, bringing real vitality to the part.
The decision to cast men in the female roles is utterly vindicated not only by its Shakespearean authenticity, but by the obviously serious intent with which these three undertake their mission – not to mention the success with which they achieve it.
Elsewhere, Colin Hurley and Roger Lloyd Pack are as good a double act as you could wish for in the often overplayed farce of Toby Belch and Andrew Aguecheek.
And while director Tim Carroll may have steered on the side of conventionality with his staging, this is a Twelfth Night to remember, and one which should do great business on its transfer into the West End – providing the enthusiastic critical reception doesn’t spook Mr Fry…
October 4, 2012
Globe Theatre, London, until Sunday, October 14, 2012, then at the Apollo Theatre from November 2
THE advance publicity may have been all about Stephen Fry’s Malvolio and the chances of his absconding under the pressure of stage fright and/or the critics, as he did once before from a West End show.
But the reality of this new Twelfth Night, traditionally staged and cast – with men playing the female parts – is that it is very much an ensemble piece.
Certainly, Fry is magnificent in his role as the pompous, overblown steward. His delivery of the verse is impeccable, his comic timing unquestionable and his use of the verbal tics and expressions that we know so well from Blackadder and other outings is carefully judged only to add to the amusement, rather than relying on them or detracting from the performance in any way.
But he is far from alone in his contribution to the sheer exuberance of the occasion. Across the company, there’s a palpable sense of friendly rivalry as a number of choice performancespable sense of friendlt rivalry to outdo the occasionce in any wya.now so well from Blackadder and other outings is caref compete to outdo each other in panache and entertainment value. Chief among these are the three women’s roles, each one played to perfection.
Johnny Flynn is touching and vulnerable as the cross-dressing Viola – the first I’ve ever seen to resemble her twin Sebastian so closely as to be genuinely mistakable. Paul Chahidi is in danger of stealing the show as the gentlewoman Maria, whose bustling gait and facial expressions offer some of the show’s finest moments.
And Mark Rylance is almost unrecognisable as Olivia, the mourning countess at the heart of a transgender love triangle. She’s so often played as a simpering, pathetic figure, but Rylance mines her character for huge depths of comedy, bringing real vitality to the part.
The decision to cast men in the female roles is utterly vindicated not only by its Shakespearean authenticity, but by the obviously serious intent with which these three undertake their mission – not to mention the success with which they achieve it.
Elsewhere, Colin Hurley and Roger Lloyd Pack are as good a double act as you could wish for in the often overplayed farce of Toby Belch and Andrew Aguecheek.
And while director Tim Carroll may have steered on the side of conventionality with his staging, this is a Twelfth Night to remember, and one which should do great business on its transfer into the West End – providing the enthusiastic critical reception doesn’t spook Mr Fry…