THE MOUSE AND HIS CHILD
November 29, 2012
RSC, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, January 12, 2013
RESOURCES are rarely an issue at the RSC, and so it proves with this lavish, expensive production of this year’s Christmas show. On the face of it, the money spent on sets, costumes and on-stage six-piece band appears to be money well spent, with a strong design by Angela Davies and some superb musicianship on display.
But scratch the surface of this knockabout extravaganza and you find... well, not very much at all, actually.
The original 1968 kids’ book by Russell Hoban, on which this new production is based, is not exactly a children’s classic, and anyone unfamiliar with it – as I was, despite four offspring of both varieties – may struggle to keep up.
It’s the tale of a tin clockwork mouse and his son, permanently joined together and constantly wide-eyed at the wonders of the world. The innocent pair are separated from their toy shop friends and subsequently face a terrifying journey through the harsh realities of life at the hands of villainous rat Manny and his grubby crew as they struggle to find their way back home.
But the journey is episodic in the extreme, and the episodes too disparate and unengaging to make a cohesive whole, while any sense of emotional investment is lost on two lifeless characters who are, quite literally, dependent on everyone around them to activate them. Such passivity is disastrous to the central story, which ends up as a kind of parade of clever routines showing off the talents of the spirited cast and technical experts without really hooking its audience.
Director Paul Hunter works some visual magic with Tamsin Oglesby’s tepid script and many of the performances are appealing, most notably Daniel Ryan and Bettrys Jones as the Mouse and Child themselves.
In fairness, there are plenty of laughs to be found by the under-tens, but there may also be a lingering sense of dissatisfaction – like the memory of the transient charms of an interval choc ice.
THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR
November 1, 2012
RSC, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, January 12, 2013
WRITTEN to wring extra mileage from the already popular character of Sir John Falstaff, The Merry Wives of Windsor is often regarded as one of Shakespeare’s weaker pieces. The comedy is laboured and heavy-handed, the plot farcical and stretching the bounds of credibility. Even Sir John himself is a pale imitation of his other self in the history plays.
Consequently, the RSC does well to bring such life and entertainment value to this new modern-dress production, stylishly designed by Max Jones. Director Phillip Breen has the stage frequently swarming with people, and the manic action of the attempted seduction by Falstaff of the two eponymous wives is consistently frenetic.
Much of the credit must go to the players. Sylvestra Le Touzel and Alexandra Gilbreath make a fine pair of ladies-who-lunch with their designer wellies and cool boxes, while John Ramm in particular makes a hugely enjoyable feast of Frank Ford, the jealous husband determined to trap the fat knight in flagranto.
Anita Dobson draws on the spirit of her EastEnders character Angie Watts to instil in Mistress Quickly plenty of vigour and humour, while Desmond Barrit does a nice line in both comedy corpulence and defeated pathos as Falstaff.
There’s some excellent support elsewhere, including Bart David Soroczynski as the Frenchman Dr Caius and Simeon Truby as the host of the Garter Inn, and the whole thing rattles along, even at a rather numbing three hours plus.
It’s not going to set the world alight – but then how much of that is down to the original text anyway? What it does do is offer a sound, perfectly pleasing version of a minor-league Shakespeare.
A TENDER THING
October 5, 2012
RSC, Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, October 20, 2012
IT’S an intriguing idea and one that stimulates intellectually: is it possible to take the text of one of Shakespeare’s best-loved plays, Romeo and Juliet, and rework it to tell a new story?
National Theatre dramaturg (can anyone explain exactly what a dramaturg is please?) Ben Power was tasked by RSC artistic director Michael Boyd with finding out. And at an intellectual level, the answer is undoubtedly yes. Power has drafted lines, speeches and phrases from all over the place to serve his purpose of creating a new narrative about an older couple contemplating assisted suicide.
At an emotional level, the answer is more complex. Certainly the story is emotionally charged, powerful and eminently contemporary, with ongoing debates about the legality of helping a terminally ill partner to die. But the poetry of the language and its occasional opacity puts a distance between the audience and the two lovers which not only makes it easier to bear their tragedy, but also idealises the emotions, rendering them somehow less immediate.
That’s not to say that the playing is anything but superb. The 80-minute two-hander runs without an interval but is never less than gripping thanks to the performances of Kathryn Hunter and Richard McCabe.
Hunter is an interesting actress, sometimes highly stylised, sometimes fluid and mercurial, and while she’s not the easiest to watch, she’s certainly fascinating. McCabe, by contrast, is more naturalistic and, as a result, achieves more emotional punch as he agonises over the heartrending decision of whether to help his wife poison herself.
Director Helena Kaut-Howson and designer Neil Murray make effective use of the Swan’s stage and some elegant projections, while lighting (Vince Herbert) and some elegiac music from John Woolf also add to the tenderness of the piece.
It’s not an easy subject, nor an easy exploration of the implications, but it’s a moving, compelling piece of drama underscored by all the lyricism of some of Shakespeare’s finest lines.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
August 8, 2012
RSC, Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, August 18, 2012
Some productions are so majestic in their ambition, so noble in their aims, that they just cry out to be chalked up as heroic failures. This one isn’t.
Shakespeare’s take on the siege of Troy by the ancient Greeks is full of complex characters, complicated relationships and epic grandeur. If there’s a faint whirring sound underscoring this radical new version, it’s probably old Will spinning in his grave.
In truth, it’s actually two productions in one, having been divvied up between the RSC and the American experimentalist troupe The Wooster Group as a co-production.
The Americans play the Trojans. As Red Indians. That ought to tell you everything you need to know, but in the interests of fairness, I shall expand further.
Already thus hampered by a daft directorial conceit (step forward Wooster founder Elizabeth LeCompte), they are doubly hamstrung by an inexplicable second obstacle. Four tiny television screens on poles at the corners of the stage relay some wilfully obscure footage of everything from eskimo wrestling to 1950s B movies, while the poor sods reciting the Bard are simultaneously required to mimic the actions of the characters in the films, regardless of their relevance or the resultant destruction of any meaning to their lines.
This may qualify as thought-provoking and innovative in New York, but frankly Stratford deserves better.
The Brits, by contrast, play the Greeks, suffering from one hugely unfair advantage: they know how to perform Shakespeare. Despite being given some equally suspect things to do by the British half of the directing team, current writer-in-residence Mark Ravenhill, they consequently emerge from the whole debacle with at least some of their integrity, if not all of their clothes.
Unfortunately, when the opposing sides finally meet in the later battle scenes, the vastly superior forces of the British contingent are largely undermined by the fact that their counterparts are too busy copying eskimos to bother acting with them.
You can’t help but feel pity for the likes of Danny Webb and Scott Handy – fine Shakespeareans both – finding themselves trapped in this kind of self-indulgent, Emperor’s New Clothes claptrap. But you also can’t help wondering where the RSC’s grand scheme for a triumphant season of world-beating productions went so horribly wrong.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING
August 8, 2012
RSC, Courtyard Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, September 15, 2012, then Noel Coward Theatre, London
The first thing to say about this production is how fantastic it is to be back in the Courtyard Theatre, with its lush red seats, warm wooden tones and welcoming atmosphere.
Built in a tin shed on the site of the old Other Place, it was originally intended as a temporary home for the company while the main house was undergoing three years of reconstruction, as well as being a kind of prototype for the new thrust stage design. In retrospect, they got it absolutely right first time.
But there is plenty more than the venue to recommend Iqbal Khan's sumptuous version of the Shakespearean comedy of manners and cynicism won over by love.
Transposed to rural India, the complexities and constraints of the social order - with all its arranged marriages, servant and master relationships and discomfort about the role of women - make much sense.
Khan's creative team, including Tom Piper (set), Himani Dehlvi (costumes) and Ciaran Bagnall (lighting), render a superb representation of the heat, light and dustiness of the location, while Niraj Chag's authentic music provides a thrilling score to the proceedings.
Among the performances, there is something of a mixed bag. Meera Syal stands out as a fiercely independent Beatrice, while Amara Karan gives a touching, vulnerable interpretation of Hero, the sweet young bride who is wronged by her duped fiancé Claudio - another tender portrayal by Sagar Arya.
But it's the overall impression of the hustle and heat of India that sticks in the mind. The colour, vibrancy and energy, rather than any particular enlightenment of the text, are what mark this production out as a little bit different.
JULIUS CAESAR
June 15, 2012
RSC, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, July 7, 2012, then touring
DIRECTORIAL concepts, as I have noted before, can be notoriously dangerous when imposed unilaterally on a text that cannot – or will not – sustain the idea. Gregory Doran’s decision to transfer the political machinations of ancient Rome to a modern African dictatorship, fortunately, works brilliantly.
All the senatorial intrigue, factional in-fighting and bitter struggles for power ring horribly true against a backdrop of blazing sunshine, thrilling musical rhythms and makeshift private armies equipped with Russian or Chinese-supplied small arms.
The all-black casting and heavily-accented delivery of the familiar lines also bring a surprising and highly effective quality to the piece: the slight strangeness of the cadences is a perfect match for the anachronistic language of Shakespeare, and the combined result is both believable and enlightening.
Michael Vale’s stunning design, complete with crumbling concrete football stadium terraces and a giant bronze statue of Caesar, is intelligently used and extremely evocative under the sensitive lighting of Vince Herbert. Indeed, the success of the sumptuous production lies as much with the creative off-stage team as with the on-stage work.
Among the performances, Jeffery Kissoon’s Caesar is a paternalistic tyrant with ambition and warmth in equal measure. Kissoon’s carefully judged mix of imperial stature and human vulnerabilities makes his overthrow by the conspirators totally convincing.
Ray Fearon’s Mark Antony looks beautiful and sounds vibrant – his funeral oration is particularly stirring – but even he is upstaged by the magnetism and depth of Paterson Joseph’s wonderful Brutus.
Joseph displays an extraordinary range of light and shade as the reticent regicidal ringleader, and his inconsistent outbursts and flashes of temper are powerfully drawn and genuinely terrifying. It’s a magnificent performance of real weight and authority, and Joseph commands the stage whenever he’s on it.
One can only wonder how the RSC will manage to take this huge cast and set on tour, but it’s a venture well worth undertaking and a production well worth seeing.
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS
April 28, 2012
RSC, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, October 6, 2012
FOR out-and-out farce, few of Shakespeare’s comedies pack as many laughs per minute as The Comedy of Errors. And this new production, running alongside Twelfth Night and The Tempest as a trilogy of ‘shipwreck plays’, makes the most of its comic opportunities.
Yet director Amir Nizar Zuabi also chooses to focus on some of the darker aspects of the piece, staging it in a modern-day Arab state intolerant of foreigners to the point of execution and enforced by Uzi-wielding security forces.
It’s an uncomfortable juxtaposition that sits uneasily with the played-for-laughs performances, but the combination somehow coalesces into an effective and highly entertaining whole.
Among those performances, the most successful are the double act of Dromio and Dromio, twins separated in early life at the same time as their twin masters, Antipholus and Antipholus. Bruce Mackinnon and Felix Hayes share physical and stylistic attributes that make them utterly convincing – and extremely funny – as the put-upon pair of servants, which helps considerably in this most tortuous and mangled of Shakespearean plots.
Once again, Jon Bausor’s impressive design, shared with the other two plays, is a major plus point. This time, it adapts to a dockside wharf, complete with a working crane that winches in entire sets for certain scenes.
And with Zuabi keeping the action racing along – the whole thing’s done and dusted in a pacy two hours – this Comedy remains both intelligible and enjoyable throughout, and a worthy companion to its two fellow pieces.
THE TEMPEST
April 26, 2012
RSC, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Sunday, October 7, 2012
FOR some bizarre reason, the water tank that is playing such a major part in the so-called Shipwreck Trilogy currently being staged by the RSC stands empty for the most watery of the three plays, The Tempest.
Set on an island, with scenes of storms at sea and endless talk of watery graves, the production instead plays out on dry, bleached wooden boards that are as integral in Jon Bausor’s imposing designs as any of the actors’ performances.
Director David Farr – who also helms Twelfth Night – applies judicious editing to this later Shakespeare text, and to good effect. The show runs at around two and a half hours and fair zips along, once the opening ten minutes of exposition-heavy talk are out of the way.
Jonathan Slinger looks a little young for Prospero, the furious, brooding magician who rules over the island and its mystical creatures. But he more than makes up for it with style, technique and considerable presence, particularly in his relationship with the enslaved sprite Ariel, played with touching vulnerability and charm by a lilting Sandy Grierson.
There’s a rich mine of comedy from Bruce Mackinnon and Felix Hayes as the hapless pair of washed-up ship’s stewards who are led to believe they can be rulers of the island, and some evocative, haunting music by Adem Ilhan that adds much to the tone and sensibility of the production.
As with Twelfth Night, casting further down the list raises one or two issues, among them audibility and a tendency to over-earnestness, but the whole hangs together successfully enough and makes for an entrancing, intriguing interpretation of this magical Shakespeare play.
TWELFTH NIGHT
April 25, 2012
RSC, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, October 6, 2012
THE RSC have, rather arbitrarily, lumped together three Shakespeare plays that coincidentally happen to include shipwrecks, billing them as a 'trilogy' under the banner tagline 'What country friends is this?'
In Twelfth Night, the shipwreck opens proceedings and is the cause of the male/female twin confusion at the centre of its main plot about a lovesick duke and the mourning object of his affection.
David Farr's energetic, pacy production puts water at the heart of everything – quite literally, in fact – by featuring a vast tank of the stuff as the entire front section of the stage. Its murky green ripples provide a sinister presence throughout in Jon Bausor's extraordinary set of a rundown, collapsing hotel, and from it and into it emerge and fall a succession of the characters, with varying degrees of surprise and comedy.
Indeed, the set is so impactful and impressive that it overrides almost everything else – performances and story included.
Thus, the high farce of Nicholas Day's convincing drunkard Sir Toby Belch and his drinking buddy Sir Andrew Aguecheek – a brilliant show-stealing turn by Bruce Mackinnon – come close to being overshadowed. Close, but not quite.
And then there's Jonathan Slinger's Malvolio. Slinger, who has proved himself equally adept at tragedy and comedy over successive major parts with the RSC, does it again, seemingly with consummate ease, in this role of the officious jobsworth gulled into believing his mistress secretly loves him.
It's often all too easy to let this unlikeable character fall into grotesque caricature, but Slinger somehow maintains in his portrayal a quiet dignity throughout all the indignities he undergoes, rendering his downfall even more sympathetic and powerful.
There are a few weak links among the cast, and some of the text cuts are a little curious, but for sheer boisterous fun and a central performance to be relished, this Twelfth Night is as fine as Stratford has seen for some time.
RICHARD III
April 20, 2012
RSC, Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, September 15, 2012
THE jury – at least for this reviewer – has been out on Northern Irish actor Jonjo O’Neill. His Mercutio was camp and florid, his Lancelot simply comical.
There is no ambiguity about his Richard III. He nails it.
While making the most of the humour that is unquestionably to be found in the role, this is no comedy turn. Instead, O’Neill delivers his darkly sinister Richard as the manipulative, shameless but somehow deeply charismatic royal prince that Shakespeare concocted from the dubious historical figure. It’s a sublime performance, full of subtlety, wit and intelligence, and all delivered in O’Neill’s trademark strong brogue.
(Incidentally, while I have no problem with ‘deaf’ accent casting per se, the logic in Roxanna Silbert’s production is inconsistent: Siobhan Redmond as the widowed Queen Elizabeth smothers her own lilting Scottish tones with a constrained RP.)
O’Neill is well supported. Among his devious cohorts, Brian Ferguson as the Duke of Buckingham is impressive, and Alex Waldmann makes the most of the lesser part of Catesby, while Paola Dionisotti offers a scary, haunting presence as the old Queen Margaret, casting her curses over the Plantagenet dynasty with chilling hypnotism.
The production itself is fairly traditional in its dress and presentation, and scores highly as a result. There are few gimmicky tricks or stylised conceits getting in the way of some of Shakespeare’s most imposing language, and the cast rise, unimpeded, to the verbal challenge, making this a powerful and memorable addition to the long list of extraordinary Richards the RSC has produced.
KING JOHN
April 19, 2012
RSC, Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, September 15, 2012
DIRECTOR Maria Aberg makes considerable play of contemporary political parallels in her modern-dress, glossy version of one of Shakespeare’s more rarely performed works.
So, in Naomi Dawson’s gaudy design, we get primary colours, presidential rally-style balloons and even a big fat Gypsy-type wedding, all aimed at reinforcing the point that the weak, plotting King John was heavily dependent on a popular mandate that never materialised.
But Aberg goes further. In her out-of-context interpretation, the play also becomes a battle of the sexes, and she toys with character genders in order to make it work. Thus, the Bastard is played as a woman (by a gangly, boisterous Pippa Nixon), and so is the Cardinal who wields papal power over royalty.
The gender-swapping of the Bastard is a stretch that requires torturous mangling of the text. Turning the Cardinal into a woman is simply nonsensical.
The unfortunate effect of this imposed conceit is that it undermines the rest of the production, which is generally sound and features some strong performances.
Notable among them is Alex Waldmann in the title role, a combination of boyish charm and political expediency, while Siobhan Redmond is statuesque and imposing as his mother, Queen Elinor.
The production tells its inaccurate history clearly and dramatically, and it all looks rather sumptuous – although those balloons, released at the start of the second half, pose endless problems for the actors as they inexplicably litter the stage for the next hour or so.
Putting the directorial baggage to one side, it’s a sound, solid version of the play that perhaps raises a more intriguing question: why isn’t it actually done more often?
THE HERESY OF LOVE
February 10, 2012
RSC, Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Friday, March 9, 2012
POLITICAL intrigue, 17th century religious dogmatism and a steamy Mexican powder keg: all the ingredients for Helen Edmundson’s new play for the RSC are ready to be brewed into a fascinating concoction.
And chef Nancy Meckler, directing this historical study of the Catholic Church’s oppression of the playwriting nun Sister Juana Ines de la Cruz, does so with panache and plenty of chilli-hot emotions.
She’s ably assisted by Katrina Lindsay’s designs and Ben Ormerod’s lighting, both of which add to the sultry undertones and darkly luxuriant opulence of the Spanish overlords in Mexico City circa 1690.
But it’s the performances that really grip as the drama unfolds, painfully slowly to begin with, then gaining pace as the three hours roll out, to culminate in the inevitable but still achingly poignant destruction – both physically and mentally – of this extraordinary, vibrant woman with too much to say for her Archbishop’s liking.
Catherine McCormack shrugs off the constraints of her wimple to convey strength, vulnerability and deep self-doubt in a wide-ranging and highly engaging rendition of the nun herself.
Geoffrey Beevers vacillates and equivocates as her Father Confessor, more interested in which side his own bread is buttered than in protecting his protégé. And Stephen Boxer emanates menace in his still, but powerful, Archbishop.
However, it’s Raymond Coulthard who clinches the ultimate success of the evening as Bishop Santa Cruz, whose very human emotions lead him first to exploit Juana for his own ends then to betray her cruelly and devastatingly. His utterly believable portrayal of the worldly man lurking beneath the sheen of his cassock is weighty and charismatic enough to carry any flaws of motivation in the writing.
For Edmundson’s play is, indeed, flawed. While it purveys majestic sentiments in high language and develops considerable pace by the shorter second act, it also suffers from some shallow characterisation and motives at vital points, while offering little in the way of hope or redemption for its central tragic figure. The villains, meanwhile – mostly men, it should be pointed out – suffer no retribution or even remorse, undermining what could have been a powerful message and rendering the outcome simply rather bleak.
That’s not to say there isn’t a great deal to recommend the production, and the RSC’s continued devotion to challenging and interesting new work is, of course, to be cherished. Coming on the heels of David Edgar’s equally intriguing Written on the Heart, The Heresy of Love makes a welcome companion piece.
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW
January 25, 2012
RSC, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, February 18, 2012, then touring
Taming of the Shrew director Lucy Bailey claims that the bed is “a sort of sports arena for the piece”. Her metaphor is extended physically in this latest addition to the RSC’s winter repertoire by playing the whole thing out on a stage that has become one giant bed.
It’s a concept that has some appeal – this is a play about the battle of the sexes, and Bailey’s argument that it serves as a kind of foreplay to Petruchio and Katherine’s ultimate consummation fits well with her overall vision.
But it also has considerable flaws, which the inconsistency of the production is unable to overcome. The vast expanse of the thrust stage, for instance, denies any suggestion of intimacy or electricity, while the raucous laddishness of everyone from Petruchio’s servant Grumio (played by Simon Gregor as a surly drunkard) to the central couple themselves is ill-matched to the setting.
The decision to play it in 1940s Italy, likewise, has merits and flaws. In its favour, it makes sense of some of the familial hierarchies and moralistic attitudes. Against it, as just one example, everyone seems to be permanently, and gratuitously, smoking – including Kate during her climactic speech, “I am ashamed that women are so simple”. This has the unfortunate effect of rendering Lisa Dillon’s otherwise vivid Katherine as no more noble or dignified than a trashy WAG, and undermining any sense that she and her new husband have come to a grown-up understanding.
Many of the performances are solid, including a charismatic David Caves as Petruchio, although the Northern Irish brogue adds little in terms of character and occasionally makes him hard to understand.
Bianca’s suitors emerge strongest. Gavin Fowler is a pleasing, boyish Lucentio, Sam Swainsbury a likeable Hortensio and David Rintoul very entertaining as an ageing, slightly greasy Gremio.
There’s some appealing, evocative music by John Eacott, and lots of supposedly comic business thrown in, but the finished product is too seedy and bawdy and simply rather nasty to lift it above the level of a perfectly serviceable, unremarkable Shrew.
November 29, 2012
RSC, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, January 12, 2013
RESOURCES are rarely an issue at the RSC, and so it proves with this lavish, expensive production of this year’s Christmas show. On the face of it, the money spent on sets, costumes and on-stage six-piece band appears to be money well spent, with a strong design by Angela Davies and some superb musicianship on display.
But scratch the surface of this knockabout extravaganza and you find... well, not very much at all, actually.
The original 1968 kids’ book by Russell Hoban, on which this new production is based, is not exactly a children’s classic, and anyone unfamiliar with it – as I was, despite four offspring of both varieties – may struggle to keep up.
It’s the tale of a tin clockwork mouse and his son, permanently joined together and constantly wide-eyed at the wonders of the world. The innocent pair are separated from their toy shop friends and subsequently face a terrifying journey through the harsh realities of life at the hands of villainous rat Manny and his grubby crew as they struggle to find their way back home.
But the journey is episodic in the extreme, and the episodes too disparate and unengaging to make a cohesive whole, while any sense of emotional investment is lost on two lifeless characters who are, quite literally, dependent on everyone around them to activate them. Such passivity is disastrous to the central story, which ends up as a kind of parade of clever routines showing off the talents of the spirited cast and technical experts without really hooking its audience.
Director Paul Hunter works some visual magic with Tamsin Oglesby’s tepid script and many of the performances are appealing, most notably Daniel Ryan and Bettrys Jones as the Mouse and Child themselves.
In fairness, there are plenty of laughs to be found by the under-tens, but there may also be a lingering sense of dissatisfaction – like the memory of the transient charms of an interval choc ice.
THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR
November 1, 2012
RSC, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, January 12, 2013
WRITTEN to wring extra mileage from the already popular character of Sir John Falstaff, The Merry Wives of Windsor is often regarded as one of Shakespeare’s weaker pieces. The comedy is laboured and heavy-handed, the plot farcical and stretching the bounds of credibility. Even Sir John himself is a pale imitation of his other self in the history plays.
Consequently, the RSC does well to bring such life and entertainment value to this new modern-dress production, stylishly designed by Max Jones. Director Phillip Breen has the stage frequently swarming with people, and the manic action of the attempted seduction by Falstaff of the two eponymous wives is consistently frenetic.
Much of the credit must go to the players. Sylvestra Le Touzel and Alexandra Gilbreath make a fine pair of ladies-who-lunch with their designer wellies and cool boxes, while John Ramm in particular makes a hugely enjoyable feast of Frank Ford, the jealous husband determined to trap the fat knight in flagranto.
Anita Dobson draws on the spirit of her EastEnders character Angie Watts to instil in Mistress Quickly plenty of vigour and humour, while Desmond Barrit does a nice line in both comedy corpulence and defeated pathos as Falstaff.
There’s some excellent support elsewhere, including Bart David Soroczynski as the Frenchman Dr Caius and Simeon Truby as the host of the Garter Inn, and the whole thing rattles along, even at a rather numbing three hours plus.
It’s not going to set the world alight – but then how much of that is down to the original text anyway? What it does do is offer a sound, perfectly pleasing version of a minor-league Shakespeare.
A TENDER THING
October 5, 2012
RSC, Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, October 20, 2012
IT’S an intriguing idea and one that stimulates intellectually: is it possible to take the text of one of Shakespeare’s best-loved plays, Romeo and Juliet, and rework it to tell a new story?
National Theatre dramaturg (can anyone explain exactly what a dramaturg is please?) Ben Power was tasked by RSC artistic director Michael Boyd with finding out. And at an intellectual level, the answer is undoubtedly yes. Power has drafted lines, speeches and phrases from all over the place to serve his purpose of creating a new narrative about an older couple contemplating assisted suicide.
At an emotional level, the answer is more complex. Certainly the story is emotionally charged, powerful and eminently contemporary, with ongoing debates about the legality of helping a terminally ill partner to die. But the poetry of the language and its occasional opacity puts a distance between the audience and the two lovers which not only makes it easier to bear their tragedy, but also idealises the emotions, rendering them somehow less immediate.
That’s not to say that the playing is anything but superb. The 80-minute two-hander runs without an interval but is never less than gripping thanks to the performances of Kathryn Hunter and Richard McCabe.
Hunter is an interesting actress, sometimes highly stylised, sometimes fluid and mercurial, and while she’s not the easiest to watch, she’s certainly fascinating. McCabe, by contrast, is more naturalistic and, as a result, achieves more emotional punch as he agonises over the heartrending decision of whether to help his wife poison herself.
Director Helena Kaut-Howson and designer Neil Murray make effective use of the Swan’s stage and some elegant projections, while lighting (Vince Herbert) and some elegiac music from John Woolf also add to the tenderness of the piece.
It’s not an easy subject, nor an easy exploration of the implications, but it’s a moving, compelling piece of drama underscored by all the lyricism of some of Shakespeare’s finest lines.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
August 8, 2012
RSC, Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, August 18, 2012
Some productions are so majestic in their ambition, so noble in their aims, that they just cry out to be chalked up as heroic failures. This one isn’t.
Shakespeare’s take on the siege of Troy by the ancient Greeks is full of complex characters, complicated relationships and epic grandeur. If there’s a faint whirring sound underscoring this radical new version, it’s probably old Will spinning in his grave.
In truth, it’s actually two productions in one, having been divvied up between the RSC and the American experimentalist troupe The Wooster Group as a co-production.
The Americans play the Trojans. As Red Indians. That ought to tell you everything you need to know, but in the interests of fairness, I shall expand further.
Already thus hampered by a daft directorial conceit (step forward Wooster founder Elizabeth LeCompte), they are doubly hamstrung by an inexplicable second obstacle. Four tiny television screens on poles at the corners of the stage relay some wilfully obscure footage of everything from eskimo wrestling to 1950s B movies, while the poor sods reciting the Bard are simultaneously required to mimic the actions of the characters in the films, regardless of their relevance or the resultant destruction of any meaning to their lines.
This may qualify as thought-provoking and innovative in New York, but frankly Stratford deserves better.
The Brits, by contrast, play the Greeks, suffering from one hugely unfair advantage: they know how to perform Shakespeare. Despite being given some equally suspect things to do by the British half of the directing team, current writer-in-residence Mark Ravenhill, they consequently emerge from the whole debacle with at least some of their integrity, if not all of their clothes.
Unfortunately, when the opposing sides finally meet in the later battle scenes, the vastly superior forces of the British contingent are largely undermined by the fact that their counterparts are too busy copying eskimos to bother acting with them.
You can’t help but feel pity for the likes of Danny Webb and Scott Handy – fine Shakespeareans both – finding themselves trapped in this kind of self-indulgent, Emperor’s New Clothes claptrap. But you also can’t help wondering where the RSC’s grand scheme for a triumphant season of world-beating productions went so horribly wrong.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING
August 8, 2012
RSC, Courtyard Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, September 15, 2012, then Noel Coward Theatre, London
The first thing to say about this production is how fantastic it is to be back in the Courtyard Theatre, with its lush red seats, warm wooden tones and welcoming atmosphere.
Built in a tin shed on the site of the old Other Place, it was originally intended as a temporary home for the company while the main house was undergoing three years of reconstruction, as well as being a kind of prototype for the new thrust stage design. In retrospect, they got it absolutely right first time.
But there is plenty more than the venue to recommend Iqbal Khan's sumptuous version of the Shakespearean comedy of manners and cynicism won over by love.
Transposed to rural India, the complexities and constraints of the social order - with all its arranged marriages, servant and master relationships and discomfort about the role of women - make much sense.
Khan's creative team, including Tom Piper (set), Himani Dehlvi (costumes) and Ciaran Bagnall (lighting), render a superb representation of the heat, light and dustiness of the location, while Niraj Chag's authentic music provides a thrilling score to the proceedings.
Among the performances, there is something of a mixed bag. Meera Syal stands out as a fiercely independent Beatrice, while Amara Karan gives a touching, vulnerable interpretation of Hero, the sweet young bride who is wronged by her duped fiancé Claudio - another tender portrayal by Sagar Arya.
But it's the overall impression of the hustle and heat of India that sticks in the mind. The colour, vibrancy and energy, rather than any particular enlightenment of the text, are what mark this production out as a little bit different.
JULIUS CAESAR
June 15, 2012
RSC, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, July 7, 2012, then touring
DIRECTORIAL concepts, as I have noted before, can be notoriously dangerous when imposed unilaterally on a text that cannot – or will not – sustain the idea. Gregory Doran’s decision to transfer the political machinations of ancient Rome to a modern African dictatorship, fortunately, works brilliantly.
All the senatorial intrigue, factional in-fighting and bitter struggles for power ring horribly true against a backdrop of blazing sunshine, thrilling musical rhythms and makeshift private armies equipped with Russian or Chinese-supplied small arms.
The all-black casting and heavily-accented delivery of the familiar lines also bring a surprising and highly effective quality to the piece: the slight strangeness of the cadences is a perfect match for the anachronistic language of Shakespeare, and the combined result is both believable and enlightening.
Michael Vale’s stunning design, complete with crumbling concrete football stadium terraces and a giant bronze statue of Caesar, is intelligently used and extremely evocative under the sensitive lighting of Vince Herbert. Indeed, the success of the sumptuous production lies as much with the creative off-stage team as with the on-stage work.
Among the performances, Jeffery Kissoon’s Caesar is a paternalistic tyrant with ambition and warmth in equal measure. Kissoon’s carefully judged mix of imperial stature and human vulnerabilities makes his overthrow by the conspirators totally convincing.
Ray Fearon’s Mark Antony looks beautiful and sounds vibrant – his funeral oration is particularly stirring – but even he is upstaged by the magnetism and depth of Paterson Joseph’s wonderful Brutus.
Joseph displays an extraordinary range of light and shade as the reticent regicidal ringleader, and his inconsistent outbursts and flashes of temper are powerfully drawn and genuinely terrifying. It’s a magnificent performance of real weight and authority, and Joseph commands the stage whenever he’s on it.
One can only wonder how the RSC will manage to take this huge cast and set on tour, but it’s a venture well worth undertaking and a production well worth seeing.
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS
April 28, 2012
RSC, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, October 6, 2012
FOR out-and-out farce, few of Shakespeare’s comedies pack as many laughs per minute as The Comedy of Errors. And this new production, running alongside Twelfth Night and The Tempest as a trilogy of ‘shipwreck plays’, makes the most of its comic opportunities.
Yet director Amir Nizar Zuabi also chooses to focus on some of the darker aspects of the piece, staging it in a modern-day Arab state intolerant of foreigners to the point of execution and enforced by Uzi-wielding security forces.
It’s an uncomfortable juxtaposition that sits uneasily with the played-for-laughs performances, but the combination somehow coalesces into an effective and highly entertaining whole.
Among those performances, the most successful are the double act of Dromio and Dromio, twins separated in early life at the same time as their twin masters, Antipholus and Antipholus. Bruce Mackinnon and Felix Hayes share physical and stylistic attributes that make them utterly convincing – and extremely funny – as the put-upon pair of servants, which helps considerably in this most tortuous and mangled of Shakespearean plots.
Once again, Jon Bausor’s impressive design, shared with the other two plays, is a major plus point. This time, it adapts to a dockside wharf, complete with a working crane that winches in entire sets for certain scenes.
And with Zuabi keeping the action racing along – the whole thing’s done and dusted in a pacy two hours – this Comedy remains both intelligible and enjoyable throughout, and a worthy companion to its two fellow pieces.
THE TEMPEST
April 26, 2012
RSC, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Sunday, October 7, 2012
FOR some bizarre reason, the water tank that is playing such a major part in the so-called Shipwreck Trilogy currently being staged by the RSC stands empty for the most watery of the three plays, The Tempest.
Set on an island, with scenes of storms at sea and endless talk of watery graves, the production instead plays out on dry, bleached wooden boards that are as integral in Jon Bausor’s imposing designs as any of the actors’ performances.
Director David Farr – who also helms Twelfth Night – applies judicious editing to this later Shakespeare text, and to good effect. The show runs at around two and a half hours and fair zips along, once the opening ten minutes of exposition-heavy talk are out of the way.
Jonathan Slinger looks a little young for Prospero, the furious, brooding magician who rules over the island and its mystical creatures. But he more than makes up for it with style, technique and considerable presence, particularly in his relationship with the enslaved sprite Ariel, played with touching vulnerability and charm by a lilting Sandy Grierson.
There’s a rich mine of comedy from Bruce Mackinnon and Felix Hayes as the hapless pair of washed-up ship’s stewards who are led to believe they can be rulers of the island, and some evocative, haunting music by Adem Ilhan that adds much to the tone and sensibility of the production.
As with Twelfth Night, casting further down the list raises one or two issues, among them audibility and a tendency to over-earnestness, but the whole hangs together successfully enough and makes for an entrancing, intriguing interpretation of this magical Shakespeare play.
TWELFTH NIGHT
April 25, 2012
RSC, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, October 6, 2012
THE RSC have, rather arbitrarily, lumped together three Shakespeare plays that coincidentally happen to include shipwrecks, billing them as a 'trilogy' under the banner tagline 'What country friends is this?'
In Twelfth Night, the shipwreck opens proceedings and is the cause of the male/female twin confusion at the centre of its main plot about a lovesick duke and the mourning object of his affection.
David Farr's energetic, pacy production puts water at the heart of everything – quite literally, in fact – by featuring a vast tank of the stuff as the entire front section of the stage. Its murky green ripples provide a sinister presence throughout in Jon Bausor's extraordinary set of a rundown, collapsing hotel, and from it and into it emerge and fall a succession of the characters, with varying degrees of surprise and comedy.
Indeed, the set is so impactful and impressive that it overrides almost everything else – performances and story included.
Thus, the high farce of Nicholas Day's convincing drunkard Sir Toby Belch and his drinking buddy Sir Andrew Aguecheek – a brilliant show-stealing turn by Bruce Mackinnon – come close to being overshadowed. Close, but not quite.
And then there's Jonathan Slinger's Malvolio. Slinger, who has proved himself equally adept at tragedy and comedy over successive major parts with the RSC, does it again, seemingly with consummate ease, in this role of the officious jobsworth gulled into believing his mistress secretly loves him.
It's often all too easy to let this unlikeable character fall into grotesque caricature, but Slinger somehow maintains in his portrayal a quiet dignity throughout all the indignities he undergoes, rendering his downfall even more sympathetic and powerful.
There are a few weak links among the cast, and some of the text cuts are a little curious, but for sheer boisterous fun and a central performance to be relished, this Twelfth Night is as fine as Stratford has seen for some time.
RICHARD III
April 20, 2012
RSC, Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, September 15, 2012
THE jury – at least for this reviewer – has been out on Northern Irish actor Jonjo O’Neill. His Mercutio was camp and florid, his Lancelot simply comical.
There is no ambiguity about his Richard III. He nails it.
While making the most of the humour that is unquestionably to be found in the role, this is no comedy turn. Instead, O’Neill delivers his darkly sinister Richard as the manipulative, shameless but somehow deeply charismatic royal prince that Shakespeare concocted from the dubious historical figure. It’s a sublime performance, full of subtlety, wit and intelligence, and all delivered in O’Neill’s trademark strong brogue.
(Incidentally, while I have no problem with ‘deaf’ accent casting per se, the logic in Roxanna Silbert’s production is inconsistent: Siobhan Redmond as the widowed Queen Elizabeth smothers her own lilting Scottish tones with a constrained RP.)
O’Neill is well supported. Among his devious cohorts, Brian Ferguson as the Duke of Buckingham is impressive, and Alex Waldmann makes the most of the lesser part of Catesby, while Paola Dionisotti offers a scary, haunting presence as the old Queen Margaret, casting her curses over the Plantagenet dynasty with chilling hypnotism.
The production itself is fairly traditional in its dress and presentation, and scores highly as a result. There are few gimmicky tricks or stylised conceits getting in the way of some of Shakespeare’s most imposing language, and the cast rise, unimpeded, to the verbal challenge, making this a powerful and memorable addition to the long list of extraordinary Richards the RSC has produced.
KING JOHN
April 19, 2012
RSC, Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, September 15, 2012
DIRECTOR Maria Aberg makes considerable play of contemporary political parallels in her modern-dress, glossy version of one of Shakespeare’s more rarely performed works.
So, in Naomi Dawson’s gaudy design, we get primary colours, presidential rally-style balloons and even a big fat Gypsy-type wedding, all aimed at reinforcing the point that the weak, plotting King John was heavily dependent on a popular mandate that never materialised.
But Aberg goes further. In her out-of-context interpretation, the play also becomes a battle of the sexes, and she toys with character genders in order to make it work. Thus, the Bastard is played as a woman (by a gangly, boisterous Pippa Nixon), and so is the Cardinal who wields papal power over royalty.
The gender-swapping of the Bastard is a stretch that requires torturous mangling of the text. Turning the Cardinal into a woman is simply nonsensical.
The unfortunate effect of this imposed conceit is that it undermines the rest of the production, which is generally sound and features some strong performances.
Notable among them is Alex Waldmann in the title role, a combination of boyish charm and political expediency, while Siobhan Redmond is statuesque and imposing as his mother, Queen Elinor.
The production tells its inaccurate history clearly and dramatically, and it all looks rather sumptuous – although those balloons, released at the start of the second half, pose endless problems for the actors as they inexplicably litter the stage for the next hour or so.
Putting the directorial baggage to one side, it’s a sound, solid version of the play that perhaps raises a more intriguing question: why isn’t it actually done more often?
THE HERESY OF LOVE
February 10, 2012
RSC, Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Friday, March 9, 2012
POLITICAL intrigue, 17th century religious dogmatism and a steamy Mexican powder keg: all the ingredients for Helen Edmundson’s new play for the RSC are ready to be brewed into a fascinating concoction.
And chef Nancy Meckler, directing this historical study of the Catholic Church’s oppression of the playwriting nun Sister Juana Ines de la Cruz, does so with panache and plenty of chilli-hot emotions.
She’s ably assisted by Katrina Lindsay’s designs and Ben Ormerod’s lighting, both of which add to the sultry undertones and darkly luxuriant opulence of the Spanish overlords in Mexico City circa 1690.
But it’s the performances that really grip as the drama unfolds, painfully slowly to begin with, then gaining pace as the three hours roll out, to culminate in the inevitable but still achingly poignant destruction – both physically and mentally – of this extraordinary, vibrant woman with too much to say for her Archbishop’s liking.
Catherine McCormack shrugs off the constraints of her wimple to convey strength, vulnerability and deep self-doubt in a wide-ranging and highly engaging rendition of the nun herself.
Geoffrey Beevers vacillates and equivocates as her Father Confessor, more interested in which side his own bread is buttered than in protecting his protégé. And Stephen Boxer emanates menace in his still, but powerful, Archbishop.
However, it’s Raymond Coulthard who clinches the ultimate success of the evening as Bishop Santa Cruz, whose very human emotions lead him first to exploit Juana for his own ends then to betray her cruelly and devastatingly. His utterly believable portrayal of the worldly man lurking beneath the sheen of his cassock is weighty and charismatic enough to carry any flaws of motivation in the writing.
For Edmundson’s play is, indeed, flawed. While it purveys majestic sentiments in high language and develops considerable pace by the shorter second act, it also suffers from some shallow characterisation and motives at vital points, while offering little in the way of hope or redemption for its central tragic figure. The villains, meanwhile – mostly men, it should be pointed out – suffer no retribution or even remorse, undermining what could have been a powerful message and rendering the outcome simply rather bleak.
That’s not to say there isn’t a great deal to recommend the production, and the RSC’s continued devotion to challenging and interesting new work is, of course, to be cherished. Coming on the heels of David Edgar’s equally intriguing Written on the Heart, The Heresy of Love makes a welcome companion piece.
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW
January 25, 2012
RSC, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until Saturday, February 18, 2012, then touring
Taming of the Shrew director Lucy Bailey claims that the bed is “a sort of sports arena for the piece”. Her metaphor is extended physically in this latest addition to the RSC’s winter repertoire by playing the whole thing out on a stage that has become one giant bed.
It’s a concept that has some appeal – this is a play about the battle of the sexes, and Bailey’s argument that it serves as a kind of foreplay to Petruchio and Katherine’s ultimate consummation fits well with her overall vision.
But it also has considerable flaws, which the inconsistency of the production is unable to overcome. The vast expanse of the thrust stage, for instance, denies any suggestion of intimacy or electricity, while the raucous laddishness of everyone from Petruchio’s servant Grumio (played by Simon Gregor as a surly drunkard) to the central couple themselves is ill-matched to the setting.
The decision to play it in 1940s Italy, likewise, has merits and flaws. In its favour, it makes sense of some of the familial hierarchies and moralistic attitudes. Against it, as just one example, everyone seems to be permanently, and gratuitously, smoking – including Kate during her climactic speech, “I am ashamed that women are so simple”. This has the unfortunate effect of rendering Lisa Dillon’s otherwise vivid Katherine as no more noble or dignified than a trashy WAG, and undermining any sense that she and her new husband have come to a grown-up understanding.
Many of the performances are solid, including a charismatic David Caves as Petruchio, although the Northern Irish brogue adds little in terms of character and occasionally makes him hard to understand.
Bianca’s suitors emerge strongest. Gavin Fowler is a pleasing, boyish Lucentio, Sam Swainsbury a likeable Hortensio and David Rintoul very entertaining as an ageing, slightly greasy Gremio.
There’s some appealing, evocative music by John Eacott, and lots of supposedly comic business thrown in, but the finished product is too seedy and bawdy and simply rather nasty to lift it above the level of a perfectly serviceable, unremarkable Shrew.
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