(Modern Drama) Churchill, Caryl-Top Girls-Bloomsbury Academic (2013)

A YEAR OF SHAKESPEARE
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 1 25/02/2013 09:56

A YEAR OF SHAKESPEARE
Re-living the World Shakespeare Festival
Edited by
Paul Edmondson
Paul Prescott
and
Erin Sullivan
Bloomsbury Arden Shakespeare

An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
LON DON • N E W DE L H I • N E W YOR K • SY DN EY
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 3 25/02/2013 09:56

Bloomsbury Arden Shakespeare
An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Imprint previously known as Arden Shakespeare
50 Bedford Square 1385 Broadway

London New York
WC1B 3DP NY 10018
UK USA
www.bloomsbury.com
BLOOMSBURY, THE ARDEN SHAKESPEARE and the Diana logo are trademarks of
Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
First published 2013

Reprinted 2013
Copyright © Editorial matter and selection Paul Edmondson, Paul Prescott, Erin
Sullivan and contributors
The editors have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act,
1988, to be identified as editors of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in
any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission
in writing from the publishers.
No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or
refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be
accepted by Bloomsbury or the author.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: HB: 978-1-4081-8813-2

PB: 978-1-4081-8814-9
ePDF: 978-1-4742-4628-6
ePub: 978-1-4742-4627-9
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress
Typeset by Fakenham Prepress Solutions,Fakenham, Norfolk NR21 8NN

Contents
acknowledgments xv
list of contributors xvii

list of illustrations xix
note on names and textual references xxii
foreword Stanley Wells xxiii
PART ONE: Openings

Olympic Performance in the Year of Shakespeare
Erin Sullivan 3
Nightwatch Constables and Domineering Pedants:
the past, present and future of Shakespearean theatre
reviewing Paul Prescott 12
PART TWO: The Reviews

(Plays by alphabetical order)
All’s Well That Ends Well
Directed by Sunil Shanbag for Arpana (Mumbai, India) at
Shakespeare’s Globe Sarah Olive 33
Antony and Cleopatra

Directed by Kemal Aydoǧan for the Oyun Atölyesi
Theatre Company (Istanbul, Turkey) at Shakespeare’s
Globe Adele Lee 36
As You Like It
Directed by Levan Tsuladze for the Marjanishvili Theatre
(Tbilisi, Georgia) at Shakespeare’s Globe Georgie Lucas 39
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 5 25/02/2013 09:56

Contents
The Comedy of Errors

Directed by Amir Nizar Zuabi for the Royal Shakespeare
Company at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-
upon-Avon Christie Carson 42
Directed by Corinne Jaber for Roy-e-Sabs (Kabul,
Afghanistan) at Shakespeare’s Globe Stephen Purcell 44
Coriolanus
Directed by Motoi Miura for the Chiten Theatre
Company (Kyoto, Japan) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Adele Lee 47
Coriolan/us, directed by Mike Pearson and Mike Brooks
for the National Theatre Wales in association with the
Royal Shakespeare Company at Hangar 858, RAF St
Athan, Vale of Glamorgan, Wales Alun Thomas 51
Cymbeline
Directed by Joseph Abuk and Derik Uya Alfred for The
South Sudan Theatre Company (Juba, South Sudan) at
Shakespeare’s Globe Erin Sullivan 55
Directed by Yukio Ninagawa for the Ninagawa Company
(Tokyo, Japan) at the Barbican Theatre, London
John Lavagnino 58
Hamlet
Directed by Eimuntas Nekrošius for Meno Fortas (Vilnius,
Lithuania) at Shakespeare’s Globe Stephen Purcell 61
The Rest is Silence, produced by dreamthinkspeak for the
Brighton Festival, the London International Festival of
Theatre, and the Royal Shakespeare Company at Northern
Stage, Newcastle Adam Hansen 64
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 6 25/02/2013 09:56

Contents
Henry IV Part 1
Directed by Hugo Arrevillaga for the Compañía
Nacional de Teatro de México (Mexico City, Mexico) at
Shakespeare’s Globe Leticia C. Garcia 67
Henry IV Part 2
Directed by Ruben Szuchmacher for the Elkafka Espacio
Teatral (Buenos Aires, Argentina) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Leticia C. Garcia 70
Henry V
Directed by Dominic Dromgoole for Shakespeare’s Globe
Christie Carson 73
Henry VI Part 1
Directed by Nikita Milivojevic for the National Theatre
Belgrade (Belgrade, Serbia) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Peter Orford 76
Henry VI Part 2
Directed by Adonis Filipi for the National Theatre of
Albania (Tirana, Albania) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Peter Orford 79
Henry VI Part 3
Directed by John Blondell for the National Theatre of
Bitola (Bitola, Macedonia) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Peter Orford 82
Henry VIII
Directed by Ernesto Arias for Fundación Siglo de
Oro (Madrid, Spain) at Shakespeare’s Globe
José A. Pérez Díez 85
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 7 25/02/2013 09:56

Contents
Julius Caesar
Directed by Andrea Baracco for Compagnia I Termini
(Rome, Italy) at Shakespeare’s Globe Emily Oliver 88
Directed by Gregory Doran for the Royal Shakespeare
Company at the Theatre Royal, Newcastle
Monika Smialkowska 91
I, Cinna (The Poet), written and directed by Tim Crouch
for the Royal Shakespeare Company at the Swan Theatre,
Stratford-upon-Avon Kathleen E. McLuskie 95
King John
Directed by Tigran Gasparyan for the Gabriel Sundukyan
National Academic Theatre (Yerevan, Armenia)
Georgie Lucas 98
Directed by Maria Aberg for the Royal Shakespeare
Company at the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
Will Sharpe 101
King Lear
Directed by Vladimir Shcherban for Belarus Free Theatre
(Minsk, Belarus and no fixed abode) at Shakespeare’s
Globe Sonia Massai 105
Directed by Michael Attenborough for the Almeida
Theatre, London Sonia Massai 108
Love’s Labour’s Lost

Directed by Paula Garfield for Deafinitely Theatre
(London, UK) at Shakespeare’s Globe Stephen Purcell 112
Macbeth
Directed by Maja Kleczewska for Teatr im.
Kochanowskiego (Opole, Poland) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Paul Prescott 115
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 8 25/02/2013 09:56

Contents
2008: Macbeth, directed by Grzegorz Jarzyna for the TR

Warszawa (Warsaw, Poland) at the Edinburgh International
Festival, Lowland Hall, Edinburgh
Aneta Mancewicz 118
Macbeth: Leïla & Ben – A Bloody History, directed by
Lotfi Achour for the Artistes Producteurs Associés (France
/Tunisia) at Northern Stage, Newcastle Adam Hansen 121
Measure for Measure

Directed by Yury Butusov for Vakhtangov Theatre
(Moscow, Russia) at Shakespeare’s Globe Sarah Olive 125
The Merchant of Venice

Directed by Ilan Ronen for the Habima National Theatre
(Tel Aviv, Israel) at Shakespeare’s Globe Peter Kirwan 128
The Merry Wives of Windsor

Directed by Daniel Goldman and Sarah Norman for
Bitter Pill and Theatre Company (Nairobi, Kenya) at
Shakespeare’s Globe Sarah Olive 133
Falstaff, by Giuseppe Verdi and directed by Robert Carson
for the Royal Opera House, London Dave Paxton 135
A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Directed by Jung Yang-ung for the Yohangza Theatre
Company (Seoul, South Korea) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Adele Lee 138
A Midsummer Night’s Dream (As You Like It), directed by
Dmitry Krymov for the Chekhov International Festival
and Dmitry Krymov’s Laboratory and the School of
Dramatic Theatre Art (Moscow, Russia) at the Royal
Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon Peter Kirwan 142
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 9 25/02/2013 09:56

Contents
Much Ado About Nothing

Directed by Clément Poirée for Compagnie Hypermobile
(Paris, France) at Shakespeare’s Globe Paul Edmondson 145
Directed by Iqbal Khan for the Royal Shakespeare
Company at the Courtyard Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
Kate Rumbold 149
Othello
Directed by GQ and JQ for The Q Brothers, Chicago
Shakespeare Theater (Chicago, USA) and Richard Jordan
Productions at Shakespeare’s Globe Erin Sullivan 152
Otello, by Giuseppe Verdi and Arrigo Boito and directed
by Elijah Moshinsky for the Royal Opera House, London
Stanley Wells 155
Desdemona, directed by Peter Sellars with Toni Morrison
and Rokia Traoré for the Barbican at the Barbican Hall,
London Erin Sullivan 158
Pericles
Directed by Giannis Houvardas for the National Theatre
of Greece (Athens, Greece) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Stephen Purcell 161
Directed by James Farrell and Jamie Rocha-Allan for the
Royal Shakespeare Company at the Courtyard Theatre,
Stratford-upon-Avon José A. Pérez Díez 163
The Rape of Lucrece

Adapted by Elizabeth Freestone, Feargal Murray and
Camille O’Sullivan for the Royal Shakespeare Company
at the Edinburgh International Festival, Lyceum Theatre,
Edinburgh Fionnuala O’Neill 166
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 10 25/02/2013 09:56

Contents
Richard II
Directed by Conall Morrison for Ashtar Theatre
(Ramallah, Palestine) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Erin Sullivan 170
Richard III
Directed by Wang Xiaoying for National Theatre of China
(Beijing, China) at Shakespeare’s Globe Peter J. Smith 173
Directed by Roxana Silbert for the Royal Shakespeare
Company at the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
Peter J. Smith 175
Two Roses for Richard III, directed by Cláudio Baltar
and Fabio Ferreira for Companhia Bufomecânica (Rio de
Janeiro, Brazil) at the Roundhouse, London
Sonia Massai 178
Romeo and Juliet

Devised by the Grupo Galpão (Belo Horizante, Brazil) at
Shakespeare’s Globe Kathleen E. McLuskie 180
Romeo and Juliet in Baghdad, adapted and directed
by Monadhil Daood for the Iraqi Theatre Company
(Baghdad, Iraq) and the Royal Shakespeare Company at
the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon Susan Bennett
and Christie Carson 183
West Side Story by Leonard Bernstein and Stephen
Sondheim, directed and choreographed by Will Tuckett
for the Royal Shakespeare Company’s Open Stages and
The Sage at Hall One, The Sage, Gateshead
Monika Smialkowska 184
The Taming of the Shrew

Directed by Haissam Hussain for Theatre Wallay-Kashf
(Lahore, Pakistan) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Thea Buckley 187
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 11 25/02/2013 09:56

Contents
The Tempest
Directed by David Farr for the Royal Shakespeare
upon-Avon Paul Edmondson 191
Directed by Nasir Uddin Yousuff for Dhaka Theatre
Company (Dhaka, Bangladesh) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Sonia Massai 194
Y Storm, directed by Elen Bowman for Theatr
Genedlaethol Cymru at National Eisteddfod Maes,
Llandow, Vale of Glamorgan, Wales Alun Thomas 197
Timon of Athens
Directed by Sebastian Kautz for the Bremer Shakespeare
Company (Bremen, Germany) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Emily Oliver 200
Directed by Nicholas Hytner for the National Theatre at
the Olivier Theatre, London Emily Linnemann 203
Titus Andronicus
Directed by Tang Shu-wing for the Tang Shu-wing
Theatre Studio (Hong Kong) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Adele Lee 207
Troilus and Cressida

Directed by Rachel House for Ngaˉkau Toa (Auckland,
New Zealand) at Shakespeare’s Globe Stephen Purcell 210
Directed by Elizabeth LeCompte for the Wooster Group
(New York City, USA) and Mark Ravenhill for the Royal
Shakespeare Company at the Swan Theatre, Stratford-
upon-Avon Paul Prescott 213
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 12 25/02/2013 09:56

Contents
Twelfth Night
Directed by David Farr for the Royal Shakespeare
upon-Avon Peter J. Smith 217
Directed by Atul Kumar for Company Theatre (Mumbai,
India) at Shakespeare’s Globe Peter J. Smith 221
The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Directed by Arne Pohlmeier for the Two Gents Theatre
Company (Harare, Zimbabwe and London, UK) at
Shakespeare’s Globe Penelope Woods 223
Venus and Adonis

Directed by Mark Dornford-May for the Isango Ensemble
(Cape Town, South Africa) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Peter Kirwan 226
The Winter’s Tale

Directed by Olúwo˛lé Ogúntókun for Renegade Theatre
(Lagos, Nigeria) at Shakespeare’s Globe Sarah Olive 229
In a Pickle, written and directed by Tim Webb for Oily
Cart at Northern Stage, Newcastle Adam Hansen 232
Events and adaptations inspired by multiple plays or themes:
The Hollow Crown

The Hollow Crown: Richard II, directed by Rupert Goold
for the BBC Peter Orford 235
The Hollow Crown: Henry IV Part 1, directed by Richard
Eyre for the BBC Will Sharpe 238
The Hollow Crown: Henry IV Part 2, directed by Richard
Eyre for the BBC Will Sharpe 240
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 13 25/02/2013 09:56

Contents
The Hollow Crown: Henry V, directed by Thea Sharrock

for the BBC Peter Orford 243
The Dark Side of Love, directed by Renato Rocha and
co-directed by Keziah Serreau for the Roundhouse at the
Roundhouse’s Dorfman Hut, London Sonia Massai 246
Forests, adapted by Marc Rosich and Calixto Bieito,
directed by Calixto Bieito for the Barcelona Internacional
Teatre in association with the Royal Shakespeare Company
at the Old Rep Theatre, Birmingham
Kathleen E. McLuskie 249
A Soldier in Every Son – The Rise of the Aztecs, by Luis
Mario Moncada, translated by Gary Owen, directed
by Roxana Silbert for Compañía Nacional de Teatro de
México and the Royal Shakespeare Company at the Swan
Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon Christie Carson 252
Shakespeare: Staging the World, exhibition curated
by Jonathan Bate and Dora Thornton for the
British Museum, London, 19 July to 25 November
2012 Kate Rumbold 255
A Tender Thing, adapted by Ben Power and directed by
Helena Kaut-Howson for the Royal Shakespeare Company
at the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon Peter Kirwan 259
PART THREE: Endings

Epilogue Paul Edmondson 267
Appendix 1: Productions by Country and Language 271
Appendix 2: Productions by Date of Opening Performance 275
Notes 279
Index 285
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 14 25/02/2013 09:56

Acknowledgments
As editors of a book of this kind, we realize that we are gatherers

of a community as much as overseers of its constituent authors.
This book represents an energetic project that would not have
been possible without funding from the Arts Humanities and
Research Council (AHRC), and the support of the University of
Birmingham, the University of Warwick and The Shakespeare
Birthplace Trust. The project’s main expression was through
the splendid digital platform created and designed by A. J. and
Melissa Leon and their crew at Misfit,inc. – www.yearofshake
speare.com.
In seeking to illustrate as many of the productions as possible
for the book, we should like to thank David Bellwood, Julia
Hallawell and Farah Karim-Cooper of Shakespeare’s Globe, and
Liz Thompson and Lucien Riviere of the Royal Shakespeare
Company for their generous encouragement and support, as well
as Shakespeare’s Globe and the Royal Shakespeare Company
themselves. Thanks too to their photographers, including Simon
Annand, Hugo Glendinning, John Haynes, Simon Kane, Ellie
Kurttz, John Haynes, Kwame Lestrade, Keith Pattison and
Gina Print. We are also grateful to the following companies and
photographers who generously donated images from their produc-
tions: Almeida Theatre and Keith Pattison, Arpana and Vivek
Venkatraman, Ashtar Theatre and Mohammad Haj Ahmad,
Bremer Shakespeare Company and Marianne Menke, Compañía
Nacional de Teatro de México and Sergio Carreón Ireta, dream-
thinkspeak and Jim Stephenson, Elkafka Espacio Teatral and
Sebastian Szyd, Fundación Siglo de Oro, Isango Ensemble and
Keith Pattison, National Theatre Belgrade and Vladimir Markovic,
National Theatre Wales and Mark Douet, Theatre Company (of
Kenya) and Keith Pearson, Peter Kirwan and Stephen Landrigan.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 15 25/02/2013 09:56

Acknowledgments
Archivist Amy Hurst has designed and established the collecting

procedures for the project’s afterlife in the Shakespeare Centre
Library and Archive. During the course of the project many more
blogs were posted online than are published here and the AHRC
funded two day-long seminars which included many valuable
contributions from scholars and colleagues. Especially we should
like to express our gratitude to: Sally Baggott, Nadia Barhoum,
Sue Bowen, Karin Brown and the staff at the Shakespeare Institute
Library, Juan F. Cerdá, Bethany Chilvers, Andrew Cowie, Juliet
Creese, Michael Dobson, Christine Dymkowski, Rose Elfman,
Sarah Ellis, Ruth Frendo, Katharina Friese, Harry Fox Davies,
Fiona Gilyead, Colette Gordon, Tara Hamling, Rob Hand, Samir
Harb, Michael Haymes, David Hopes, Tony Howard, Alexander
Huang, Dan Hutton, Tracy Irish, Amy Kenny, Margherita Laera,
Charlie Morton, Diana Owen, Bethany Prottey, Abigail Rokison,
David Ruiter, Julie Sanders, Gemma Saint, Lorna Seymour,
Deborah Shaw, Catherine Silverstone, Yu Umemiya, Saffron
Walkling, Rebecca White, René Wolf and his team at Backdoor
Broadcasting Company, Penelope Woods, and Keren Zaiontz.
We know we have relied all too heavily on our indefati-
gable project assistants Natalie Bell, Thea Buckley and Charlotte
Cosham and we are grateful to Arden Shakespeare’s Margaret
Bartley and her colleagues at Bloomsbury Publishing for believing
in the project and turning part of it into a book with their
characteristic verve and energy. Finally, our heartfelt thanks to
all the contributors to the volume for going to see the shows, for
producing the reviews, contributing to on-going discussions and
for responding so kindly to our editorship.
Paul Edmondson, Paul Prescott and Erin Sullivan
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 16 25/02/2013 09:56

List of Contributors
Susan Bennett, University of Calgary

Thea Buckley, Shakespeare Institute, University of Birmingham
Christie Carson, Royal Holloway University of London
Paul Edmondson, The Shakespeare Birthplace Trust
Leticia Garcia, University of California, Irvine
Adam Hansen, Northumbria University
Peter Kirwan, University of Nottingham
John Lavagnino, King’s College, London
Adele Lee, University of Greenwich
Emily Linnemann, Independent Scholar
Georgie Lucas, Shakespeare Institute, University of Birmingham
Aneta Mancewicz, The Royal Central School of Speech and
Drama, University of London and Kazimierz Wielki University
Sonia Massai, King’s College, London
Kathleen E. McLuskie, Shakespeare Institute, University of
Birmingham
Fionnuala O’Neill, University of Edinburgh
Sarah Olive, University of York
Emily Oliver, Shakespeare Institute, University of Birmingham
Peter Orford, Shakespeare Institute, University of Birmingham
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 17 25/02/2013 09:56

List of Contributors
Dave Paxton, Shakespeare Institute, University of Birmingham

José A. Pérez Díez, Shakespeare Institute, University of
Birmingham
Paul Prescott, University of Warwick
Stephen Purcell, University of Warwick
Kate Rumbold, University of Birmingham
Will Sharpe, Shakespeare Institute, University of Birmingham
Monika Smialkowska, Northumbria University
Peter J. Smith, Nottingham Trent University
Erin Sullivan, Shakespeare Institute, University of Birmingham
Alun Thomas, Cardiff University
Stanley Wells, The Shakespeare Birthplace Trust
Penelope Woods, University of Western Australia, Perth
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 18 25/02/2013 09:56

List of Illustrations
(p. 33) All’s Well That Ends Well. Credits: Vivek

Venkatraman and Arpana
(p. 39) As You Like It. Credits: John Haynes and
Shakespeare’s Globe
(p. 44) The Comedy of Errors. Credit: Stephen Landrigan
(p. 47) Coriolanus. Credits: Simon Annand and
(p. 51) Coriolan/us. Credits: Mark Douet and National
Theatre Wales
(p. 55) Cymbeline. Credits: Ellie Kurttz and
(p. 61) Hamlet. Credits: John Haynes and Shakespeare’s
Globe
(p. 64) The Rest is Silence. Credits: Jim Stephenson and
dreamthinkspeak
(p. 67) Henry IV Part 1. Credits: Sergio Carreón Ireta
and Compañía Nacional de Teatro de México
(p. 70) Henry IV Part 2. Credits: Sebastian Szyd and
the Elkafka Espacio Teatral
(p. 76) Henry VI Part 1. Credits: Vladimir Markovic and
the National Theatre Belgrade
(p. 85) Henry VIII. Credit: Fundación Siglo de Oro
(p. 91) Julius Caesar. Credits: Kwame Lestrade and the
Royal Shakespeare Company
(p. 95) I, Cinna (The Poet). Credits: Ellie Kurttz and
the Royal Shakespeare Company
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 19 25/02/2013 09:56

(p. 101) King John. Credits: Keith Pattison and the Royal
Shakespeare Company
(p. 105) King Lear. Credits: Simon Kane and
(p. 108) King Lear. Credits: Keith Pattison and the
Almeida Theatre
(p. 112) Love’s Labour’s Lost. Credits: Simon Annand and
(p. 115) Macbeth. Credits: John Haynes and
(p. 125) Measure for Measure. Credits: Simon Kane and
(p. 128) The Merchant of Venice. Credit: Peter Kirwan
(p. 132) The Merchant of Venice. Credit: Peter Kirwan
(p. 133) The Merry Wives of Windsor. Credits: Keith
Pearson and The Theatre Company (of Kenya)
(p. 138) A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Credits: John
Haynes and Shakespeare’s Globe
(p. 142) A Midsummer Night’s Dream (As You Like It).
Credits: Ellie Kurttz and the Royal Shakespeare
Company
(p. 149) Much Ado About Nothing. Credits: Ellie Kurttz
and the Royal Shakespeare Company
(p. 152) Othello: The Remix. Credits: Simon Kane and
(p. 170) Richard II. Credits: Mohammad Haj Ahmad and
Ashtar Theatre
(p. 175) Richard III. Credits: Hugo Glendinning and the
(p. 182) Romeo and Juliet in Baghdad. Credit: Royal
Shakespeare Company
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 20 25/02/2013 09:56

(p. 191) The Tempest. Credits: Simon Annand and the

(p. 200) Timon of Athens. Credits: Marianne Menke and
the Bremer Shakespeare Company
(p. 207) Titus Andronicus. Credits: Simon Kane and
(p. 213) Troilus and Cressida. Credits: Hugo Glendinning
and the Royal Shakespeare Company
(p. 221) Twelfth Night. Credit: Company Theatre
(p. 226) Venus and Adonis. Credits: Keith Pattison and
(p. 232) In a Pickle. Credits: Gina Print and the Royal
Shakespeare Company
(p. 252) A Soldier in Every Son – The Rise of the Aztecs.
Credits: Ellie Kurttz and the Royal Shakespeare
Company
(p. 256) Shakespeare: Staging the World. Credit: The
Shakespeare Birthplace Trust
(p. 257) Shakespeare: Staging the World. Credit: The
Shakespeare Birthplace Trust
(p. 259) A Tender Thing. Credits: Keith Pattison and the
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 21 25/02/2013 09:56

Notes on names and
textual references
All references to Shakespeare’s plays and poems are quoted

from either the most recent Arden Shakespeare single edition of
the play or the Arden Complete Works. In many of the foreign-
language productions the names of characters were transliterated
differently in surtitles and sidetitles than they were in the accom-
panying programmes. We have tried our best to represent the
names as used in the live performance but in cases of uncertainty
we have used spellings offered in the programmes.
Note on Illustrations
Our principal reason for illustrating as many of the reviews
as possible was to choose images that evoke the atmosphere
of the production. Some of the dramatic moments captured
might be located within particular scenes, but most of them
cannot be easily identified, having been part of translated and
sometimes heavily adapted versions of Shakespeare’s text. Images
precede the reviews they illustrate. We hope the images speak for
themselves in the way they convey a little of what the production
looked like. We are delighted to augment images of productions
which formed part of the Globe to Globe season with photo-
graphs supplied to us by the companies themselves of either their
rehearsal process or of the production’s staging elsewhere. This
is more important to our overall intention for this project than
our identifying, inconsistently, interpretative moments and lines.
Credits can be found in the list of illustrations.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 22 25/02/2013 09:56

Foreword
Stanley Wells
As Paul Prescott makes clear in his masterly overview of the

history of Shakespearean reviewing, this is a pioneering volume,
made possible only by use of the Internet. Drawing on the skills
of numerous Shakespeare scholars, most of them relatively young,
it offers critical accounts of all the productions and events that
made up the World Shakespeare Festival which formed part of
the Cultural Olympiad of 2012. Though the performances origi-
nated in many different parts of the world they all took place in
Great Britain, largely through the administrative efforts of the
Royal Shakespeare Company and the extraordinary initiative
and logistical skill of Shakespeare’s Globe in bringing together
38 productions in as many different languages to be performed
within the space of only seven weeks. Most of our reviewers wrote
within a few hours of seeing a single performance, posting their
accounts in the new, relatively informal form of the blog. These
have been brought together under the aegis of Erin Sullivan
of the Shakespeare Institute of the University of Birmingham,
Paul Edmondson of The Shakespeare Birthplace Trust, and Paul
Prescott of the University of Warwick with the aim of forming an
archive of accounts of an exceptionally wide range of theatrical
experiences made available within a short space of time and origi-
nating in many different cultures.
It is only during the past half century or so that Shakespeare
scholars and critics have come to acknowledge the relevance to
their work of theatrical performance. Far from being simply a
poet who – like John Milton in Samson Agonistes or Thomas
Hardy in The Dynasts – chose to write in dramatic form with
no thought of performance, Shakespeare was a dyed-in-the-
wool man of the theatre, thoroughly immersed in the daily
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 23 25/02/2013 09:56

Foreword
work of the company for which he was an actor as well as a

playwright. Increasing acknowledgement of this fact and of
evidence that he was willing to rethink his texts as he originally
drafted them in light of lessons learned during the process of
rehearsal and performance, has transformed editorial and critical
attitudes. Study of his plays from the perspective of the theat-
rical conditions for which they were created has illuminated
their construction and the thought that lies behind them. And
examination of ways in which they have been brought to life
in the generations since they were first performed has demon-
strated their openness to the creative interpretation of actors and
directors who can see ways in which the texts as they have come
down to us can yield previously unsuspected meanings, offering
new revelations of their creator’s myriad-mindedness. Even in
unadapted form, and given in productions that, like Michael
Attenborough’s of King Lear (p. 108), proclaim no interpretative
novelty, they retain their power to reach to the innermost depths
of human experience.
Increasingly, however, Shakespeare’s plays have formed a
springboard from which an enormously wide variety of theatrical
experiences can be created, often adapting his texts in radical ways
that reflect diverse cultural and political concerns. Sometimes
indeed they have stimulated original masterpieces in new forms,
such as Verdi’s operas Falstaff and Otello (pp. 135 and 155).
Many of the productions reviewed here engage critically, even
bitterly with issues of urgent political concern to the countries
from which they originate. Whereas in the past such adaptations
have often been regarded as self-indulgent debasements of their
originals, scholars have increasingly come to recognize that, just
as Shakespeare himself worked frequently from pre-existing
texts, both non-dramatic and dramatic, so modern artists are
justified in using what he wrote as raw material from which they
can provoke fresh theatrical experiences that engage creatively
with current concerns.
Such adaptations, or creative re-imaginings, demand to be
considered in their own right rather than as inevitable debasements
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 24 25/02/2013 09:56

Foreword
of their source texts. They may fail. A new play constructed on a

Shakespearean basis – or for that matter a radically re-interpreted
production, such as that of Troilus and Cressida reviewed on pp.
213–17, whose originality lies in directorial innovation rather
than textual change – is not necessarily successful simply because
of either its point of origin or its defiance of convention. It may,
like perhaps earlier adaptations such as Nahum Tate’s King Lear
of 1681, debase, even corrupt its original. On the other hand
performances that, like A Midsummer Night’s Dream (As You Like
It) (pp. 142–5), take Shakespeare’s text as a springboard for an
original entertainment bearing little textual relationship to its
source, may be more fully and successfully integrated works of
art than others that stick closer to their base texts.
This volume demonstrates afresh the extent of Shakespeare’s
enduring and increasing global relevance. It celebrates both
Shakespeare the artist and Shakespeare the catalyst, a writer who,
like Falstaff, is not only witty in himself but the cause that wit is
in other men, a continuing source of pleasure but also a constant
stimulus to critical thought, even to rebellion.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 25 25/02/2013 09:56

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 26 25/02/2013 09:56
PART ONE: Openings
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 1 25/02/2013 09:56

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 2 25/02/2013 09:56
Olympic Performance in the Year of Shakespeare
Erin Sullivan
Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises,

Sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.
(The Tempest 3.2.135–6)
With these words from Shakespeare’s The Tempest, the London

2012 Olympic Ceremonies presented the United Kingdom to the
world. Where Beijing 2008 chose 2,008 synchronized drummers
to begin its celebrations, Athens 2004 a procession of traditional
music, and Sydney 2000 a fleet of stockmen on horseback,
London chose Shakespeare to inspire and initiate its multimillion-
pound ‘Isles of Wonder’ Opening Ceremony. As the ‘Olympic
Bell’ chimed, inscribed with the first line of Caliban’s lyrical
speech – ‘LONDON 2012/BE NOT AFEARD;/THE ISLE
IS FULL OF NOISES’ – choirs of children from each of the
UK’s four countries sang traditional anthems and a nineteenth-
century stagecoach approached a recreation of England’s
grassy Glastonbury Tor, all in, or video-linked into, the newly
opened Olympic Stadium in Stratford, East London (a kind of
urban sister to Stratford-upon-Avon, Shakespeare’s provincial
hometown). From the stagecoach emerged Sir Kenneth Branagh,
dressed as a Victorian industrialist (Isambard Kingdom Brunel, to
be exact), looking excitedly, expectantly and triumphantly at the
expansive bucolic stage set before him, soon to be disrupted and
quite literally torn apart by the Industrial Revolution to come.
But first, more Shakespeare: surveying the stadium from his
perch on the Tor, Branagh/Brunel delivered in full Caliban’s
magical speech, 15 lines in total, to a global audience of an
estimated one billion.1 In his reassuring, repeated invitation
to global audiences to ‘Be not afeard – be not afeard’, to see
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 3 25/02/2013 09:56

4 A Year of Shakespeare
their 2012 Olympic host as a magical place full of ‘sweet

airs’, ‘twangling instruments’ and dreamy ‘riches’ (136–7, 141),
Branagh set the tone for an Opening Ceremony that Melanie
Phillips of the Daily Mail would say captured ‘[t]he singular but
essentially benign nature of Britain’ – a madcap nation, no doubt,
but one that global audiences could feel delighted and charmed
by, as well as comfortably at home with.2 Nearing the finish,
with Elgar’s ‘Nimrod’ variation swelling, Branagh called out the
speech’s final phrases – ‘in dreaming,/The clouds, methought,
would open, and show riches /Ready to drop upon me, that
when I waked/I cried to dream again (140–3) – in a manner
more reminiscent of Henry V before his armies (a scene indelibly
associated with Branagh’s acting career, brought to international
attention by his film version of that play) than any depiction of
Caliban in the Tempests of recent memory. As one Twitter user
put it, ‘I’ve never heard [C]aliban’s speech delivered with quite
that level of triumph before’, a sentiment developed later, in quite
a different way, by a fellow YouTube commenter: ‘What a great
country we live in. Although 2012 has been a tough year for us
all [ … ] the whole country has come together like that [W]orld
[W]ar 2 backbone’.3
This striking mixture of responses to the Opening Ceremony
– nationalistic, sceptical, impressed, comforted, bemused –
raises important questions about what kind of symbolic work
Shakespeare was doing in these celebrations, which used a speech
from Caliban – one of the most politically disenfranchized
and dispossessed characters in all of Shakespeare’s plays – to
represent the dreams, ambitions and history of Great Britain,
empire and all. Was it an example of the flattening out of
nuance and friction in both literature and history? The fantas-
tical depiction of the Industrial Revolution that followed – with
a cast of interracial industrialists working happily together in
the absence of racism, colonialism and classism to forge British
might – suggested as much. Or was it an example of political
and cultural hegemony at last giving way to the people it had
so long sought to dominate, of allowing them to speak openly
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 4 25/02/2013 09:56

Olympic Performance in the Year of Shakespeare 5
and freely not just for themselves, but for the nation as a whole?
Conservative MP Aidan Burley seemed to detect such a message
when he tweeted that the ceremony, particularly its subsequent
celebration of Britain’s National Health Service, was redolent of
‘leftie multicultural crap’.4 In the midst of the frenzied national
branding exercise that has become a – perhaps the – defining
feature of ‘mega-events’ like the Olympic Games, Shakespeare
was working overtime, standing in as a symbol of British cultural
prestige, social inclusion, national achievement, creative potential
and citizen empowerment all at once.
Caliban’s speech in the Opening Ceremony was Shakespeare’s
most visible role in the 2012 Olympic festivities, but it was by no
means his only one. Before London had even secured the 2012
Olympic bid, organizers were developing ideas for an enhanced
cultural programme that could run up to and then alongside
the Games, should they come to the UK. While all modern (i.e.
post-1896) summer Olympic celebrations had included some
form of ‘Cultural Olympiad’, thereby honouring founder Pierre
de Coubertin’s vision of the Games as a celebration of not only the
body but also the mind and spirit, this extra-athletic side to the
Games had often gone underfunded and relatively unnoticed, even
in the first half of the twentieth century, when Olympic medals
were awarded for achievement in the arts. The 1992 Barcelona
Games had successfully initiated a process of showcasing the
cultural vibrancy of the host city through a four-year cultural
lead-in to the Olympics, but the concept of an official ‘Cultural
Olympiad’ had nevertheless remained unfamiliar to most global
Olympic audiences, a reality the London planning committee
wished to change.5 Included in their proposal were plans to
reinvigorate and heavily showcase the cultural arm of the Olympic
festivities by leveraging the UK’s long-standing association with
literary creativity and artistic heritage, from Shakespeare to
Tolkien to Beatles to Britpop. When London won the bid, the
UK Cultural Olympiad was born, and along with it plans for the
World Shakespeare Festival, produced by the Royal Shakespeare
Company. From this line of programming would emerge the
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 5 25/02/2013 09:56

allied Globe to Globe Festival, produced by Shakespeare’s Globe,

as well as the complementary Shakespeare Unlocked season,
developed by the British Broadcasting Company.
Added to this were the Shakespeare-inflected Olympic and
Paralympic ceremonies that ran alongside this arts programming,
repeatedly invoking the language, characters and, in some
instances, the very idea of Shakespearean achievement. In addition
to the Olympic Bell and Branagh’s performance, the Olympic
Opening Ceremony featured a ‘Caliban’s Dream’ theme song
released for sale on iTunes immediately following the ceremony,
and eventually reaching number 5 in the charts.6 Two weeks
later, the Olympic Closing Ceremony included a stage papered
with Shakespearean quotations as well as the actor Timothy
Spall giving a repeat performance of Caliban’s speech, this time
dressed as Winston Churchill emerging from a model of Big Ben
(the real version of which is soon to be renamed the ‘Elizabeth
Tower’, further linking modern-day ‘Elizabethans’ with their
Tudor predecessors7). And finally, another two weeks later, the
Paralympic Opening Ceremony presented Sir Ian McKellen as a
magically cloaked Prospero, speaking something vaguely Tempest-
esque and heavily ‘Olympic’ to his daughter Miranda, played by
actress and wheelchair-user Nicola Miles-Wilden:
Miranda! Miranda! Go out into the world! Will you be, for
all of us gathering here, our eyes, our ears and our hearts?
Shine your light on the beautiful diversity of humanity
[ … ] Look up, stretch your wings and fly. Will you take this
journey for all of us and will you set us free?
Intriguingly, the origins of these rather bemusing lines, worthy

of David Garrick’s purple-passaged, eighteenth-century adapta-
tions of Shakespeare, remain unclear – Michael Coveney, a
theatre reviewer for The Independent, suggested that McKellen
forgot his lines from The Tempest on the night, improvising new
ones on the spot.8 While tempting to believe, it seems unlikely;
more cod-Shakespearean, Olympically inflected dialogue surfaced
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 6 25/02/2013 09:56

again at the end of the ceremony, suggesting that the content was
in fact scripted (an approximate account of the lines appears in
the media guide produced for the event, although this document
was embargoed until the ceremony began, meaning that some
last-minute alterations might have been possible. Perhaps the
world will never know … 9). Regardless of the exact details of
each of these mashed-up, time-travelling, symbolically loaded
displays of cultural identity and ambition, however, what we
can say for sure is that throughout the much-watched, globally
accessible Olympic and Paralympic Ceremonies, Shakespeare
became a repeated point of focus in the desire to celebrate British
creativity and the influence it has subsequently had on the rest of
the world. Whether in his own words or a new version of them,
freshly imbued with contemporary cultural and political interests,
the characters and thematic engagements of Shakespeare’s plays
were asked to speak for global concerns and to stand for a form
of human timelessness that could participate in London 2012’s
central desire to ‘inspire a generation’.10
The result of these diverse, dazzling and often bizarre festivities
– both in the Olympic arena and beyond – was an unprecedented
‘Year of Shakespeare’, which in the end saw the UK play host
to close to 100 theatrical productions, television programmes,
radio broadcasts, digital projects and museum exhibits exploring
and showcasing the artistic output of the country’s most famous
literary son. From April to June, 37 of Shakespeare’s plays and a
dramatic rendering of one of his narrative poems were performed
in as many languages by as many theatre companies at the Globe
to Globe Festival in London; in June and July, the BBC broadcast
four feature-length television adaptations of Shakespeare’s second
tetralogy (Richard II, Henry IV Parts 1 and 2, Henry V) in a
series called The Hollow Crown; in July, alongside the start of the
Olympics, the British Museum opened the doors to its blockbuster
summer exhibition, ‘Shakespeare: Staging the World’; and from
March to November the Royal Shakespeare Company curated a
festival of domestic and international Shakespeare collaborations
with performances not only in Stratford-upon-Avon and London
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 7 25/02/2013 09:56

but also in Brighton, Newcastle, South Wales, North Wales and

Edinburgh (though not in Northern Ireland, Branagh’s home
country, we might note). Shakespeare, the arts newspaper The
Stage reported, was ‘the jewel in the crown of the London 2012
Festival’, stealing the show through sheer quantity of presence, if
not also through quality of creative production.11
The preponderance of Shakespeare during this Olympic
year prompted a variety of critical responses, many enthusiastic
but others more sceptical. Why so much attention and money
lavished on one writer, some asked, especially considering that
he had enjoyed so much veneration in the past, and that he
would be looking forward to two big celebrations in 2014 (the
450th anniversary of his birth) and 2016 (the 400th anniversary
of his death)? If anything, it should have been Charles Dickens’s
year – 2012 was his 200th birthday – and yet, once again, pride
of place in Britain’s cultural celebrations went to Shakespeare.
The politics of this choice did not go unnoticed. Writing for The
New York Times, Shakespeare scholar Sergei Lobanov-Rostovsky
observed,
The British can no longer conquer the world with yeomen’s

cries of ‘God for Harry! England and Saint George!’ but
the world still tunes in to watch their spectacles with fasci-
nation [ … ] Even if the Shakespeare festival confronts
Londoners with the unpleasant realization that the most
interesting productions of the bard’s plays come dressed in
foreign costumes [ … ] it’s still the empire of culture that
colonized those distant lands, mining their traditions to
spice up the British imagination.12
Similar anxieties about the Festival’s reinforcement of

Shakespearean hegemony surfaced in The Guardian, which
about halfway into the seven-week Globe to Globe programme
published an op-ed piece questioning the Elizabethan/Jacobean
playwright’s relevance to a twenty-first-century festival of culture.
‘We have reached the point where what is interesting about
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 8 25/02/2013 09:56

Shakespeare is not Shakespeare at all – it’s the themes and innova-

tions that theatre artists bring to the texts’, wrote the author,
Emer O’Toole, adding, ‘I wish these artists were given the oppor-
tunity to perform in the UK without having to do Shakespeare’.13
While many readers in the comments thread following O’Toole’s
editorial vociferously disagreed (those reading The New York Times
were not given the chance), questions surrounding the possible
colonial echoes of an international celebration of Shakespeare,
designed, managed and largely enjoyed by the British, would
return again and again – and for good reason. Since the eight-
eenth century ‘Brand Shakespeare’ and ‘Brand Britain’ had
been intimately linked, with the boy from Warwickshire and his
exceptional writings being co-opted to stand for British talent,
influence and might – a process Michael Dobson has described as
the ‘making of the national poet’.14 Promotional materials for the
World Shakespeare Festival took the label ‘national poet’ a step
further, describing Shakespeare as ‘the favourite playwright and
artist of the whole world’ – from national icon to global Olympic
champion, if you will – and from a cynical point of view it would
be easy to see the 2012 Year of Shakespeare as a continuation of
Shakespeare’s (and, by association, Britain’s) cultural, national
and global dominance.
But to take this point of view entirely would be to overlook the
complexity and nuance of the productions themselves, condensing
them into a single ideological unit without interrogating the
diverse array of cultural, artistic and political arguments they
posed to their audiences over the course of 2012. By turns conven-
tional and novel, stately and scrappy, conservative and subversive,
the productions and events that made up the Year of Shakespeare
challenged any easy summary of what Shakespeare ‘means’ in
the twenty-first century. Few if any venerated Shakespeare in
a wholly uncomplicated fashion, instead folding into his plays
their own cultural concerns, artistic forms and political engage-
ments. Each had to be taken on its own terms, experienced and
interpreted first as an individual artistic event and second as part
of the greater 2012 celebration. The major obstacle, however,
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 9 25/02/2013 09:56

to this combination of individual and collective analysis was

the sheer scope of the World Shakespeare Festival and its allied
programming, which included 70-plus productions and events
running across eight months and more than 200,000 square miles.
Even for Shakespeare scholars, who make their living reading,
watching and writing about Shakespeare’s plays, catching all of
the Shakespearean offerings in 2012 would have been a consid-
erable challenge, if not an impossibility.
In response to these obstacles, a network of Shakespeare
scholars started banding together in late 2011 to develop a plan
to attend, document and debate each of the Shakespeare produc-
tions and events scheduled for the World Shakespeare and Globe
to Globe Festivals (the BBC films would eventually be added on).
Buoyed by a grant from the UK’s Arts and Humanities Research
Council, the editors of this book set up a website – www.
yearofshakespeare.com – where we would post production infor-
mation, video previews and performance (or event) reviews as
the 2012 Year of Shakespeare unfolded. The reviews, we agreed,
would be a starting point for discussion, identifying a handful of
exciting, troubling or puzzling moments in each Shakespearean
production and starting the process of trying to work through
their implications and meanings. Each reviewer would enter
the theatre, museum or gallery space with a different set of
perspectives, concerns and tastes, leading to a unique collection
of responses that would then be open to everyone for discussion
and debate online, both through comment boards on the Year
of Shakespeare site and through more free-form exchanges on
existing platforms including Twitter and Facebook. Academic
expertise was just one line of knowledge we were seeking, with
the project aiming to involve Shakespeare students, teachers
and enthusiasts from a variety of backgrounds and cultural
perspectives.
The collective, multivocal review of the Year of Shakespeare
that emerged was as boisterous, surprising, open-ended and
complicated as the Shakespearean offerings themselves. While
not all reviewers received comments from readers, those that
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 10 25/02/2013 09:56

did almost invariably found that their fellow audience members

experienced the productions in at least slightly – sometimes
hugely – different ways, bringing their own ideas and percep-
tions to bear on the cultural, artistic and political questions the
performances raised. A conservative production for one person
could be a radical experience for another, an aesthetically disori-
enting performance in one viewer’s eyes a thrilling investigation
in another’s. This plurality of response reflected, we believed, the
stimulating quality of the productions and events that emerged
during the Year of Shakespeare, and so this book was born,
providing readers with the opportunity to revisit, review and
re-experience in one place 74 of the remarkable performances,
broadcasts and events that made 2012 such an exciting year in the
world of Shakespeare. As we are writing this, the long-term legacy
of the London Olympics, and in particular the success of its
Cultural Olympiad, has yet to be decided,15 but one thing is sure
– 2012 marked the most intensive investigation of Shakespeare’s
relevance to modern global culture that any of us has ever seen,
the fruits of which will remain subjects of discussion, delight and
debate for many years to come.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 11 25/02/2013 09:56

Nightwatch Constables and Domineering Pedants:
the past, present and future of Shakespearean
theatre reviewing
Paul Prescott
What’s past is prologue; what to come

In yours and my discharge …
(The Tempest 2.1.254)
The reviews gathered in this book represent an important exper-

iment in the evolution of professional Shakespearean performance
criticism. In the following pages I will try to say why, but let us
begin with another moment of transformation. In Love’s Labour’s
Lost, the hitherto cynical bachelor Berowne has fallen hopelessly
in love, against his vows, with one of the three ladies who attend
on the visiting French Princess. He marvels at the metamorphosis:
And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love’s whip,

A very beadle to a humorous sigh,
A critic, nay, a night-watch constable,
A domineering pedant o’er the boy [Cupid]
Than whom no mortal so magnificent! (3.1.169–73)
This contest between the Critic and Love later springs to

Berowne’s mind when he overhears all three of his friends reveal
their own secret desires for the remaining members of the female
Gallic quartet. Stepping forth to ‘whip hypocrisy’, he hypocriti-
cally laments their undignified transformations: seeing them
love-sick, he says, is like watching wise Solomon dance a jig, or
‘critic Timon laugh at idle toys’ (4.3.167). These two, related
references mark the only times in all his plays that Shakespeare
used the word ‘critic’. Here the word is synonymous with a range
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 12 25/02/2013 09:56

Nightwatch Constables and Domineering Pedants 13
of institutional kill-joys: the parish officer or ‘beadle’ who whips

minor offenders, the ‘nightwatch constable’ who catches them,
and the ‘domineering pedant’ from whose instruction they have
clearly failed to benefit: all agents of law-enforcement, justice and
corrective instruction, all sworn enemies to love, freedom and
libido. References elsewhere to the figure of the ‘Critick’ (whether
of literature, society, or the drama) in early modern English plays,
poems and pamphlets describe a figure who is carping, currish,
choleric, sharp-sighted, narrow-eyed, stubborn, severe, musty-
visaged and foul-mouthed. These largely negative, even repellent,
connotations are still familiar. The role of critic is still popularly
perceived to be one of a fault-finder, a traffic warden of the
emotions, a fly in the soup at life’s feast.
But the actor – possibly Richard Burbage – who first spoke
Berowne’s lines some time in the mid-1590s, had little fear of
having his performance dissected in print, and certainly not
to the extent that the greatest actors do today. There were no
daily or Sunday newspapers to dispatch their reviewers to the
latest opening at the Globe or the Rose. (British reviewers are
often admired for their longevity but none was, alas, writing
four centuries ago.) The eyewitness accounts of performance in
Shakespeare’s theatre that survive tend to be found in letters,
diary entries, poems or occasional pamphlets.
Criticism in the early modern theatre was largely a spoken
affair and most ‘reviews’ have therefore, like Macbeth’s witches,
vanished into thin air. A critic was a censorious fault-finder, but
not necessarily someone who wrote or published his thoughts
and findings. I was once chatting to an actor in the street when a
passing pigeon voided its bowels on the actor’s well-coiffed head
– ‘Everyone’s a critic’ he shrugged, with commendable stoicism.
But in a very real sense, everyone was a critic in Shakespeare’s
theatre: as much as playwrights like Shakespeare and especially
Jonson would occasionally address their work to an imagined or
actual elite of ‘judicious’ and ‘learned’ spectators, the evidence
of most prologues and epilogues – and of course the plays
themselves – suggests that the playwright’s job was in general
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 13 25/02/2013 09:56

to produce work that appealed not to a hard core minority of

influential opinion-makers, but to the theatre audience as a whole,
every member of which needed to be re-enticed back into the
theatre and each of whom might equally provide free advertising
to others via word of mouth.
Over one third of Shakespeare’s plays conclude with the
promise of more conversation. The Prince orders the shocked
witnesses of Romeo and Juliet’s demise to ‘Go hence, and have
more talk of these sad things’ (5.3.307). But it would be another
150 years before theatre criticism in the form of daily and weekly
written reviews would become a vital voice in that conversation.
Theatre reviewing evolved in London in the mid-eighteenth
century for a number of reasons, not the least of which was
that theatre had reached the fruitful condition of being both
sufficiently socially acceptable to discuss in bourgeois company
and also a source of apparently endless controversy. ‘Acceptable
controversy’ – or we might say ‘news’. In a relatively small
theatrical economy such as London in the 1740s, it was easily
possible to see everything. What one should feel and say about
what one saw was much less clear. Historically, the Church or
the Court had set standards of taste and interpretation, but in
the ever expanding public sphere of clubs and coffee houses, and
the proliferating pages of new journals and periodicals of the
Enlightenment city there emerged a consensus that judgment
might be the affair of the individual – the lay authority, as it
were – but that this individual’s opinion was most meaningfully
forged in the company of other equally enlightened amateurs.
The first theatre critics existed in order both to reflect and to
provoke these conversations about art. One of the greatest critics,
William Hazlitt, began his A View of the English Stage (1818):
A good play, well acted, passes away a whole evening

delightfully at a certain period of life, agreeably at all times;
we read the account the next morning with pleasure, and
it generally furnishes our leading topic of conversation for
the afternoon.16
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 14 25/02/2013 09:56

Journalistic theatre reviewing has undergone all manner of change

and sometimes convulsion in the last two and a half centuries, but
one of its core functions – to respond to performance immedi-
ately, to keep people talking about theatre and so to circulate
pleasure – still obtains in the present.
Academic reviewing of Shakespearean performance is a much
more recent phenomenon than newspaper reviewing. It emerged
not from the Enlightenment public sphere but from the largely
private and specialized spheres of universities, university presses
and disciplinary trade magazines (aka academic journals) of the
mid-twentieth century. Such important annuals as Shakespeare
Survey (founded 1948), and journals such as Shakespeare Quarterly
(1950), Cahiers Élisabéthains (1972) and Shakespeare Bulletin
(1982) have regularly committed substantial space to articles and
reviews of performance. Many of these have benefitted not only
from the expertise, wit and thoughtfulness of the scholarly writer,
but also from these critics’ ability to see the production more
than once, to extend their analysis to several times the length of a
newspaper review, and to redraft the writing until it has acquired
elegance, force and coherence. As the contents of Stanley Wells’s
anthology of criticism Shakespeare in the Theatre (1997) suggest,
these parvenu pedants have been responsible for some of the
most outstanding criticism of the last 60 years, and have provided
criticism often quite distinct from that of the newspaper constab-
ulary that has faithfully kept its nightwatch since the eighteenth
century.
The difference between the two modes of criticism is hardly
accidental. Indeed, it might be argued that the academic review
was conceived as an antidote to the journalistic notice. What Cary
Mazer wrote of the Shakespeare Quarterly guidelines of the 1970s
holds largely true for academic reviewing at any point in the last
half century: ‘The principal goal has been to invert the priorities
which have been the norm in theatre reviewing throughout the
last two and a half centuries of popular commercial journalism.
Reviews, the scholarly community insists, should be historical
documents first, and consumer reports only afterwards, if at all’.17
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 15 25/02/2013 09:56

It is worth pausing here. The logic that has traditionally distin-

guished journalistic from academic reviewing runs something
like this: if they (journalists) write quickly for large audiences,
we (academics) will write slowly for small audiences. If they
have the potential to exert a strong influence on contemporary
theatregoing and production, we will eliminate the risk of any
such influence by (a) publishing our reviews some weeks or even
months after the show has opened or, sometimes, closed; (b)
avoiding crassly evaluative, consumer oriented criticism as far as
is humanly possible; and (c) not taking any cash for our work, thus
pre-empting accusations of bias or puffery. If they (journalists) are
pundits, tipsters and weathervanes, we (academics) are experts,
historians and memorialists. If they treat theatre as news, we treat
it as history.
There are exceptions to the strong contrasts drawn above.
Academic reviewers in journals like The Times Literary
Supplement, for example, are no strangers to deadlines or fees.
But it is nevertheless fair to say that the anti-journalistic founda-
tional principles of academic Shakespearean reviewing have until
recently gone largely unquestioned. Indeed, discussion of the
purpose of such criticism has been rare – it has generally been
taken for granted as something we do, its value as self-evident
(even though the activity of reviewing is consistently under-valued
in research assessment exercises in which it is judged inferior
to ‘serious’ scholarship). For many years, the most sustained
theoretical exploration of Shakespeare reviewing was to be found
in the 1985 special edition of Shakespeare Quarterly. Reading
across the articles in that volume, it was clear that the purpose of
the academic review was almost entirely conceived as a utility for
the future. The review was largely imagined as addressing not the
present in which we live and in which performance takes place,
but rather some hazily conceived day after tomorrow in which the
reader – perhaps under contract to produce a stage history of the
play in hand – wants a quasi-objective and detailed account of the
production’s design, its major ‘choices’, the director’s concept,
significant textual cuts and analysis of a handful of performances.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 16 25/02/2013 09:56

This assumption has dominated academic reviewing for the

whole of its 60-year history – as Jeremy Lopez has noted, theatre
reviews in Shakespeare Quarterly today ‘look and sound pretty
much like they did in 1950, 1960 or 1970’.18
The same point was wittily made in Alan Armstrong’s ‘Romeo
and Juliet Academic Theatre Review Kit’ (2008). Armstrong
analysed 111 academic reviews of 73 productions of Romeo and
Juliet from 1987–2007. Realizing that the same critical tropes and
tactics appeared again and again, he filleted the reviews to produce
a multiple-choice review ‘kit’. Any would-be reviewer could then
tick their way through a sequence of 15 boxes describing a limited
range of scenic, directorial, textual and acting choices common
to all productions of Romeo and Juliet. The ticked choices would
combine to form a legitimate and recognizably academic review,
fit to print in any of the major journals. Armstrong concluded that
The academic review, especially in its focus on coherent

interpretive design, continues to be governed implicitly by
literary critical premises and perspectives, and is still tinged
by the notion that the end of performance is to illuminate
and refine readings of Shakespeare’s plays.19
Armstrong’s piece provided systematic confirmation of a

hunch that many long-term review readers have shared: that
Shakespearean academic reviewing for all its many virtues is,
generally, too neat, formulaic, conventional and narrow. Despite
the weight of learning brought to the task, the possibility of
multiple viewings and the luxury of extended word counts,
academics’ reviews could be every bit as predictable and inter-
changeable as those of their journalistic counterparts. And this is
not even to mention the vexed questions of audience and impact,
of whether anyone is actually reading the stuff or not.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 17 25/02/2013 09:56

‘The present eye praises the present object’

(Troilus 3.3.180)
The time is therefore ripe for a revaluation of the forms and
functions of scholarly writing about Shakespearean performance
and the World Shakespeare Festival of 2012 – with its unprece-
dented range and volume of production – presented the ideal raw
material for the experiment. Building on the work of Armstrong,
Lopez and a range of recent collections,20 our project at www.
yearofshakespeare.com was to provide a platform for a new
approach to Shakespearean reviewing. In effect, the internet has
invited us to collapse the distinction between journalistic and
academic reviewing, between the nightwatch constable and the
domineering pedant. The speed and democracy of the medium
allows the pedant – or academic – to join the daily and nightly
beat. This has a range of implications for the ways in which
reviews are both created and consumed, and for the tone and
tenor of the reviews in this volume.
(1) ‘Madam, I go with all convenient speed’

(Merchant 3.4.56)
It has long been recognized that the speed of critical response has
a determining influence on the style, tone and content of theatre
criticism. There is a difference between the review tapped out (or
even tweeted) in the hour or so after performance, that written
over the course of a few days, and that composed over the course
of a few weeks and perhaps multiple viewings of the show in
question. When Georg Lichtenberg, the German scientist and
aphorist, visited London in the 1770s he partook of a pastime that
had distracted Londoners for decades: discussing David Garrick.
He wrote to his German audience:
I believe that I have already told you that he plays Hamlet

in a French suit. That seems, in truth, an odd choice. I
have frequently heard him blamed for this, though never
between the acts, nor on the way home, nor at supper after
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 18 25/02/2013 09:56

the play; but always after the impression made by him has
had time to fade; and the intellect has revived sufficiently
for cool discussion, in which, as you know, learned is taken
to be synonymous with good, and striking with ingenious. I
must confess that the criticism has never appealed to me.21
(The French suit was an ‘odd choice’ in the context of ongoing

cultural spats between England and France in which Garrick
would be expected to defend – and stress the English features
of – the national playwright in the face of, for example, Voltaire’s
vast condescension.) Lichtenberg’s account reminds us that the
moment of criticism can range on a spectrum from instantaneous
heat to refrigerated retrospection. He implies that during and
immediately after Garrick’s Hamlet, people had better things to
talk about than his costume and its political implications.
Speed is not classy. As Cyril Connolly argued in his classic
analysis of the mandarin style: ‘Its cardinal assumption is that
neither the writer nor the reader is in a hurry, that both are in
possession of classical education and a private income’.22 To move
slowly in public is to perform one’s indifference to the demands
of time and labour. Indifference to the public is a luxury unknown
to the nightwatch constable. As newspaper and online critic
Michael Coveney put it: ‘I sometimes feel that unless you’ve
actually had to write 900 words about All’s Well That Ends Well by
five to eleven you haven’t really lived. People ask “how do you do
it?” I say you just imagine a gun at your head and go for it’.23 It is
hard to be classy when a gun is pointed to your head. But this is
what we did to our reviewers for the Year of Shakespeare project,
most of whom filed their copy and published their review online
within 24 hours of leaving the theatre. In 1954, a year into his
tenure on The Observer, Kenneth Tynan called for a blow-torch to
be taken to the West End, and especially to the well-upholstered
and highly flammable genre he dubbed ‘the Loamshire play’: ‘I
counsel aggression because, as a critic, I had rather be a war corre-
spondent than a necrologist’.24 Writing quickly means that you
are reporting on an event whose outcome has yet to be decided.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 19 25/02/2013 09:56

Obituaries are fascinating, but war is front-page news because it

is urgent and uncertain.
(2) ‘Come I too late?’ (Coriolanus 1.6.27)

A number of recent books, blogs and articles have debated and
sometimes lamented the decline of both the professional critic
and the public intellectual. A representative study – Rónán
McDonald’s The Death of the Critic (2007) – argues that:
the public critic has been dismembered by two opposing

forces: the tendency of academic criticism to become
increasingly inward-looking and non-evaluative, and the
momentum for journalistic and popular criticism to become
a much more democratic, dispersive affair, no longer left in
the hands of the experts.25
British sports commentators are over-fond of using the word

‘academic’ interchangeably with ‘irrelevant’ – ‘Given Liverpool’s
win earlier today, the result of this match now looks academic’
– but it is a sad fact that, while academics may be invited to
provide programme notes or, more rarely, to contribute to the
rehearsal process, they are generally missing from the public
post-performance conversation about Shakespearean theatre. (I
am talking here of the British Shakespeare scene; things are quite
different elsewhere.) Much of this has to do with the time-lag of
academic publishing: theatre remains news and, as far as industry
professionals and audiences are concerned, academic reviewing
is a belated arrival, a spectre who turns up very late for the feast.
But, as McDonald suggests, there is also the question of a wider
malaise of academic insularity and isolationism, an aloofness that
all too easily looks like elitism. As Curtis White has noted:
too often members of the postmodern professoriate [ … ]

sound as if they live in some very distant world. Not an
elite ivory tower as in the past, but something like a strange,
perhaps perverse, cult [ … ] I’m not sure if it’s a prison or
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 20 25/02/2013 09:56

a madhouse or both. In any event, the inmates show little

desire to ‘bust the joint’.26
The creation of www.yearofshakespeare.com was our attempt to

bust the joint. As editors, we were clear in commissioning these
reviews that their purpose was to speak to as wide an audience as
possible. In contrast to McDonald’s characterization of academic
criticism, the pieces should be outward looking; and, although
we would not be awarding (or withholding) stars, like national
newspaper critics or like primary school teachers inspecting
homework, we would welcome criticism that was evaluative,
outspoken and judgmental. At the same time, we would not
pretend to definitive expertise on every aspect of the production in
front of us; we would, on the contrary, see the review as an oppor-
tunity to ask questions, express doubts and provoke responses. As
we wrote in our brief to reviewers: ‘The written response we have
in mind is something of a hybrid – part blog, part review, part
provocation, depending on the writer and his/her experience of
the production. We are not looking for an authoritative, densely
detailed and argued verdict on the production, more a lively,
unguarded and informal set of thoughts and impressions’. We
all had subsequent thoughts, might even have come (rapidly) to
disagree with what we wrote, but the abandoned text has its own
authenticity as a Polaroid of the critic’s brain under pressure.
(3) ‘Here come mo[r]e voices’ (Coriolanus 2.3.124)

All writing is creative and all criticism is an act of performance.
Given the permissive brief we issued to our reviewers it is
therefore unsurprising that the following pages contain a wide
range of critical performances. You will notice, for example, that
some reviews make frequent reference to the text, some none at all;
some write in the past tense, some in the present: some in a more
or less conscious mixture of both. Perhaps surprisingly, given
the cultural reputation of scholars as imperious know-alls, time
and again our critics express doubt and uncertainty. Newspaper
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 21 25/02/2013 09:56

reviewers often draw on secondary reading, including programme

notes, to guide their interpretation, but they tend to hide their
sources, whether because of lack of space or because they prefer
to foster the illusion of independent expertise. Our critics are
quite open about the extent to which one often depends on an
array of extra-theatrical sources to try to make sense of the event.
This is especially the case when a monolingual Anglophone critic
is watching non-Anglophone Shakespeare, or when any critic is
confronted with non-traditional or highly adaptive productions;
but it is also the case that when interpreting quite mainstream
shows, the reviewer depends on all sorts of extra-theatrical infor-
mation. Programmes, for example, are an important part of the
meaning that theatre makes – Monika Smialkowska uses hers to
discover that the performers in the Newcastle West Side Story
(which had presented itself as a ‘regional’ production) were all
sourced from outside the North-East of England (p. 187); Paul
Edmondson uses his to make sense of an elliptical set design for
The Tempest (p. 192); in my own review of Troilus and Cressida I
depended on the programme to tell me more than I ever thought
I needed to know about Styrofoam (p. 215).
The typical length of the reviews in this volume is 1,000
words, roughly twice as long as those published on a daily basis in
the British press. The extra space available to our critics has many
consequences, one of which was that it left room for candour
and self-consciousness. Carol Rutter – author of very fine annual
critiques in Shakespeare Survey since 2009 – has observed that
what differentiates the critic from the regular audience member
is the fact that ‘the critic is the one who goes home and
struggles to translate the event into something that then can be
published’.27 The worst-case scenario for this solitary struggle is
neatly captured in E. B. White’s quatrain:
The critic leaves at curtain fall

To find, in starting to review it
He scarcely saw the play at all
For watching his reaction to it.28
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 22 25/02/2013 09:56

But there is something fascinating about overhearing someone

trying to work out what exactly that reaction is. White implies that
the play has been missed, but simply because reviewers are more
self-conscious than other spectators about their own reactions, it
does not mean they are having fewer interesting reactions than
anyone else. Indeed, like the prospect of a morning execution, the
awareness of an impending deadline typically concentrates the
mind and conduces to a slow-release of adrenalin that makes the
eye and the ear greedier for sensation, the brain more receptive
and generative, the synapses snappier.
One of the great, salutary lessons of the World Shakespeare
Festival was to throw the question of critical expertise and
ownership in doubt. This is nicely caught in Adam Hansen’s
review of In a Pickle, a show based on The Winter’s Tale and
designed for two- to four-year-olds. Aware that he hardly repre-
sented the target audience of the piece, Hansen had to depend
on the responses of others, including three-year-old Joe, a born
critic who was at pains to contrast his own experience with the
unthinking pleasure taken by other audience members: ‘the
babies enjoyed it’, Joe notes. Hansen concluded:
For children, as for adults, this awareness of others’ reactions

inspires and sanctions one’s own responses, especially if the
experience or situation is strange or new. As [child psychol-
ogist Alison] Gopnik affirms, ‘imitation’ affects ‘emotion’:
‘I see someone smile, so I smile myself ’ (p. 206). There was
plenty of smiling during and after In a Pickle. (p. 235)
The reviews in this volume are consistently alert to the reactions

of others, especially to those of the multinational audiences of the
Globe to Globe Festival, where the performance could frequently
be interpreted only via the reactions of fellow audience members.
Watching one’s own reactions to the play was often a matter of
watching other people’s, a reminder of what extraordinary value
for money the theatre can offer when a single ticket grants you
access to two shows: the one onstage and the one everywhere else.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 23 25/02/2013 09:56

Here Stephen Purcell’s experience at the British Sign Language

production of Love’s Labour’s Lost was paradigmatic: ‘I found
myself uncertain as to where, precisely, I was supposed to direct
my attention’ (pp. 112–13). Such uncertainty seems a healthy
response to the peculiar challenges of non-traditional Shakespeare
production and a candid acknowledgment that the nightwatch
pedant often goes to bed fruitfully and enjoyably baffled.
4) ‘The noise is round about us’ (Cymbeline 4.4.1)

In The Semiotics of Theatre and Drama, Keir Elam offered a
‘Simplified Theatrical Communication Model’, which, ‘while
undoubtedly reductive and mechanistic’, nevertheless helps
to visualize the process of communication that takes place
between ‘Transmitter’ (performer/performance) and ‘Receiver’
(audience) and the ambient ‘Noise’ that will affect the nature
of that transmission.29 The contextual politics of many of the
World Shakespeare Festival productions generated a lot of ‘noise’,
whether it was of the pro- or anti-Zionist protestors outside
the Globe before Habima’s The Merchant of Venice, the onstage
protests in Stratford-upon-Avon against the British Petroleum
(BP) sponsorship of the WSF, or the sheer symbolic pressure
on many of these productions to somehow ‘represent’ a whole
nation, culture and language in a two- to three-hour show based
on the work of a long-dead English playwright. Such noise cannot
be safely muted as if it had nothing to do with ‘Shakespeare’, and
a review should never be sound-proofed. Iago described himself
as ‘nothing if not critical’ (2.1.119) drawing on the dual contem-
porary sense of the word as defined a year or so earlier as ‘Critik
and Critical, sharpe Censurers also dangerous dayes for health
obserued by Phisitions’.30 This definition alerts us to the fact that
‘critic’ and ‘crisis’ are etymologically related, finding common
ancestry in the Greek krinein, ‘to separate, decide, judge’, from
the root krei-, ‘to sieve, discriminate, distinguish’. The krisis is a
turning point in a disease, the day or days on which a doctor will
be able to make a reliable prognosis; thus the critic is both a sharp
censurer but also the physician observing dangerous days.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 24 25/02/2013 09:56

Jeremy Lopez has highlighted the tendency in academic

Shakespeare reviewing to ignore contemporary politics and other
aspects of the ‘dangerous days’ of the present and instead to
record the ‘timelessness, rather than the historicity, of a given
production’. He calls for a criticism that instead chooses ‘to record
more vividly the pressures of a reviewer’s contemporary experience
upon his or her experience of a production’ and so produces
writing that might ‘communicate to a future reader the ways
in which the construction and interpretation of Shakespearean
staging and meaning arise out of a dialectical relation between the
immediate, vanishing present and the once-contemporary past’.31
Such criticism is everywhere in evidence in this volume. It is not
enough merely to bear witness to and to celebrate the fact of the
newest nation on earth, South Sudan, being represented on the
Globe stage; it is incumbent on the critic honestly to reflect: ‘what
do people like me really know about the Sudanese “situation”?
What kind of political act do I think I’m committing as I sit in my
seat in the theatre?’ (p. 56). It is not enough to congratulate a major
company on its no doubt unimpeachably liberal aims in staging an
all-black Julius Caesar (pp. 91–4); it is necessary to interrogate the
unintended consequences of such a decision and to listen hard for
the noise.
‘The future in the instant’ (Macbeth 1.5.57):

www.ReviewingShakespeare.com
Two things happened a generation ago that should have had a
profound effect on Shakespeare reviewing but which largely did
not. First, James C. Bulman announced the advent of poststruc-
turalist Shakespearean performance criticism; second, Cary
Mazer called for the creation of an ‘Archive of Contemporary
Shakespearean Performance’. In his introduction to Shakespeare,
Theory, and Performance (1996), Bulman argued that trends in
postmodern Shakespearean production should be reflected in
new modes of criticism. The experience of watching ‘playfully
eclectic productions in touch with a ludic sensibility’, combined
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 25 25/02/2013 09:56

with exposure to poststructuralist theory, had liberated a new

generation of performance critics to:
delight in finding no fixed authority to which the theatre

may appeal and [to] revel in the jouissance of their own
subjectivity. Insisting on the indeterminacy of meaning
and on the radical contingencies which affect performance,
critics themselves become performers who, in their acts of
translation, play at constructing ‘Shakespeare’.32
One does not have to be a devout poststructuralist to find bracing

this notion of a criticism based on the often-underrated principles
of pleasure, subjectivity and uncertainty. Indeed, in their delight
‘in finding no fixed authority’, the poststructuralists Bulman
described are reminiscent of the ‘impressionist’ theatre critics
of the late nineteenth century. These reviewers had imbibed a
heady cocktail of Walter Pater’s aestheticism with a strong twist
of Francophile urbanity. Early in the 1890s, A. B. Walkley (then
theatre critic of The Speaker) wrote of Ibsen’s Rosmersholm:
There is an impressionist in one of Mr. Henry James’

novels, whose animula vagula blandula [i.e. attitude to
life] is summed up in this way: ‘I drift, I float, my feelings
direct me – if such a life as mine may be said to have a
direction. Where there’s anything to feel I try to be there!’
Well, dramatic criticism just now is impressionist; it is
drifting and floating. There is always something to feel in
the playhouse, when Ibsen is being played, and we try to
be there.33
The drifting and floating subject-critic that Walkley described

has a prophetic affinity to the Roland Barthes of S/Z and the
postmodern reader or spectator who does not wish to establish
the definitive truth of a text (or performance), but rather to revel
in its plurality: ‘I pass, I intersect, I articulate, I release, I do not
count’.34 Addressing a lecture audience, Walkley also offered a
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 26 25/02/2013 09:56

dictum that might have been true of the highly idiosyncratic,

personal and freewheeling criticism of many of the great reviewers
of the period (or indeed any other): ‘In order to be frank, the critic
ought to say; Gentlemen, I am about to speak of myself à propos
of Shakespeare’.35 The review would not be written to a template
devised by the newspaper, nor would the critic allow convention
or his readers’ expectations to dictate his response. His column
would, rather, be an unpredictable, often playful space in which
to try to make sense of the encounter between a unique sensi-
bility and the theatrical event. Impersonality was both impossible
and undesirable: as George Bernard Shaw wrote in 1890 – the
same year in which Wilde penned ‘The Critic As Artist’ – ‘a
criticism written without personal feeling is not worth reading.
It is the capacity for making good or bad art a personal matter
that makes a man a critic’.36 Shaw’s example offers a salutary
reminder that subjective, self-reflexive criticism need not be
solipsistic or apolitical. And yet, as far as academic reviewing is
concerned, these contrasting but consonant inspirational models
for reviewing – one from the golden age of theatrical journalism,
the other from the poststructuralist revolution in academia – have
largely failed to affect the conventions of criticism as practised in
academic Shakespeare journals.
Where might such a neo-impressionist criticism live and
thrive? Here we return to the second unanswered call of the
last century: Cary Mazer’s 1985 request for the creation of an
‘Archive of Contemporary Shakespearean Performance’. Such an
archive, Mazer wrote:
would serve as the repository for any and all unsolicited

and unpublished reviews of performances. Such reviews
need not be extensively descriptive, nor need they be
judgmental or evaluative. Rather, the contributors would
feel free to record a general impression; to describe a key
moment, a significant line reading, an insightful portrayal
of a minor character, an interesting treatment of a relatively
unimportant scene; [ … ] to describe what it was actually
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 27 25/02/2013 09:56

like to be in the audience, to participate in the creation

of a theatre event at the moment of its performance, at a
particular theatre on a particular date in history.37
I quote Mazer at length, first because his description of the

constituents and value of such an archive seems so sensible, and
second because his vision has yet – over a quarter of a century
later – to be realized. Or perhaps one should say ‘virtualized’.
In 1985, such an archive would have been hard (though not
impossible) to administer: reviews would have been submitted by
snail-mail, the repository would require a physical location, the
collection would need to be curated and catalogued, etc. But it is
now easy to create such a ‘space’ digitally and indeed there is a
range of excellent online spaces in which Shakespearean perfor-
mance is discussed.38 But in creating www.yearofshakespeare.com
and its successor www.reviewingshakespeare.com, we are creating
unique spaces that will serve as platforms for lively, uninhibited
criticism and debate in the present, but which will also preserve
such discussions for future historians. Potential contributors –
whether academics, journalists, practitioners, students or ‘general
theatregoers’ – should be encouraged by G. H. Lewes’s obser-
vation that ‘Shakespeare is a good raft whereon to float [that verb
again!] securely down the stream of time; fasten yourself to that
and your immortality is safe’.39
A key objective of www.reviewingshakespeare.com is to
encourage Shakespeareans (of whatever description) to exper-
iment with new ways of writing about performance. There is
nothing intrinsically wrong with the conventions of academic
reviewing as practised over the last five decades, but nor is there
any compelling reason why we should limit ourselves to these
conventions in the future. There should be as many ways of
writing about Shakespearean performance as there are perfor-
mances. Why prescribe or limit? There is room for the formal and
for the impressionistic, for the quasi-objective and the subjective,
for the fully dressed and the slightly disheveled. One production
might inspire a coherent and exhaustive review; another might
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 28 25/02/2013 09:56

prompt the critic to adopt a colloquial or fragmentary register.

If most of the production strikes the reviewer as bland, but
one moment stands out for its interest, brilliance or instructive
mediocrity, they should feel free to dwell on that moment. What
a theatre review is and what it does is up for grabs. Henry James
claimed that a novelist was one of those on whom nothing is lost,
but in theatre criticism, many things will inevitably be lost on (or
missed by) the critic. The review can only be a partial account
of what is usually a highly complicated social and artistic event.
To return to Lichtenberg’s account of Garrick, there is room in
the archive for those who want to write in the white heat of rapid
response, those who wish to recollect emotion in the tranquility
of hindsight; those who want to discuss the French suit and those
for whom it is an irrelevance.
One of the most compelling arguments for the way in which
academic theatre criticism used to be practised was that the review
represented the best opportunity to save the ephemeral perfor-
mance from oblivion. The comprehensive, quasi-objective review
was the academic’s gift to posterity. But theatre companies are
now generating an exponentially increasing amount of archivable
materials by themselves. An internet site and a digital camera
and/or video is now within the economic reach of even the
humblest company. With the proliferation and democratization
of digital technologies, it is now common for production and set
photographs, video clips and company interviews to be stored,
retrieved and circulated at the touch of a button. Theatre histo-
rians of the future wishing to reconstruct a production in 2012
will – in theory at least – only have to contact a company or a
theatre archive to access a range of materials. This should have
profound implications for academic theatre reviewing, not the
least of which is that the review of the future will be liberated
from the memorializing, for-the-record, function embalmed, as it
were, in the 1985 edition of Shakespeare Quarterly.
While the reviews in this book attempt to commemorate and
preserve these ephemeral productions, they do so in a way that
cannot pretend to completion. Theatre is the most compendious
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 29 25/02/2013 09:56

and promiscuous of art forms: it will use everything – words,

actions, props, costumes, music, film, bodies, painting, noise – in
order to impress, educate and titillate its audience. And it does all
this within a vastly complex and volatile set of cultural and social
contexts. Shakespeare’s texts now serve as pre-texts for limitless
acts of invention, invention of which even he – possessor of the
most fertile and inexplicable imagination – could never have
dreamed: the moment when an Afghan actress – persecuted in her
own country – steps on to the Globe stage, dressed as a security
guard, her silent survey of the audience inaugurating a highly
unusual The Comedy of Errors (p. 44); the sequence in which three
abused daughters perform first an erotic and then a parodic dance
for their watching father in the attempt to express – or withhold
– the quantity of their loves for him (pp. 105–6); the silent rage
etched on the face of Coriolanus as he glares through the frame
of a car window at the audience that has betrayed him (p. 54).
The World Shakespeare Festival generated countless images,
memories and sensations in performances that always exceeded
the pretext of the written script. To try to be present at such
moments, and to then try to capture them in evocative prose, is a
labour of love. (Berowne got it wrong: the critic is not the enemy
to love; the critic is in love, is, etymologically and often in practice,
an amateur.) But those labours are not lost if what we write has a
decent chance of being read both while the ink is metaphorically
wet on the page and when moment, image, actor and critic are all
long gone. If posterity is interested at all in what happened in the
World Shakespeare Festival 2012, our hunch is that it will want to
hear a range of voices and impressions. This book and the website
from which it emerged offer a polyvocal and collective response in
which a large group of scholars have sought to bust the academic
joint, and join the beat of the nightwatch constable in order to
discuss, debate and record an unprecedented year. It’s a start.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 30 25/02/2013 09:56

PART TWO: The Reviews
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 31 25/02/2013 09:56

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 32 25/02/2013 09:56
All’s Well That Ends Well
Image removed for copyright reasons
Directed by Sunil Shanbag for Arpana (Mumbai, India) at

Shakespeare’s Globe Sarah Olive
I came to this performance of All’s Well fresh from marking my
undergraduate students’ papers on this play. Predictably, the issue
that had occupied them the most was whether Helena is a proto-
feminist champion or a woman with terrible taste and a possibly
worse personality. It was through this dilemma that I viewed the
production. I felt rather jealous of the rest of the crowd who had
come presumably for pleasure, mostly in family groups, and were
predominantly Gujarati speakers.
The performance began with the entire cast, brightly costumed
in the dress of 1900s Gujarat, lining up to sing. Fittingly, given
the extreme heat on the South Bank, we were not in France but
in Western India, and later, not in Italy but Burma. Accordingly,
Helena became Heli; Bertam, Bharatram; the Countess, Kunti;
Lafew, Laffabhai; Parolles, Parbat; Diana, Alkini. In place of the
King of France, there was an uncle, Gokuldas, a trader who has
become ‘royalty’ in the merchant world; instead of wars, the cut
and thrust of the opium trade; for a fistula, there was tuberculosis.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 33 25/02/2013 09:56

These changes were not merely conceptual – a Gujarati speaker

next to me informed me that the name changes allowed plentiful
occasions for rhyming in the script, with the rhymed words often
generating ironic humour.
The main plot was realized relatively ‘straightly’ throughout
this production: the order and content of the scenes were broadly
recognizable. We were introduced to Kunti, her son and her ward;
Heli declared her love to an impervious Bharatram before he left
to work in his uncle’s business accompanied by Parbat – his work
ethic, if it ever existed, soon fell prey to the temptations of the big
city (Bombay). Heli followed and worked her cure – a (disappoint-
ingly unspectacular) fistful of pills – on Gokuldas, despite the
latter warning her of the dire consequences failure would have. In
return, Gokuldas agreed to offer her Bharatram in marriage, and
the reluctant groom was made to place a garland over his bride.
He immediately sent Heli back to Kunti and travelled to Burma
with Pardat, where they were quickly captivated by Aliki’s beauty,
dancing and wealth (something Heli lacked, which clearly chafed
Bharatram), denoted by her gold mask, hair ornaments and long,
thick gold necklace. However, unbeknown to these ‘bad lads’, Heli
had responded to news of Bharatram’s desertion, and his dictat
that he would only return to her if she could produce his ring and
his child – seemingly impossible feats given the distance between
them – by following him to Burma and befriending Aliki. The
women swapped places in Aliki’s bedchamber so that Bharatram
slept with Heli – a scene subtly achieved with extinguished
lanterns, veils and a pinch of the audience’s willing suspension of
disbelief. News that Heli was dead sent a guilt-ridden Bharatram
racing back to his mother – where he incurred both her and
Gokuldas’s wrath for his treatment of the bride they adored –
only to discover that not only was Heli alive and well, but she had
fulfilled the conditions he set. The pair were finally united with
a brisk hug: the production gave no sense that Heli had seen past
the prize that was Bharatram to imagine what life with him would
be like in the long run, nor that Bharatram loved Heli. The tenor
was more that he had now ‘grown up’ and finally accepted his
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 34 25/02/2013 09:56

All’s Well That Ends Well 35
duty to his mother, uncle and wife. The cast once again lined up,
chanting ‘All’s well that ends well’ to the music.
What was markedly different and regional about this perfor-
mance was the way in which song, dance and gesture punctuated
the action, often used, not as decoration, but centrally and
effectively, to do much of the storytelling work. I experienced
this intertwining as a fusion of Eastern and Western traditions:
there were elements which I made sense of through my (limited)
knowledge of Bollywood and Anglo-Indian film and literature
(East is East, Bend it like Beckham, Brick Lane and A Suitable Boy
all came to mind as I watched and listened) and traditional Thai
dance: their look, sound, themes of marriage and (dis)obedience.
For those in the audience with an Indian background, a (largely
gentle) collision of East meets West may have been evoked by
jokes about English doctors, the interference of the British
colonizers in opium trafficking and the way Bharatram’s outfit
became increasingly and symbolically Anglicized (acquiring a tie,
waistcoat, suit jacket, watch chain and replacing slippers with
shoes) as he neglected his duty to his family. A certain pride
seemed to be taken by those in the know in viewing familiar
Gujarati traditions in a defamiliarizing setting – that elements of
the songs, movement and rituals such as the wedding were being
judged (favourably) for their authenticity by the audience was
evident from the ooohs, ahhhs, gasps and applause.
The production’s decision to locate the play within a world
of trade, rather than war, powerfully brought home the extent
to which All’s Well is a play about cost and value – particularly
of love – in which almost every character is objectionably impli-
cated. Heli told Kunti she was willing to accept any punishment
as the price for loving Bharatram, and Golkudas that she was
prepared to bear the cost if her cure failed; Golkudas bemoaned
that his money could not buy his health. Furthermore, he
willingly traded Bharatram for the cure Heli had delivered
(therein his uncle objectifing him just as much as his would-be
bride). Yet, Bharatram also bartered with Heli over the price of
his faithfulness to her (a ring, a child). As an audience (and as
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 35 25/02/2013 09:56

students of the play) we seem inclined to make value judgments

as to which characters deserve what and whom and whether Heli/
Helena’s efforts have been ‘worth it’. Ultimately, the realization
of the play’s fit with late capitalist concerns reinforced my feeling
that All’s Well deserves yet more stagings, especially ones as intel-
ligent as this.
Antony and Cleopatra

Directed by Kemal Aydoǧan for the Oyun Atölyesi Theatre
Company (Istanbul, Turkey) at Shakespeare’s Globe Adele Lee
Bernard Shaw once claimed that the real Antonys and Cleopatras
were to be found in every public house, and that Shakespeare
‘strained’ to give a theatrical sublimity to the story of ‘the soldier
broken down by debauchery and the typical wanton in whose
arms such men perish’.40 Aware of the difficulties of convincing
audiences to take seriously (and sympathize with) these middle-
aged adulterers, whose lofty declarations of love are undermined
by mutual distrust and repeated hints at the lewd nature of their
relationship, director Kemal Aydoǧan decided to strip the play
of any pretensions to gravitas, and to dispense with ‘onion-eyed
sentiment’ in favour of comedy. The result was a light-hearted
and thoroughly entertaining production, which presented the
ill-fated twain in a similar vein to how Shaw viewed them: more
soap-opera figures than legendary lovers.
The fact that Antony was played by Haluk Bilginer, founder
of the pioneering Oyun Atölyesi, but best known in the UK for
his role as loveable womanizer Mehmet Osman in the soap-opera
EastEnders, and Cleopatra was played by Zerrin Tekindor, an
eminent stage actress but, again, best known in Turkey for her role
as Mademoiselle Deniz in the popular TV series Aşk-ı Memnu,
reinforced the audiences’ perception of them as rather lowbrow,
familiar characters. Cleopatra was, at times, more fishwife than
enchantress, more pantomime dame than Venus-like goddess.
Thus Tekindor, with admirable theatricality, played an ‘infinite
variety’ (2.2.243) of parts, and constituted a never-ending source
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 36 25/02/2013 09:56

Antony and Cleopatra 37
of interest and amusement. Attired in a white flowing dress –

which highlighted her femininity, fluidity (Cleopatra is often
associated with water) and the failure of time to wither her –
she also had the trademark Cleopatra eyes and carried a dagger
strapped to her waist.
Antony was, without doubt, the doting fool and symbol of
disgraced masculinity. He not only allowed Cleopatra to ruffle his
hair in public and place a fool’s cap on his head, but he also let his
obsession with her distract him during important matters of state.
(During vital discussions with Octavius Caesar and Lepidus, for
example, Antony’s fixation with a shiny red apple – the Biblical
symbol of sin and an ancient token of love – highlighted his
‘fallen’ status.) When he first entered the stage, in breathless
pursuit of Cleopatra, it was clear, given his dishevelled, effemi-
nized appearance (he wore a long white tunic), that he had let
himself become the Egyptian woman’s slave and was worn out
by lust. Aptly, he died on the chaise longue on which he so often
dallied. The centrality on stage of this chaise – the production’s
main piece of furniture – coupled with innumerable bawdy jokes
and lewd gestures pointed to the base and superficial nature of
their relationship. Additionally, the chaise emphasized the lack of
privacy granted to the couple, who always seemed compelled to
act out their passion in the public eye: their relationship was, after
all, a political alliance too. This constant exposure of the couple
further gave the love story a soap-opera quality. Aydoǧan’s Antony
and Cleopatra were even watched by all the other cast members
who remained onstage during the scenes in which they were not
involved (this was also a skilful way of keeping the action fluid and
avoiding the potential longueurs between the play’s many scenes).
Of course, Antony and Cleopatra is a play about the fraught
relationship between the East and the West as much as it is a love
story. The Roman general’s affair with an Egyptian queen can
be interpreted as not just an act of sexual possession, but also
of military conquest of the feminized Other. Throughout this
production, the Egyptians were portrayed as typically ‘Oriental’:
colourful, exotic, decadent. They spent their time indulging in
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 37 25/02/2013 09:56

pleasure, and were the first to cower and wail during battle scenes
(staged brilliantly with the use of water-pitchers). By contrast,
the Romans were, in accordance with tradition, depicted as
strong, sterile and restrained, and the young, imposing Caesar
seemed both amused by and disgusted with the antics of the
aged Antony. Yet there were moments when the production
destabilized East/West binary constructs; for instance, when
Caesar and his men celebrated the peace treaty with Pompey in
Act 2 they performed a traditional Turkish line dance. Perhaps
this moment can be regarded as reflecting Turkey’s own liminal
geographical position and hybrid national identity. As the saying
goes, Turkey is ‘European in Europe and Eastern in the East’.
One also could not help speculating about whether the Company,
whose own theatre is in Kadiköy, on the Asian side of Istanbul,
empathized more with the Egyptians, associated with the creative
arts in this production, than with the Romans. The distributing
of flyers, addressed to ‘art lovers’ and drawing attention to the
closure of theatres and the prohibiting of plays in Turkey under
the government of Prime Minister Tayyip Erdogan, outside
the Globe prior to the performance made it impossible not to
suspect the production had a political agenda. However, as a
non-Turkish-language speaker, I found it difficult to determine
what exactly that political message was.
Ultimately, Oyun Atölyesi offered a light-hearted and, at
times, tongue-in-cheek treatment of Shakespeare’s love tragedy;
Cleopatra’s long-drawn-out death scene, in which the ghost of
Antony appears, was especially farcical. In doing so, it seemed to
steer clear of political or theatrical radicalism, and aimed more
at delighting the crowd and celebrating the power of theatre, and
Shakespeare in particular, to provide pleasure. Perhaps this was
the troupe’s message. If so, it was effectively delivered.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 38 25/02/2013 09:56

As You Like It 39
As You Like It
Directed by Levan Tsuladze for the Marjanishvili Theatre

(Tbilisi, Georgia) at Shakespeare’s Globe Georgie Lucas
My first thought was that the Marjanishvili State Academic
Drama Theatre’s production of As You Like It had craftily
circumnavigated part of the Globe to Globe remit: to perform
‘within the architecture Shakespeare wrote for’.41 The produc-
tion’s initial conceit: a troupe of travelling players taking to
their stage – a raised platform in the centre of the Globe’s stage,
complete with a diaphanous white backdrop and makeshift wings
provided by travelling trunks spewing their contents, and some
niftily positioned stools – seemed like a ‘prosceniumizing’ act, an
adaptation of the Globe’s stage, that suggested, to me at least, that
the production was negotiating a finely wrought balance between
the Festival’s implicit objectives of a multivocal Shakespeare,
nonetheless played in the ‘Globe way’, and the independence of
its own production.
For its director, Levan Tsuladze, ‘Georgian theatre was born
with Shakespeare’s plays’.42 Given this powerful metaphor, which
holds Shakespeare as the biological parent to Marjanishvili’s
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 39 25/02/2013 09:56

offspring, was there a sense of a congruity, an intuitive

relationship, between this Georgian retelling and the ‘original’
play-text that transcended what is, for some, the Globe’s quasi-
spiritual location? Was there something in this production that
was, despite the Globe’s symbolic power, despite the Festival’s
G/global remit, a bit ‘extra-Global’? Perhaps. But I would also
suggest that it was within this metaphysical framework of theat-
rical canons begetting theatrical canons, that the audience saw
this wonderfully inventive and playful production of As You Like
It being worked into shape, of a play probing the limits of playing,
and of a kind of birth of the play on the multiple stages evoked
by the production.
Hyper-metatheatrical, with a strong Brechtian influence, the
set erected upon the Globe’s stage encapsulated both the play’s
most oft-quoted line – ‘All the world’s a stage,/And all the men
and women merely players’ (2.7.140–1) – and the host theatre’s
own motto ‘Totus mundus agit histrionem’. This instigated not just
a duality of perspectives as the concepts of ‘off-’ and ‘on-stage’
(actor and spectator) became befuddled, but a prismatic mise-
en-abyme of stages looking at stages, actors at actors, and, given
the wider considerations of the Festival, of languages looking at
languages, cultures at cultures and of productions in conversation
with each other, Shakespeare, and their own countries’ politics.
This playfulness was reflected in the sense of orchestration
by ‘off-stage’ characters. At times, the play resembled a dress
rehearsal, a concept reinforced by Nikoloz Tavadze’s Rasputin-
esque Oliver gesturing to his script halfway through an already
brisk performance (two hours), to demand the interval, and
by a prolonged appeal from ‘off-stage’ characters for Ketevan
Shatirishvili’s Rosalind to make her first speech, for the actor
to become the character, and later, for her character to become
Ganymede in a robust piece of cross-dressing.
The most effective of these ‘off-stage’ incursions was the
characterization of Duke Frederick (Beso Baratashvili). Dressed
in the same black as Oliver, amidst the sea of muted beiges
and corals worn by the rest of the cast – save Jaques’s (Nata
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 40 25/02/2013 09:56

As You Like It 41
Murvanidze) pewter trench coat – the Duke had his lines consist-
ently prompted by an ‘off-stage’ actress (Manana Kozakova, later
Audrey), recalling Coriolanus’ dejected simile of a ‘dull actor’ who
has forgotten his ‘part’ (5.3.40–1). Pursued relentlessly by the
‘prompter’ throughout the first few Acts, the Duke, on banishing
Rosalind, seemed finally secure in his part, and similarly banished
his prompting shadow (provoking her to eat her script). The rolls
of thunder which accompanied this dual expulsion, the surety
with which he delivered the promise of death if his edict were
disobeyed, and his later order for the Orlando-manhunt were
genuinely chilling, cajoling a sense of tragedy into what was a
largely light and effervescent production. As Duke Frederick
morphed into a Dionysian Duke Senior, the prompter returned
only to be swatted away by the flower-festooned Duke; a previ-
ously absent sense of comfort between ‘actor’ and part prevailed.
The gestural nature of comedy made the transmission of the
text, through a Georgian lens and Globe surtitles, comparatively
smooth. The slapstick physicality of some of the scenes – the
milking of a stuffed sheep acting as a proxy for Audrey and
Touchstone’s (Malkhaz Abuladze) sexual proclivities, and the
mannequin substituted for Charles (Roland Okropiridze) halfway
through the wrestling match deserve particular mention – and the
confidence of the actors in this incredibly engaging production
ensured a remarkably receptive audience. The music, variously
piped through the theatre, played live on stage on percussive
drums, rain sticks, and, bizarrely, a saucepan and a ladle; the ‘bah
bah bumming’ leitmotif that accompanied the lovers; and the
repeated chord of ‘as you like it’ sung by the entire cast, all added
to this feeling of dramatic unity, despite the split focus dictated
by the staging.
Special mentions go to the fast-talking, comically gifted Celia
(Nato Kakhidze), Onise Oniani’s foppish Le Beau, and a suitably
steadfast, cross-dressed Adam (Ketevan Tskhakaia), but there was
nothing less than an excellent performance from the entire cast. I
left the theatre thinking again about the stage(s), of the actors and
their multiple ‘parts’ and of the production’s relationship to the
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 41 25/02/2013 09:56

Festival, and was left with the feeling that perhaps the production
partially defied Jaques’s declaration: the ‘stage’ for man to play his
‘many parts’ (2.7.140–3) was not confined to a unified G/globe,
but rather, played out on a diverse set of physical, intercultural
and metaphorical stages. I liked it.
The Comedy of Errors

Directed by Amir Nizar Zuabi for the Royal Shakespeare
Company at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
Christie Carson
The Comedy of Errors was the second RSC show to open as part
of the ‘What country, friends, is this?’ season. Twelfth Night had
previewed the week before on the same wooden set and utilized
the surprising beginning of a character emerging from water
gasping for breath. Emily Taaffe as Viola emerged directly from
a pool of water that sat at the corner of the playing space. She
erupted into the auditorium and upset the jovial and genteel
atmosphere in the audience with her rather unladylike struggle
both to breathe and to escape the water onto dry land. This
opening certainly disrupted the conventional idea of how this play
begins, but apart from shocking the audience I was not sure of the
point of this abrupt start.
So when The Comedy of Errors began on the same set, with
Egeon having his head continually dunked in a fish tank as he
tried to tell the story of his life, my heart was rather heavy. When
a director instructs an actor to do something that makes me worry
for the longevity of the actor over the run of the show it takes away
something of my ability to suspend disbelief. But I was pleasantly
surprised as Amir Nizar Zuabi’s production continued that this
was not setting the tone for the entire production. In fact the
stage quickly became a rather convincing busy port town where
illegal imports, both human and material, came and went with
great regularity. In this case the strong arm tactics of the ruling
gang of bullies became increasingly funny as the show was slowly
but surely stolen by the two wonderful Dromios.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 42 25/02/2013 09:56

The Comedy of Errors 43
I mention the fact that the same set was used in both Twelfth
Night and The Comedy of Errors in order to highlight the way
the two productions were linked visually. But the entire cast was
also the same and it was very difficult to escape the way that the
cross-casting of these two plays had an impact on the second of
the two performances I witnessed. Kirsty Bushell as Adriana and
Emily Taaffe as Luciana had a great deal more chemistry as sisters
than they did as the potential lovers Olivia and Viola. The extraor-
dinary swinging platform that they were given as their home
created a wonderful combination of a playground ride and the
suspended baggage that Antipholus of Ephesus saw them to be.
These women had a precarious place in the wheeling and dealing
world of the dockyard merchants.
The position of the two servants was equally precarious but
this fact provided the source of their great delight on stage. Felix
Hayes as Dromio of Ephesus and Bruce Mackinnon as Dromio
of Syracuse were incredible physical comedians who travelled
through the topsy-turvy world they inhabited with a lightness
and speed that was dizzying. They were not similar physically but
their movements were so in tune that it was almost impossible to
tell which was which. They hopped and glided, tumbled and were
bashed about as nimbly as clowns while delivering the rhyming
verse perfectly. The confusion the characters on stage felt was
shared by the audience. So entirely engaging was their perfor-
mance that they genuinely became ‘One face, one voice, one habit
and two persons’ (Twelfth Night 5.1.200). Or, more appropriately,
‘One of these men is genius to the other’ (The Comedy of Errors
5.1.334), since it is plain that these two actors took enormous
pleasure in topping each other in performance. This was the
first production of the play I had ever seen that truly caught the
playfulness and absurdity of the story while at the same time
making clear the very real issues of identity and self-discovery
which are at the centre of Shakespeare’s work. Is this an inferior
early play – ‘That’s a question, how shall we try it?’ (Dromio of
Ephesus, The Comedy of Errors 5.1.425). I would suggest that this
production provides a pretty convincing answer.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 43 25/02/2013 09:56

Directed by Corinne Jaber for Roy-e-Sabs (Kabul, Afghanistan) at

Shakespeare’s Globe Stephen Purcell
At the beginning of Roy-e-Sabs’s production of The Comedy
of Errors, the Afghan actress Parwin Mushtahel entered the
stage alone, dressed as an airport security guard, and peered
out into the crowd in silence. It must have been a charged
moment for anybody in the audience who had read accounts
of Mushtahel’s persecution in her home country for no crime
other than her determination to pursue a career in acting.43
Her appearance as a silent representative of state authority
lent a sinister tone to the scene that followed, with its highly
emotional description of a torn-apart family and its looming
threat of execution.
This retelling of Shakespeare’s play was set in a fictional version
of modern-day Kabul, where Afghan expatriate Ehsan (Egeon)
has arrived in search of his missing son Arsalan (Antipholus)
and servant Bostan (Dromio), only to discover that natives of his
homeland, Samarqand, are forbidden entry to Kabul on penalty of
death. Arsalan and Bostan of Samarqand arrive in Kabul shortly
afterwards, disguise themselves as locals, and as in Shakespeare’s
play, are repeatedly mistaken for their twin counterparts, Arsalan
and Bostan of Kabul.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 44 25/02/2013 09:56

The Comedy of Errors 45
Though the actors are all Afghan, this production was very
much an international collaboration. Funded by bodies including
the British Council, it was rehearsed in India under a Paris-
based director, Corinne Jaber, who had directed the company’s
inaugural Love’s Labour’s Lost in Kabul in 2005. The earlier
production is the subject of Stephen Landrigan and Qais Akbar
Omar’s book Shakespeare in Kabul, in which Landrigan explains
that Afghanistan has no indigenous theatre tradition, and that
the western-influenced theatre it did produce during the second
half of the twentieth century was all but extinguished following
the departure of the Soviets in 1989 and the subsequent rise of
the Taliban. The company’s style is thus an interesting fusion of
traditional Afghan music, dance and poetry, and European forms.
The Comedy of Errors took this collision of East and West as its
starting point. Shah Mamnoon Maqsudi’s Ehsan was a distinctly
westernized expatriate, appearing before Daoud Lodin’s turbaned
Emir in a beige suit and overcoat. Upon their first appearances
as Arsalan and Bostan of Samarqand, Abdul Haq and Shah
Mohammad entered through the yard, wearing checked shirts,
trainers and panama hats. They greeted playgoers with friendly
‘hellos’, and used a small camera to take holiday snaps of the
groundlings. Whereas Arsalan and Bostan of Kabul (Shakoor
Shamshad and Basir Haider) tended to enter from the tiring
house at the back of the stage, Arsalan and Bostan of Samarqand,
representatives of the West, made most of their subsequent
entrances from the yard. While Haq’s Arsalan of Samarqand
shared his affable bewilderment with the audience throughout the
performance, Shamshad’s Arsalan of Kabul was aggressive and
confrontational. The production choices aligned us, the audience,
very much with the westernized outsiders in this culture. It
is perhaps significant that this production has yet to play to
audiences in Afghanistan itself.
Jaber trained with Monika Pagneux and Philippe Gaulier in
Paris, and worked with Peter Brook on his seminal Mahabharata
in the 1980s. These intercultural but distinctly Parisian influences
were highly evident in the production. Three musicians carrying
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 45 25/02/2013 09:56

traditional Afghan instruments entered the stage just prior to

the first scene, laying down carpets in a gesture very reminiscent
of Brook’s ‘carpet shows’. These musicians remained onstage
throughout the evening, punctuating the action, setting mood,
and interacting with the characters: Farzana Sayed Ahmad’s
Rodaba (Luciana) seemed to blame Arsalan’s amorous advances
on their musical accompaniment. Later on, one of them stepped
in to become the Officer, controlling the movement of Arsalan’s
mimed handcuffs by playing his flute. In a neat elaboration on this
theatrical joke, Bostan’s mimed attempts to free his master were
rebuffed by music too.
This was just one of many sequences of physical clowning.
Arsalan and Bostan of Samarqand’s donning of disguises was
performed as an extended slapstick mix-up, in which both men
were befuddled by traditional Afghan attire. Shah Mamnoon
Maqsudi turned the role of Luce the kitchen maid (here named
Kukeb) into a camp, buxom drag act, and the character resurfaced
between scenes for sequences of mostly non-verbal foolery –
flirting with the musicians, attempting to seduce Bostan of Kabul
as he stuffed food into her mouth, chasing Bostan of Samarqand
around the yard, and ‘accidentally’ molesting a male groundling.
Bostan of Samarqand was very much the Arlecchino of commedia
dell’arte, repeatedly leaping into Arsalan’s arms at the sound
of Kukeb’s call, and pretending to be one of the musicians in
order to escape her. Abida Frotan’s Sodaba (Adriana) performed
a song-and-dance routine. The fact that most of these ‘turns’
were greeted with rounds of applause served to emphasize the
way in which the script itself is structured as a progression of
self-contained comic scenarios. (The Flying Karamazov Brothers
production did something similar in 1982 by performing it as a
series of circus acts.)
As all of this indicates, the dominant tone of the production
was not the edgy topicality suggested by its opening moments,
but rather a joyful and exuberant silliness, and a profound sense
of optimism. Judging by their frequent expressions of surprise,
many of the audience seemed to be encountering the play for
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 46 25/02/2013 09:56

Coriolanus 47
the first time. By the end, the crowd’s goodwill was tangible:
there was an audible release of emotion as Ehsan recognized
his long-lost wife Zan-e Motakef (Mushtahel), followed by a
loud round of applause, and each subsequent reunion was met
with both applause and cheering. This response did, perhaps,
over-extend the final scene, and the constant embraces emptied
the Bostans’ final hand-hold of its usual impact. But as the
cast returned to the stage for an increasingly enthusiastic set of
curtain-calls, I found it hugely moving to be caught up in such
a vigorous display of the emotional power of reconciliation. I
sincerely hope the production is able to achieve a similar effect in
the home country of its actors.
Coriolanus
Directed by Motoi Miura for the Chiten Theatre Company (Kyoto,

Japan) at Shakespeare’s Globe Adele Lee
It might be assumed that a Japanese theatre company performing
Coriolanus would transpose the action to feudal Japan and turn
the eponymous hero – a man who prefers action to words and
is more comfortable on the battlefield than in the political realm
– into a Samurai warrior. The connection between the warrior
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 47 25/02/2013 09:56

culture of Japan and the Rome of this play has been noted several
times, and David Farr and Yukio Ninagawa have both directed
highly successful ‘Samurai versions’. Additionally, in an interview
about his 2011 film version, Ralph Fiennes claimed Coriolanus
was a ‘sort of Samurai figure for me’, since ‘he is not equipped to
be a political animal’.
Motoi Miura, regarded as one of Japan’s most imaginative
theatre directors, did nothing so obvious or ‘Japan-esque’.
And even though he drew inspiration from Samurai tradi-
tions and values subtly, his avant-garde, intercultural production
defied easy classification. Rich in symbolism, the Kyoto-based
company’s Coriolanus was, I found, bizarre, intriguing and open-
ended in a Beckettian way (incidentally, Miura’s book describing
his dramaturgy is entitled Omoshirokereba OK? [Is just being
interesting OK?]). This production featured a cast of just five, all
of whom, with the notable exception of the tragic protagonist,
played multiple, exchangeable roles and were known collectively
as ‘Choros’. Coriolanus (Dai Ishida), then, really did stand out
as being only able to ‘play the man I am’ (3.2.14) in a world
of Machiavellian chameleons. The lumping together of all the
other dramatis personae (which sadly led to the near-erasure of
the fascinating Volumnia) suggested the Company concurred
with Coriolanus’ conception of the masses as being Hydra-like.
But it was not just the masses that lacked individuality: Miura
appeared to be claiming that the plebeians and patricians were
likewise indistinguishable, thereby adopting – on the surface, at
least – a politically ambivalent stance towards what is frequently
considered Shakespeare’s most radical play.
For most of the performance, Coriolanus, dressed in denim
dungarees, wore a Komusoˉ basket over his head. These baskets
were traditionally worn by Zen Buddhist Monks to signify the
suppression of the ego, but were also frequently used as a disguise
by Samurai. Most obviously, in this production, the basket was
a sign of Coriolanus’ reluctance to expose his ‘unbarbèd sconce’
(3.2.99) and indicative of his need to hide his weakness and
vulnerability from the crowd, both onstage and off. The Komusoˉ
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 48 25/02/2013 09:56

Coriolanus 49
basket, which revealed Tadashi Suzuki’s influence on Miura

(the former’s ground-breaking Tale of Lear [1988] inspired the
latter to pursue a career in theatre), also visually conveyed the
opaque nature of this character, who is granted only a single short
soliloquy in the original. Additionally, it communicated his short-
sightedness, his inability to form a rapport with the people, and
his juvenile, emotionally stunted personality. Indeed, throughout
the play it was clear the warrior hero was being ridiculed as a
manifestation of an outdated, childish concept of masculinity,
and equally clear that war was viewed as the outcome of placing
too much power in the hands of men who had not fully grown up.
The amusing use of a range of wacky instruments – such as frying
pans and party horns – throughout further implied that there was
little difference between men at war and kids at play. A violin was
played following Coriolanus’ death at the close of the performance
to herald the beginning of a new, more mature historical moment
– though one shot through with nostalgia.
Coriolanus’ vocalization, likewise, betrayed that he lacked the
ability to charm or manipulate the people as he often delivered
his lines, beneath the basket, in a fast, robotic manner (he moved
‘like an engine’ [5.4.16] too). Occasionally, however, and to great
effect, Dai Ishida’s voice would rise and fall quite suddenly as
well as acquiring a startling sing-song quality, which highlighted,
along with the use of masks and the ‘art of stillness’, the influence
of traditional Japanese theatre forms like Noˉ h and Kabuki on the
production. Through sound and movement, as well as physical
appearance, the director fulfilled his stated goal of ‘bring[ing] to
the stage a reconstructed embodiment of the artistic world created
by the original playwright’.44 Miura, like Coriolanus, is plainly a
man who prefers action to words. This was expressive theatre at
its finest.
The use of baguettes as props was another notable feature of
this production. All cast members brandished the baguettes as
weapons while their constant consumption of the bread reflected
not just greed, but the destruction and emasculation of Coriolanus
(the baguette can be, after all, a phallic symbol). Given, too, the
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 49 25/02/2013 09:56

Biblical association of bread with the body, the baguettes were

related to the body-politic metaphor that is central to the play,
and to Menenius’ fable of the belly from the opening scene. The
destruction of the baguette also reflected the source material’s
imagining of the human body in negative terms – as starving,
wounded and cut to pieces. Once again, Miura, similar to Edward
Bond in Lear (1971) in this respect, managed to concretize the
motifs suggested by Shakespeare’s language and imagery.
This was perhaps most strikingly shown by Aufidius’ passionate
clasping of the dead Coriolanus’ body, with which he rolled
around the stage in the final scene, an action which made (perhaps
too) explicit the oft commented-upon homoerotic nature of these
two military leaders’ relationship. Furthermore, the shocking
suggestion of necrophilia was an appropriate way to close a
tragedy that associates pleasure with pain (Coriolanus delighted
in pouring molten wax from a red candle over his outstretched
hand), and martial combat with sex.
Overall, this was a fascinating take on Shakespeare’s last
Roman play and the Chiten Theatre Company, under the expert
directorship of the visionary Miura, did an outstanding job of
offering a fresh interpretation of the play, a take that emphasized
the sometimes-overlooked importance of movement, sound and
the body in theatre. Indeed, these are the aspects of performance
that many spectators are invited to appreciate afresh in all of the
Festival’s non-English-language productions.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 50 25/02/2013 09:56

Coriolanus 51
Coriolan/us, Directed by Mike Pearson and Mike Brooks for the

National Theatre Wales in association with the Royal Shakespeare
Company at Hangar 858, RAF St Athan, Vale of Glamorgan,
Wales Alun Thomas
This is going to be different. Coriolan/us, National Theatre
Wales’s visionary blending of Shakespeare’s Coriolanus with
Brecht’s Coriolan, signals its departure from the norm from
the very first. The play takes place in a hangar on an abandoned
military installation in the middle of nowhere; the first thing the
audience sees on arrival is a barbed wire fence covered with faded
‘dangerous substances’ signs. A pillbox guards the road, empty
gun emplacements gaping. Beyond, the hangar squats with a
strange air of menace, bleak, industrial and forbidding.
Headphones are provided, to be worn throughout the perfor-
mance. As the audience mills around the huge hangar doors,
waiting for the play to begin, the headphones play subtly threat-
ening, dark, ambient music, occasionally interrupted by a nasty
metallic dragging noise which brings to mind a corpse being
hauled through a garage. This sets up the mood of the play
perfectly. It is clear that Coriolan/us is going to be an experience
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 51 25/02/2013 09:56

as much as a play. Suddenly the doors creak open slowly, and we

walk into the darkness.
Fittingly, the production begins in uncertainty and doubt.
Unsure at first what we are looking at, it soon becomes clear that
we are being filmed, the images broadcast from two enormous
screens suspended from the roof. It seems that we are as much a
part of the performance as the actors or the space. This discom-
forting, vulnerable and voyeuristic feeling persists throughout
the production. The hangar doors clang as they shut, trapping
us inside.
It is difficult to tell at first if the frenzied beeping we can hear
is a sound effect on the headphones. It only becomes apparent
that it is ‘real’ when a van drives up, parting the audience like a
sea as they move to make way for it. Then the First and Second
Citizens leap out and address us directly, alternately haranguing
and threatening. There’s a real air of menace as they brandish
baseball bats inches away from us, their lank, greasy hair and
unwashed clothes emitting a noxious smell. The audience is
repulsed and intrigued, draws near and moves away. They surge
and ebb throughout the performance, free to move around the
hangar as they wish. This leads to fascinating moments which
question the relationship between spectator and performer as the
audience becomes a vital part of the action. This is particularly
visible when Richard Lynch’s imposing Coriolanus strides into
the crowd. He shoulders his way through the audience, sending
a few people scurrying away from him as he barges into them.
When he excoriates the Roman citizens he directly addresses the
spectators, spitting and bellowing as they back away from his rage.
In contrast, the role of Volumnia feels somewhat diminished;
the focus of the production is on male bonding, with women
accorded secondary roles. Virgilia barely registers as a presence
because her role is so reduced, and Rhian Morgan plays Volumnia,
at least initially, as more restrained, reserved and caring than she
is often portrayed. It is clear that her desire for Coriolanus to take
political office is based on love rather than ambition, though this
alters as the threat from the Volscian army led by her son increases
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 52 25/02/2013 09:56

Coriolanus 53
towards the play’s conclusion. When she persuades Menenius to

plead with Coriolanus not to destroy Rome she is desperate but
convincing, and very much in control of herself. Her speech to
the invading Coriolanus is an astonishing moment as she weeps
and goes down on her knees, moving from haranguing him
to pleading, surrounded all the while by the huge mass of the
audience, watching her silently.
Constant movement among actors and audience is a major
element in Coriolan/us. The production always has more than one
focus, and the audience is free to move between them. This works
extremely well, particularly when Menenius begs Coriolanus
not to destroy Rome. As his desperate pleas fall on deaf ears the
screens show the terrified Romans preparing for invasion. The
audience is divided, half surrounding the car to hear the negotia-
tions, the other half watching the silent fear of Coriolanus’ wife
and mother through the windows of a caravan. The spectators
become voyeurs, staring through windows, craning to overhear
private conversations. The production confronts them with this
fact: the action is filmed and broadcast live onto the screens and
the audience is often caught in the background of shots. The
effect is a disquieting one, as spectators craning through windows
realize they can be seen by everyone and move away, only to be
replaced by others.
This blurring of the boundaries is particularly visible during
the battle scenes of the play. A breezeblock wall spans the breadth
of the hangar, dividing Roman territory from that of the Volscians.
As the audience spreads out to witness the fighting they separate,
some in the Roman lines, some in the Volscian. Their shadowy
presence in the dimly lit, smoky murk of the battle, simultane-
ously close to and fundamentally detached from the fighting,
creates a strange, voyeuristic tension. This tension is increased by
the presence of masked men brandishing bats who walk silently
among the crowd, gathering and dispersing at random as they
wait for the attack to begin.
The most striking use of the spectators as part of the play
occurs when Coriolanus stands on the wall, bellowing for all
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 53 25/02/2013 09:56

who love their country to follow him and attack the Volscians.
His impassioned exhortations draw nothing but silence, as his
friends and allies look away uncomfortably and the vast mass of
the audience stares noiselessly at him. In that moment we become
the fearful Roman army, repulsed by Coriolanus’ absurd level of
bravery. His agonized, reproachful stare is directed squarely at us.
We have betrayed him. Similarly, when the disgraced Coriolanus
is driven from Rome, the audience gathers behind him at the gates
and watches him depart, playing the part of the Roman citizens
who drive him out of the city and into the arms of the Volscians.
When he returns, he returns to take revenge on us, and his mute,
hateful glare through the car windows as he is driven into Rome
is directed at the audience who earlier joined in the clapping as he
returned from war in triumph.
Blurring the boundaries between spectator and spectacle,
Coriolan/us is a drama of disorientation. When the hangar doors
open at the end of the play there’s a palpable sense of relief as
the audience is freed from the grim industrial nightmare of
a fallen and decaying Rome. Intense, confusing, frightening,
the production fuses actors, text, space and audience together,
creating a unique experience which will not soon be forgotten by
those lucky enough to see it.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 54 25/02/2013 09:56

Cymbeline 55
Cymbeline
Directed by Joseph Abuk and Derik Uya Alfred for The South
Sudan Theatre Company (Juba, South Sudan) at Shakespeare’s
Globe Erin Sullivan
It is difficult, perhaps impossible, to talk about The South Sudan
Theatre Company’s production of Cymbeline without talking
about the story of how they got there. As representatives of the
world’s most recently formed nation, they have been the focus of
considerable media attention, with their tale of nation-building
through theatre and survival through art making headlines in
several UK newspapers.45 ‘I used to lie in the bush under the
stars reading Shakespeare’s plays, not thinking about the killing
that would take place in the morning’, wrote the current South
Sudanese Culture Minister in the company’s proposal to the
Globe, an application that Festival Director Tom Bird under-
standably described as ‘compelling and irresistible’.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 55 25/02/2013 09:56

Primed by the news stories I had been reading, and by the

short documentary films London-based Transformedia had been
creating around SSTC’s journey with Cymbeline,46 I arrived at
their closing performance with a sense of great expectation, of
participating in a theatrical and artistic experience but also of
bearing witness to an ongoing story of struggle. Judging by the
crowd, which was close to a full house, I was not the only one. In
the café beforehand one woman told a friend that she had decided
to come after reading about the company’s story in the paper,
and as I took my seat inside the theatre two men discussed their
views on the history of Sudan, where one of them had worked in
the 70s. ‘Difficult territory’, he concluded. ‘Desperate’, the other
responded.
Such expectations and assumptions are always problematic
– what do people like me really know about the Sudanese
‘situation’? What kind of political act do I think I’m committing
as I sit in my seat in the theatre? Maybe it was enough, at least
in the first instance, that we were simply there, open to whatever
experience the evening might bring, and eager to see in person
the people we had been reading and thinking about as we tried to
imagine what life in a country like South Sudan – distant from the
UK in many ways, but perhaps also more similar than we realize
– might be like.
The production opened with a burst of drumming, and a dozen
actors, dancers and musicians filled the stage. As they danced they
took turns summarizing the plot of the play, which they offered as
a tribute, they said, to the country of South Sudan. Giggles and
applause from the audience at the complexity and implausibility
of the plot began early and returned frequently, with the company
mining Shakespeare’s late romance for the silliness and comedy
that it easily offers up. As ‘Postumus’ (Francis Paulino Lugali)
and ‘Jackimo’ (Buturs Peter) worked through details of the ring
wager, the other two actors on stage shook their heads vigorously,
waving their hands and mouthing ‘No!’ at a plan that seemed
destined for failure. Likewise, when ‘Jackimo’ visited a formi-
dable Innogen (Margret Kowarto) and tried, in vain, to convince
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 56 25/02/2013 09:56

Cymbeline 57
her that ‘Postumus’ had been unfaithful, Innogen furrowed her

brow and rolled her eyes at his eventual admission that he was
only joking. ‘Stupid!’ she shouted in English, raising laughter
throughout the crowd.
As with many productions in the Globe to Globe Festival,
these fragments of English surfaced frequently and were always
met with a laugh of recognition – ‘Nonsense!’, ‘Oh my love’,
‘Very beautiful’, ‘Don’t touch me’, ‘Not appropriate’ and the
ubiquitous English mantra, ‘Oh my god’. Given that South
Sudan’s official language is in fact English – a language they
explicitly allied with Shakespeare when they announced this
decision47 – a case could be made for doing the play entirely in
English, but it was interesting as well to listen to the Juba Arabic
(a primarily spoken language) and to see the reaction it generated.
Two women sitting on either side of me laughed frequently at the
Juba lines, with one asking me at the interval if I understood what
was going on and telling me that one of the actors was from her
village.
It was a memorable evening for the way in which actors and
audience came together, openly and enthusiastically, to share
in the experience of being at the Globe and working through
one of Shakespeare’s more complicated plots. The tone always
remained light – when Britain went to war with Rome, the Queen
(Esther Liberato Bagirasas) led the company out onstage for a
comical, playful war dance, again raising laughter and cheers
from a responsive and supportive crowd. Aside from a guard
clad in British khakis, no reference was made to the history of
political division that has marked the Sudanese region, at least
in the eyes of Western audiences. Rather, SSTC’s Cymbeline was
a production in which the pressures of modern politics and the
dangers of war seemed to be temporarily suspended. Perhaps
being there, on the Globe stage, was political act enough, with
the play itself simply that – a space for play. In this way, the
papers tell us, history was made, and we were there, but what
happens next is a question few people, I suspect, would know
how to answer.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 57 25/02/2013 09:56

Directed by Yukio Ninagawa for the Ninagawa Company (Tokyo,

Japan) at the Barbican Theatre, London John Lavagnino
Ninagawa directs Cymbeline as though there’s nothing much
wrong with the play, and you leave the theatre feeling the same
way. There’s still a long series of unlikely revelations in the last
scene, and the audience was laughing frequently; the scene also
had many moments that were meant to be beautiful and moving,
and were. There were no directorial ideas devised to get around
the difficulties many have identified in the play; it was done
straight and that seemed to work fine. But straight for Ninagawa
varies from what would normally count as a straightforward
Shakespeare production in a large London theatre, primarily in
the use of a variety of Japanese acting styles that are very different
from what we normally see, and secondarily in costumes that
would be conceivable and usable here but still are not the norm
for us.
The actors do many things familiar on the Japanese stage that
our actors would not venture for fear of looking too hammy. The
men are mostly warriors and they bellow for all they are worth
when roused, or even when just agreeing; they try to look terri-
fying most of the time, and their costumes support it, whether
they are leaders in complicated and gaudy attire, or the exiles
in Wales mostly dressed in animal skins. There’s no interest in
making them look a little more like modern bureaucratic generals,
and in the production as a whole no bother about relating it all
to modern urban life. Other styles on view include that of the
comic servant, from Pisanio, who for all his resourcefulness is
still usually standing there with his knees spread and mouth open,
physically of a different breed from the nobles. Schemers like
Iachimo and the Queen or thinkers like Posthumus often go to
the front of the stage and tell us what they have got in mind, with
none of the business other directors might contrive for variety.
Instead, these actors have their voices, and they vary how they
speak in remarkable ways during these long speeches, the other
side of the warrior-talk that often seems much too uniform. Best
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 58 25/02/2013 09:56

Cymbeline 59
of all is Innogen: though Shinobu Otake is far too old for the role
you barely notice, as she looks and sounds right, especially in her
disguise as a page. (And yes, it is always ‘Innogen’ in the dialogue,
though it is always Imogen in the surtitles and programme.)
Everyone in even the smallest part is committed, effective,
well cast; nobody in a large scene just stands around. It is not
terribly inward, and it does not want to be. It follows the text
very closely: an extended battle scene in 5.2 is still only a minor
extension of what stage directions already require. The battle,
mostly in slow motion, shows us the encounter of Iachimo and
Posthumus as specified, but adds the valour of the disguised
princes; and it is visually echoed by the end of the show, which
also switches to slow motion, this time as everyone rejoices and
withdraws upstage. That slaughter and peace look so similar is
not an accident: it is ugliness that the production always avoids.
Ninagawa is not a director who is going to give Innogen an
iPad or set the whole story in a time and place pointedly remote
from the original; the look and performance may be Japanese but
that is not made part of the point, and there is nothing to cue the
idea that ‘Rome’ and ‘Britain’ really mean someplace else. Unless
you are entirely unfamiliar with international Shakespeare you
would not find that a surprise, and there are few scenes in which
the approach is unexpected. One is the entrance of Jupiter, who is
indeed flying on a giant eagle, a static cutout in profile with lifted
wings: a crane drives around the stage raising and lowering him,
and he is so brilliantly lit that although this crane is just visible
you are not thinking about it. It is typical of the production that
something often felt to be a problem for directors is handled in a
way that makes it seem no problem at all, but is also still theatri-
cally impressive. The bigger surprise is when Jupiter speaks: he is
masked and chants softly rather than booming. He has only a few
stylized gestures, and according to Japanese speakers the trans-
lation, in this speech only, has an archaic register that suggests a
religious text. Lightning and thunder announce the thunder god,
but when he appears a very different set of religious conventions
takes over.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 59 25/02/2013 09:56

The dirge is one of the rare moments that seems like a misstep,
in a production where everything shows superb judgment (the
only other detail I thought seemed wrong was having Posthumus
appear after the battle with a few arrows protruding from his
body, though I found other people did not mind this). Belarius
goes off to get Cloten’s body, and Guiderius and Arviragus begin
tentatively, singing the stanzas that begin ‘Fear No More’ quietly,
as though making it up together but also preoccupied with their
grief; after a line or two Belarius returns, and the surprise is that
the singing stops right there and we go on to the business of
flower-strewing. They did not even do the whole first verse. It
was the same in two successive performances, so was not some
sort of glitch. In a production that likes the element of wonder
and welcomes strong emotion, the omission is remarkable. Could
the most famous lines in the play be ones that Ninagawa found
inappropriate or unworkable?
When you enter the theatre you think you’ve stumbled into
the dressing room, because that is what is on stage: two ranks of
dressing tables, and everyone in the cast in front of you getting
ready. When the time comes, the two dozen actors assemble into
a line at the front of the stage and take a round of applause before
doing anything else. That was the only time they seemed to be
relying on the fame of the company and director.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 60 25/02/2013 09:56

Hamlet 61
Hamlet
Directed by Eimuntas Nekrošius for Meno Fortas (Vilnius,

Lithuania) at Shakespeare’s Globe Stephen Purcell
Eimuntas Nekrošius’s Hamlet, or Hamletas, is undoubtedly an
important production. It has been touring the world on-and-off
since 1997, winning numerous awards and attracting sustained
and often enthusiastic attention from theatre scholars. In 1998,
Marvin Carlson argued that Nekrošius’s ‘calculatedly nonreal-
istic and nonpsychological’ style and his ‘poetic use of image and
sound’ positioned him as the heir to such luminary directors as
Peter Brook, Giorgio Strehler and Ingmar Bergman.48
Indeed, the production as it appeared on the stage of the
Globe contained a density of visual metaphor. A large, rusty
circular saw hung in the centre of the stage throughout the
performance, seeming to evoke the ghost of Old Hamlet: Andrius
Mamontovas’s Hamletas became uncomfortably conscious of it at
crucial moments (stopping short of kissing Ofelija/Ophelia, for
example, and bowing to it), while it visibly surprised Klaudijus/
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 61 25/02/2013 09:56

Claudius (Vytautas Rumšas) during the play-within-the-play.

Hamletas spread piles of black dust on paper to give to the
players as their scripts, blowing it into their faces in a highly
resonant image of the ephemeral and confrontational nature of
their imminent performance. During the play itself, smears of
black ink were spread from the faces of the players to those of the
watching court.
Ice was a central motif. Towards the beginning, the Ghost
(Vidas Petkevičius) presented a blindfolded Hamletas with a huge
block of it; Hamletas then attempted to melt it with his breath
(bringing a new literality to ‘O, that this too too solid flesh would
melt’ [1.2.129]), before smashing it into fragments to reveal a
dagger inside. On his next appearance, Hamletas was sucking
a shard of ice; later, the Ghost attached a chandelier of candles
and ice to the circular saw, under which Hamletas delivered
the ‘To be or not to be’ soliloquy, slowly ripping apart his shirt.
Both wax and water dripped onto him in an arresting image of
temporality: given time, the candles and the ice would both surely
disappear, and I found myself wondering which would be the first
to melt away. (Both, as it happened: Klaudijus smashed the whole
arrangement with a large pole.) By the end, Hamletas’s quest for
revenge had quite literally frozen him: his dead arms were fixed
immovably around a small drum, upon which the Ghost, howling
in anguish, beat a slow, steady march.
There was a political dimension to the production, too.
Polonijus/Polonius (Povilas Budrys) was an almost Chaplinesque
enforcer of discipline, bullying the cast into paying suitable
attention to the King. A screen towards the back of the stage
provided a hiding place for the play’s frequently anonymous
eavesdroppers. People in this violent and secretive police state
were often little more than animals – the guards were dogs, by
turns vicious and compliant, while the players were parrots,
squawking meaninglessly until they were silenced as Hamletas
put cloths over their heads. Hamletas himself was silenced by the
same method during his ‘the play’s the thing’ speech, humor-
ously (if also rather bleakly) suggesting that even the leading
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 62 25/02/2013 09:56

Hamlet 63
actor of a major international production is ultimately a mere

‘parrot’. Indeed, as Hamletas paused with the skull of Yorick
(here signified by a coconut), the stage picture momentarily froze
in self-reflexive recognition of the iconic nature of its own text.
It must be said that the version of the production performed at
the Globe was a heavily compromized one. Nekrošius’s four-hour
production had been cut to almost half its original length. In
a necessary concession to the nature of the Globe space, it was
performed without lighting – but without the aid of spotlights
and darkness, its usually intense visual imagery became rather
washed-out and unfocused. (The production’s online trailer
shows just how crucial lighting is to its iconography of water, fire
and smoke.) Its sophisticated and intertextual use of electronic
sound seemed out of keeping with the Globe’s non-technological
aesthetic, and its performers made very few attempts to exploit
the actor-audience relationship for which the theatre is famous.
Most problematically, the production was clearly designed for
performance in an end-on configuration – its climax depended
on the use of a black screen behind which the performers could
disappear – and this was unworkable on the Globe’s thrust stage.
Since it formed the climax to a festival made up of productions
from all over the world, it may seem odd to complain that this
production felt ‘imported’; but whereas most of the other produc-
tions in the Festival have responded in one way or another to the
idiosyncrasies of the Globe space, Nekrošius’s Hamletas felt very
much like a production under the strict regulation of a remote
auteur. The production was thought-provoking, and I would very
much like to see it again under the sort of conditions for which it
was designed – but I remain unconvinced that tightly controlled
directors’ theatre can work at its best in the Globe space.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 63 25/02/2013 09:56

The Rest is Silence, produced by dreamthinkspeak for the

Brighton Festival, the London International Festival of Theatre
and the Royal Shakespeare Company at Northern Stage, Newcastle
Adam Hansen
In Oscar Wilde’s ‘The Critic as Artist’ (1890–1), one discussant
says, ‘In point of fact, there is no such thing as Shakespeare’s
Hamlet. […] There are as many Hamlets as there are melan-
cholies’.49 In brilliantly distinctive ways, and in contrast to more
traditional (if not more reverential) stagings of the play, this
production affirmed this ‘fact’. After ushers insisted the audience
digested caveats detailed on a laminated handout (including
‘There will be a loud bang during the performance and a scene
that will include some nudity’), we were accommodated (or
confined) in a large quadrangle of mirrored walls, what the
laminate termed ‘an enclosed space’. Said laminate assured us we
could ‘move around at any time’, yet though we could ‘budge’,
and did not ‘sit … down’, would Hamlet’s words to his mother
fix us: ‘You go not till I set you up a glass/Where you may see the
inmost part of you’ (3.4.17–19)? As people scrutinized images of
themselves and each other, you could see how distinct and diverse
yet how contained we were.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 64 25/02/2013 09:56

Hamlet 65
Reflection was curtailed by a cut to darkness. The arboreal

scene of Old Hamlet’s murder appeared, projected onto what
had been mirrors, but were now screens. Another cut soon
followed, this time to a modern bedroom styled in the aesthetic
permeating the production: sleek, glossy, sanitized. The room,
housing Gertrude and Claudius, was set behind Perspex or glass,
and about a metre from the floor. Even as Claudius rehearsed
his opening lines, and performed ablutions, cleanliness was next
to business-like remoteness, elevation equated to controlling
privilege. Referencing a modern nexus of media and politics
Claudius eventually performed his words to a camera. How
successful was this multimedia mode when most people still
watched the actor, not the screen showing the camera’s footage?
As more screened-off spaces lit up to come in and out of play,
being ‘at home with the Hamlets’ was far from happy families,
especially if you were a woman. Claustrophobia was significantly
gendered: Ophelia was trapped in the intimate space of her own
chamber being lectured to by the men in her life. When mad,
Ophelia sang crumpled beneath her father’s clear desk, boxed
within a box, yet always open to scrutiny. In this domestic tragedy,
home, much more than Denmark, was a panoptic ‘prison’ (Folio
only, Text of 1623, 2.2.242).
While the set was enclosed, enclosing and subdivided,
enforcing the audience’s alienation from the actors and the
characters’ isolation from each other, with everyone subject to
everyone else’s gaze, the words the characters used represented a
contrastingly shuffled, fluid version of the play-text(s). When it
comes to Hamlet, and its multifarious incarnations, that potential
plurality is important. Scenes and interactions from the various
versions of the work we know as ‘Hamlet’ were relocated in ways
that made those words mean new, or newly realized, things. Much
was made of repetition, too – from Claudius’s opening dry-runs,
to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern practising as they fulfilled their
royal commission to snoop. At times the simultaneous echoes
became cacophonous and nightmarish, and as such perfectly
preluded the Ghost’s first appearance.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 65 25/02/2013 09:56

Like poor adaptations, repetitions can degrade an ‘original’, as

when Rosencrantz and Guildenstern made a mockery of Hamlet’s
responses to them. Yet as parody, repetition also empowers,
if momentarily, as when Ophelia bridled against her father by
mimicking his platitudes. Repetition also intensifies and reworks.
Self-consciously realizing this is vital for any rendering of a
text enduring iteration. Closer inspection revealed the Prince’s
reading materials and papers betrayed his anxieties, and Hamlet’s
influence: Sartre’s Nausea, Derrida’s The Politics of Friendship,
Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons and Norwegian crime novelist Jo
Nesbø, alongside screeds insistently declaiming ‘conscience does
make cowards’ (3.1.82). Can we connect with and understand
Hamlet/Hamlet without understanding what they signify now?
Questions like this perplexed Elsinore. At one fabulous point,
Gertrude and Ophelia read Hamlet’s scribbles to read him; at
another, three identical versions of Hamlet’s bedroom were
turned over by three different investigators, as if that space of
selfhood, sexuality and ‘sleep’ offered answers (3.1.65).
This repetition compulsion, with all its ambiguities, culmi-
nated with the rendering of Hamlet’s soliloquy from 3.1. Many
characters relayed ‘To be or not to be’ (and the rest), all with
different emphases and pacing, all isolated in the set. This
made the speech more and less solipsistic: diffused into babble,
it gained resonance from what the words meant to their new
speakers. Ophelia, for example, grappling with the speech’s
concerns would, in play and performance, go on to ‘not [ … ] be’.
Yet for the characters, as for us, in a world of conflicted
beliefs, death is hardly a certain escape. After her drowning
Ophelia appeared overhead, projected floating, face down. If
she transcended, we did not: to have that view, the audience was
figuratively underwater, just as we were later entombed beneath
footage of soil thrown into her grave. Suicide is a limited kind
of agency, but it is, perhaps, tragically, ‘a consummation [ … ]
to be wished’ when all else fails (3.1.62–3). Seeing the Ghost,
Hamlet hammered against the confining windows and screamed
words displaced from the play’s opening: ‘Let me not burst in
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 66 25/02/2013 09:56

Henry IV Part 1 67
ignorance but tell’ (1.4.46). But no confines burst in this telling,

until, that is, we saw the Ghost in some previously ‘undiscovered’
space beyond the quadrangle’s ‘bourn’, and we know ‘No traveller
returns’ from there (3.1.78–9). Like Elsinore’s inhabitants, do we
live coiled in insatiable scopophilia (the love of looking), slaves
to spectacles and shows? Is a mobile mass of individuals free to
choose its focus, or conditioned to see in set ways (in the multiple
versions of ‘To be’, most of the audience still regarded Hamlet)?
Such questions were tantalizing, and found a correlation with
lyrics in the song used during Gertrude’s private dance of desire
for Claudius, Chris Montez’s 1966 hit version of Harry Warren’s
and Mack Gordon’s ‘The More I See You’: ‘The more I see you/
The more I want you/… More mad about you’.
Ultimately, does such voyeurism and overhearing (in the
theatre or elsewhere) pacify or madden?
Henry IV Part 1
Directed by Hugo Arrevillaga for the Compañía Nacional de Teatro

de México (Mexico City, Mexico) at Shakespeare’s Globe, London
Leticia C. Garcia
The Globe to Globe Festival’s homepage listed the following as
criteria for participating in the celebration of Shakespeare: ‘the
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 67 25/02/2013 09:56

artists will play the Globe way – telling stories through the word
and the actor, complemented by costumes, music and dance –
and will complete each play within two-and-a-quarter hours
(we hope)’. There’s a spirit to the game of theatre, and the team
of artists, collaborators, actors, and writers that took part in the
Spanish-language versions of Henry IV Parts 1 and 2 rose to the
Globe’s challenge.
Taking on Henry IV Part 1, the Compañía Nacional de
Teatro de México delivered a charismatic, upbeat take on one
of Shakespeare’s most popular histories. Under the direction of
Hugo Arrevillaga, the company effectively displayed the cultural
relevance of Shakespeare in Mexico by integrating their artistic
and political vision within the limits, possibilities and atmos-
phere of Shakespeare’s Globe. Here a self-consciously English
space connected Shakespeare’s play with Mexico’s own current
concerns.
From the moment the cast of eight emerged from backstage
and descended into the yard, they set the pace for what was
to be an energetic, comical and audience-inclusive show. The
company’s enthusiasm was palpable throughout. The perfor-
mance space suited the production well, as the majority of the
Globe’s stage was utilized in an intricate weaving and carefully
crafted movement of the scenery. Consisting of uniquely shaped
wooden platforms and ramps, that were shifted about for almost
every scene during the performance, the set helped to keep the
audience rapt in the politically intricate world of the play. Most
notably, the platforms and ramps created a sense of the dangerous
and violent treachery of the highways around the inns. Chaos
ensued during the Gad’s Hill robbery. Falstaff ’s horse was myste-
riously missing and the robbery was carried out while the actors
physically engaged with the set, running, hiding behind and
jumping over and around the shifting pieces of scenery. In using
the set and the space of the Globe in this manner, the production
did not restrict itself visually within the city limits of London or
King Henry’s court, but successfully showed a contrast between
the different locales of the play, while at the same time mimicking
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 68 25/02/2013 09:56

Henry IV Part 1 69
the instability and disorder of the play’s politics. The physicality

of movement and collaborative nature of the small cast allowed
the audience to connect with the performance and to understand
it in spite of any language barriers.
A palpable energy that was present during the production
continued to grow between the audience and the performers. At
certain moments the audience’s involvement became part of the
action, as when the audience represented Falstaff ’s army during
the second half. In fact, for both audience and the Compañía
Nacional, it was a delight to see how well the production worked
when building cross-cultural bridges of this kind. Perhaps the
most imaginative quality of Arrevillaga’s production was the
uniquely small cast that successfully balanced out the play’s
many characters in a charming, funny and realistic manner.
Roberto Soto’s fabulously drunken and festive Mexican Falstaff
fitted perfectly into the lore and vivacity of Mexico’s culture,
drawing the audience further into the comic action and world of
Prince Hal and Falstaff. The performance worked almost effort-
lessly in Spanish, providing more instances of comic effect and
allowing the company’s performance to thrive on their native
humour and language. In particular, one of the more tender and
endearing scenes was that of the farewell between Mortimer and
his wife, Lady Mortimer. As Lady Mortimer speaks not a word
of English, but only Welsh in traditional performances, this scene
provides the only instance of a language barrier. Speaking in
what seemed to be a variation of Nahuatl, an indigenous language
of Mesoamerica, Arrevillaga’s Lady Mortimer took this a step
further and was able to transverse the barrier of language and
connect with her husband and the audience. Drawing many
laughs as she sang a melody to Mortimer, quite out of tune, as
he lay in her lap, the scene provided a strong taste of indigenous
Mexican culture. What this production delivered was the ability
to connect stage to spectator. The audience became an indispen-
sable part of the production.
This production was a major success for Mexico’s involvement
in the Globe to Globe Festival. The adaptability of the play
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 69 25/02/2013 09:56

deepened our understanding of contemporary politics. Henry

IV Part 1 thematically concerns itself with civil war, corruption
and rebellion against the government; the main political problem
is how to establish and maintain effective rule. It was thus that
the production spoke to contemporary Mexican society while
at the same time enhancing its political resonance through the
authority of space made available by Shakespeare’s Globe. It
seemed as though the majority of theatregoers were surprised
to learn of Shakespeare’s popularity in Mexico but, as the play’s
director himself has stated, Shakespeare is better known and
much more familiar to the Mexican public than many Latin
American playwrights. The raw simplicity of the play and the
company’s initiative of bringing Mexico to Shakespeare’s saga of
English history was a successful celebration of the world-wide
relevance of Shakespeare in contemporary society.
Henry IV Part 2
Directed by Ruben Szuchmacher for the Elkafka Espacio Teatral

(Buenos Aires, Argentina) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Leticia C. Garcia
This was a highly stylish and modernized production. As a crowd
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 70 25/02/2013 09:56

Henry IV Part 2 71
of trench-coated noblemen bustled onto the stage for Rolling

Stone-t-shirt-clad Rumour’s opening speech, the pace was set
for an interestingly eclectic production. As many reviewers have
commented, the Argentinian company had a hard act to follow
– the Compañía Nacional de Teatro de México had delivered
an engaging, lively performance of Henry IV Part 1 a few days
before. But the Buenos Aires-based company was presenting
something entirely different and distinctive: an Argentinian satire
on modern-day British society.
Elkafka’s production worked well though it received mixed
reviews. Some aspects of the performance were hard to follow,
for example Falstaff ’s first appearance felt disjointed from the
opening scene, and took us in a completely different stylistic
direction. Although Falstaff ’s topsy-turvy world contrasted
sharply with the drab world of the court, it did so in a way that
made me question the theatrical aims of the production. The first
half struggled to keep its momentum, but as the action of the
second half picked up, the production managed to convey what
the Globe to Globe Festival and the World Shakespeare Festival
promoted: Shakespeare’s relevance to contemporary culture(s)
around the world.
What Szuchmacher’s production excelled at was navigating
the connections and distinctions between country, duty and
nation, in both the contexts of the family and the world
of public politics. National and political boundaries were
challenged, as were the boundaries of performance and theat-
rical traditions. These were represented through the youthful
tenacity of Prince Hal and his floundering relationship with
Falstaff (Hal beginning to leave behind the life he led at the
Tavern), as well as in the dynamics between Hal and his father,
here an ageing King Henry. The actors portraying Prince Hal
and King Henry told a compelling story between them of a
father and son coming to terms with their responsibilities and
past grievances. We found, too, Szuchmacher performing a
double duty as the director and playing the role of Prince Hal
in the production.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 71 25/02/2013 09:56

This modernized, satirical production had Falstaff dressed

outlandishly, alongside his cohort of Boar’s Head revellers, with
the majority of their scenes visually depicting a bevy of British
cultural stereotypes. Falstaff and company provided a respite
from the darkness of the play’s political and familial complexities
with their vibrant costumes and carefree drunken disposition.
The majority of the tavern scenes heavily exemplified the produc-
tion’s aesthetics. Mistress Quickly’s fuchsia coiffed hair and the
Adidas-clad Justices Shallow and Silence, dressed in tracksuit
bottoms and high-visibility jackets, strangely resembled the UK’s
Metropolitan Police, and emphasized this Argentinian view of
modern English stereotypes. And all this in light of the political
sensitivities surrounding the thirtieth anniversary of the Argentine
and British war over the Falkland Islands. Schuzchmacher’s Henry
IV Part 2 displayed the richness, darkness, frivolity and range of
the Spanish language. More specifically, the late scene involving
Doll Tearsheet and Mistress Quickly as they are dragged out of the
tavern and onto the street was a real high-point of the production.
Amidst Doll’s insults and Mistress Quickly fighting off the
policemen dragging them away, the scene provided one of the more
energetic and apparently disordered moments of the performance.
Like Mexican Spanish, Argentinian Spanish provides instances
of comic effect. This was carried out best in scenes involving the
Eastcheap revelers; in particular, the escalating argument between
Pistol and Doll employed various colourful expletives that worked
well with the audience. Of more interest was the role of language in
the production. In many of the late scenes, mainly those involving
Prince Hal and King Henry, a richness and passionate interplay
was manifested in the delivery of both actors’ lines. Elkafka’s King
Henry displayed the anxieties plaguing the dying ruler in his slow,
staggered speech and melancholic state of mind. These scenes
greatly highlighted the production’s attention to the language.
Essentially, the scenes seemed to unfold naturally and find their
focus in the vividness of Argentinian Spanish.
The Globe theatre itself was an important aspect of the
production’s effectiveness. Szuchmacher and his actors worked
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 72 25/02/2013 09:56

Henry V 73
with a bare set, relying mainly on costume, movement and the

audience’s imagination to tell the story and dress the space.
Bearing in mind one of the guidelines for participation in the
festival, the ensemble of 15 did well to balance the simplicity of
the theatrical space with the complexities of Shakespeare’s text.
The audience was able to focus on the actors and the world and
characters they were trying to convey without the distractions
of an elaborate set. Between the actor, spectator and the playing
space, this production of Henry IV Part 2 came vividly to life.
The cultural reality bravely chosen by the Elkafka Company
in which to set their production sometimes dominated over the
themes which the play itself makes available. And yet, though in
a theatrical culture far removed from what the company is used
to, Argentinian theatre came to the Globe by way of Shakespeare,
leaving us with a better understanding of the flexible nature of
global Shakespeare and its growing permanence in the theatre.
For a company as cutting-edge as Elkafka in Argentina, the
performance and tone of the production was in the end well
suited to their theatrical initiatives.
Henry V
Directed by Dominic Dromgoole for Shakespeare’s Globe
Christie Carson
The most direct connection between this production and the
other shows in the Globe to Globe season was the appearance on
stage of a band of musicians who welcomed the audience and set
the tone for the evening. When an actor then came to the front
of the stage to announce that this production was the last one in
a Festival which had seen actors from all over the world perform
the entire Shakespeare canon it seemed somewhat superfluous.
This framing of the play was unnecessary since the audience
in attendance seemed to be very different from the ones I had
seen in the space for the past six weeks. The audience members
were quiet, attentive, polite and happy to be entertained on a not
particularly warm summer evening. This was in stark contrast to
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 73 25/02/2013 09:56

the audiences that had filled the theatre over the previous weeks.
While the Globe to Globe audiences were passionately engaged
in the events on stage and greeted each troupe of actors with
rapturous applause, the crowd at Henry V seemed to be welcoming
home an old friend. The reaction seemed subdued in comparison
to the tension and excitement that reverberated from the rafters
during many of the visiting productions. But each audience for
the Festival was also very different, and wonderfully so. In a sense
I felt quite unusual and quite privileged viewing Henry V as the
culmination of the Festival since it was clear that not many people
on that June evening were seeing it in this context.
Henry V is a problematic play to perform anywhere in the
UK at the best of times since it has been produced to celebrate
national patriotism as often as it has been used to critique current
leaders and public support of foreign conflicts that encourage
identity formation through conquest. Dromgoole’s production
steered a fairly safe course between these two extremes and
managed thoroughly to entertain its audience while casting a
questioning eye on the issue of British nationalism in the same
week that the Queen’s Jubilee flotilla graced the Thames just
outside the theatre. This production had been on a journey of its
own touring the country before opening in London. Built into the
play is a debate between Scottish, Irish and Welsh characters as to
their respective claim to and responsibility for the King’s cause.
In this production the debate was enlivened by exaggerated,
somewhat nostalgic representations of these three nations. In a
summer when the Union Jack is almost impossible to avoid this
genial approach to the play’s internal turmoil seemed to hit a tone
of irony that avoided offence through its good intentions. Nothing
in this production of the play was to be taken too seriously.
The central performance by Jamie Parker as Henry V built on
this actor’s very successful presentation of the young Prince Hal
in the Globe’s productions of Henry IV Parts 1 and 2 in 2010,
which not only filled the theatre at Bankside but were broadcast
to cinemas across the country and sold on DVD. The evolution
of the young King into a warrior and diplomat was convincing
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 74 25/02/2013 09:56

Henry V 75
primarily because of Parker’s earnestness and compassion in the

role. He clearly struggled with the deaths, not only of the traitors
he discovered in his ranks at the beginning of the play, but also
his old Eastcheap drinking pals. Parker’s other high profile role
in Alan Bennett’s The History Boys also played on his affability
and his desire not to rock the boat. But very little time was spent
looking backwards in this production as the King marched on
to the final battle at Agincourt. The play’s big speeches were
delivered in an almost bashful way which, in the case of the iconic
final line of the ‘Once more unto the breach’ speech, required
actors in the audience to join in and cry out ‘God for Harry,
England and Saint George’ to back up the King. Dromgoole
seemed to take to heart the preceding line which indicates that
‘the game’s afoot’ and asked the soldiers and audience to ‘follow
your spirit’. Parker’s King seemed to draw up the rear of this
charge rather than lead it.
The most striking element of this production was the role of
the women. Three actresses each played two parts, doubling their
presence on stage in interesting and telling ways. Brid Brennan
played the Chorus and Queen Isabel, two positions of authority,
Olivia Ross took on the roles of Princess Katherine and the Boy
and Lisa Stevenson enacted Hostess Quickly and Alice. Having
the action on the battlefield bookended by scenes of domesticity
and diplomacy which were dominated by the women made clear
that this was not just a world for the men. The fact that all of the
action was explained to the audience by a female Chorus linked
it to many of the other productions in the Globe to Globe season
which put forward strong female characters who interacted with
the audience in a very personal way. However, in some ways it
was Olivia Ross who provided the moral centre of the conflict as
the boy who is killed by the French and the future Queen of the
realm; she seemed to be the touchstone of this production. The
fact that she looked ever so slightly like another royal Kate was
entirely a coincidence I am sure.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 75 25/02/2013 09:56

Henry VI Part 1
Directed by Nikita Milivojevic for the National Theatre Belgrade

(Belgrade, Serbia) at Shakespeare’s Globe Peter Orford
I arrived at the theatre, like so many reviewers of the histories
before me, with the prospect of a marathon session of three plays
in one day ahead of me. The difference on this occasion was that
the three parts of Henry VI were being presented here by three
different companies from the Balkan countries: would this make
it too disjointed or more varied and less monotonous? In the end
it would prove to be, on the whole, a day of pleasant surprises, not
least in the opening part. Two things I never thought I would say
about Henry VI Part 1:
1. That was really funny.

2. My favourite characters were Vernon and Basset.
Let us start with point one, shall we? This was not just a
production that embraced the humour of the play – it created
it. Barely a scene went by without laughter, most frequently
from the cast themselves. The endless squabbles of the nobles
which we are so used to seeing performed po-faced by English
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 76 25/02/2013 09:56

Henry VI Part 1 77
companies became bar-room displays of bravado, as the speakers

played to their fellows – who sometimes laughed with them
(friend or enemy), and sometimes laughed at them. When
Gloucester and Winchester, or later York and Somerset, squared
up to each other, the emphasis was not just on being right, but
being seen – and heard – to be right. Laughter proved a powerful
tool, both defensive in providing support, and offensive in alien-
ating the enemy. When Joan stood on trial amongst a circle of
English nobles, her every word was met with jeers that she had to
shout her way over to be heard. And for all the repartee between
the English nobles, there would also be moments when one retort
cut too deep and the laughter stopped, replaced with genuine
offence and violence. Surprisingly amongst all this locker-room
mentality, Henry (Hadzi Nenad Maricic) emerged as a figure of
genuine power. The naïvety of the character was ignored (when
he met Talbot, he was not a giddy schoolboy meeting his hero,
but rather looked bored as Talbot officiously and ceremoniously
bowed before his King), and in contrast to all the productions
I have seen before, this King could be strong and stern; when
he talked, people listened. When Gloucester and Winchester’s
verbal sparring turned physical, and all the court descended
into an anarchic brawl (played out in slow motion and – of
course – for laughs), Henry stopped them in their tracks. When
York’s plea to have his title returned was presented to Henry,
he weighed the matter up seriously while all the court waited
anxiously for his verdict. And when he chose his wife out of
Gloucester and Somerset’s nominees, his decision was not to be
argued with – even if he did decide by a Serbian variant of ‘Eeny
meeny miny mo’.
And on to point two: Vernon and Basset. ‘Who? And who?’ I
hear you ask. They are the servants of York and Somerset respec-
tively who appear in 3.4 and 4.1, fighting out the cause of their
masters, and that is the extent of their roles in the text. But in
this production, where all actors remained on stage throughout,
the parts of Vernon and Basset (played by Pavle Jerinic and Bojan
Krivokapic) were stretched across the entire play, with the pair
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 77 25/02/2013 09:56

acting as messengers, commentators and narrators on the action.

We saw the actions of great men through the eyes of two people on
the bottom rung of the ladder – a technique famously used by Akira
Kurosawa in The Hidden Fortress and later popularized by George
Lucas in Star Wars’s R2D2 and C3PO – and the hypocrisy of the
various lords was frequently called out by the pair to the audience.
Mortimer’s speech (2.5.61–92) in particular was hilarious (a line
never before written in a review of Henry VI Part 1) as Vernon
and Basset, visibly bored by the monotonous monologue, started
acting up, portraying through mime the endless wrangling for
the crown, playing kings, queens and murderers. Invisible babies
popped out from between their legs only to be hurled aside by the
other, while an imaginary crown was spun round on one finger
before being drop-kicked into the audience.
Were this an English-language production, all this miming and
mockery might be accused of detracting from the text; but given
the Globe’s decision to opt for surtitled synopses rather than line-
by-line translations, it was vital for the company to communicate
to their audience through physical gestures rather than relying on
dialogue. To support this further, music was ably employed by the
company’s trio of flute, violin and accordion, while a key visual
aid was an enormous round table that stayed onstage throughout.
It was divisible into several pieces when necessary, such as when
York and Somerset pulled the whole thing apart in the course
of their disagreement, and throughout the production it served
as, among other things, a council table, the Tower of London
and the city of Orleans. The entrance of Joan (Jelena Dulvezan)
was a wonderful fusion of gesture, music and props, as Charles
(Aleksandar Sreckovic) stood alone on the table, desperately
trying to rally his troops who all sat resolutely on their chairs,
hammering on the back of them like drums and chanting for him
to give up on Orleans. His pleas had but a temporary effect, and as
he rubbed his temples and cowered from the crescendo of drums,
the table split open and Joan emerged through it, like a spirit
raised from the grave. As she spoke to Charles, she walked around
the stage, stopping the hands of each drummer one by one, until
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 78 25/02/2013 09:56

Henry VI Part 2 79
at last, with her support, Charles himself stayed the hands of

the last dissenting percussionist. More effectively than words or
synopsis, the power of Joan, and the new strength she gave to her
king, was apparent to all.
The play sped along (just two hours including the interval),
and scenes were cut, some expected (the Countess of Auvergne),
some less so (the death of Talbot). When the play ended, it was,
appropriately enough, Vernon and Basset who had the last word.
As Suffolk performed his soliloquy, the pair eavesdropped upon
him, and on his exit they emerged to hypothesize on what would
come next for England. Growing ever more excited as each vied to
present their mime of what was coming, Henry V’s ashes – which
had lain in a casket in full view throughout the production as a
permanent symbol of lost glory – were picked up and used by the
pair as a prop, only to then be knocked over accidentally and the
contents scattered. Henry V’s remains, as well as his legacy, were
left blowing in the wind, while Vernon and Basset ran off before
anyone found out. At this inventive moment, I began to harbour
a suspicion that would, by the end of the day, be proved correct:
this Serbian production was by far the best part of the Globe’s
‘Balkan trilogy’.
Henry VI Part 2
Directed by Adonis Filipi for the National Theatre of Albania
(Tirana, Albania) at Shakespeare’s Globe Peter Orford
And on to the next part of the ‘Balkan trilogy’. While these
marathon runs of the history plays are not uncommon e.g. at
the RSC, it is fascinating to see what happens on those rare
occasions when different companies produce each installment.
Consequently, having just become familiar with the Serbian
versions of these characters, we had to adjust to their Albanian
successors, and to recommence identifying who was who. The
strong Henry VI of Part 1 became weak, the young and virile York
became an older statesman and the crowd-pleasing Gloucester
was now a man with his mind fixed firmly on the job.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 79 25/02/2013 09:56

There are pros and cons to foreign-language productions. One

of the benefits, as the Globe programmes were keen to promote,
is the lack of expectation and tradition that allows for fresh
interpretations of familiar lines; in this Albanian production of
Henry VI Part 2, iconic scenes like Beaufort’s death were cut
by a company undaunted by the fame of such moments. But
a potentially major drawback of foreign-language productions,
the elephant in the multicultural room, is the loss of verbal
understanding. Other productions in the World Shakespeare
Festival have found wonderful ways to overcome this; sadly this
production did not. I have no doubt that it would have offered
a very different experience had it been performed in English,
but all too often, while characters stood statically performing
their lines, I was aware of the audience failing to follow what was
happening.
On three occasions the straightforward direction was
punctuated by surreal moments; the play began with four actors
racing around the stage on scooters, wearing paper crowns. Before
the scene in which Gloucester’s death was revealed, four dancers
spun the bed around the stage; and at the play’s close, when the
crookbacked Richard (Roland Saro) left the stage having placed
a paper crown upon the throne, the seat then moved forward of
its own accord while a clarinet played a tune from the gallery.
These zany moments were not integrated into the main action
but were interludes either before or after scenes, and they neither
gelled with the rest nor was the significance of their movements
fully explained. The imagination behind them merely contrasted
with the staid approach to the rest of the play. Too often I found
my attention drifting as a consequence of static blocking. (My
favourite quote overheard after the performance, from a group of
lads comparing this production to the Maori Troilus and Cressida:
‘The trouble is that in Europe we’re all thinkers. We’re not
physical enough’. That explains my poor performance all those
years in PE … .)
One of the moments when the production gained energy and
momentum was during the Cade riots. The direct addresses to
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 80 25/02/2013 09:56

Henry VI Part 2 81
crowd, the slapstick banter and the to-ing and fro-ing of the
mob from Cade (Bujar Asqeriu) to Buckingham all communi-
cated well without the need to understand precisely what was
being said. Cade’s followers were a ragtag bunch of the blind,
lame and stupid. The comedy built around the blind girl, who
desperately tried to keep up with the mob as they charged off to
battle with little thought for her, was awkward; it was never clear
if we were supposed to be laughing with her or at her, whether it
was therefore okay to laugh, or whether we were simply mocking
the disabled. Strange also was the director’s decision to cut the
contrapuntal scenes of the nobility and present all of Cade’s
scenes in one continuous run, which made the whole episode
feel like a departure from the main plot, like we had acciden-
tally switched channels without realizing. Given that Cade’s
scenes started the second half of the production, the result was
that when Henry finally returned to the stage after some hour’s
absence, there was a moment of readjustment as the audience
reacclimatized to the original drama.
The other striking moments for me were the scenes of
tenderness. The exiled Lady Gloucester (Yllka Mujo) left her
husband with dignity, descending down amongst the ground-
lings; Suffolk and Margaret’s farewells (my favourite scene in the
text) were movingly acted by Dritan Boriçi and Ermira Hysaj;
Suffolk in particular was far more compelling as a desolate lover
than he was when playing the haughty nobleman. The cutting
of Margaret’s response to Suffolk’s death, along with the long
absence from the stage during the Cade deviation, resulted
in a queen who, on her return to the stage, now conveyed
genuine support and concern for her husband. After the madcap
Kentishman had exited the stage, the royal couple entered with
Margaret’s arms draped around Henry (Indrit Çobani), and in
the play’s final scene, what is usually portrayed as her haughty and
frustrated command for Henry to flee became instead an entreaty,
begging her husband to save himself. In that moment, when
gestures and tone were paramount, I cared about the characters
and their fates, but it was too late for this production. We looked
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 81 25/02/2013 09:56

ahead to the fates of the King and Queen, but the fruition of their
journey would be left to another company to fulfil.
Henry VI Part 3
Directed by John Blondell for the National Theatre of Bitola
(Bitola, Macedonia) at Shakespeare’s Globe Peter Orford
Clearly no one told the Macedonians that the history plays are all
about men with few roles for women: this production brilliantly
championed the feminine, from the obvious icon of Margaret to
the surprising decision to cast Warwick as a woman. This is not
to detract from the male performers, who all did admirable jobs
– the sons of York in particular – but by far the most distinctive
aspect of this Henry VI Part 3 compared to those before it was
this new emphasis on women vying for love and power. Margaret
and Warwick showed two extremes of the woman in battle.
Margaret (Gabriella Petrushevska) first entered in a glamorous
blue dress with a large white frill and red shoes from a fairy tale,
looking like a cross between Snow White and her stepmother;
after the scene ended with her intentions to lead the armies in
spite of her husband, she next entered in military dress, but still
looking immaculate, and still wearing the red high heels, as much
a leader of fashion as of men. Warwick (Sonja Mihajlova), in
contrast, was sombre and shapeless in a long overcoat, wearing a
black headscarf suggestive of a woman in mourning: thus one led
by flaunting her femininity while the other led in spite of it.
It would be wrong of me not to commend the men in
this production. Ognen Drangovski physically towered above
his fellow actors as Edward, especially Martin Mirchevski’s
diminutive Richard, who had the unenviable task of winning an
audience over to his machinations with soliloquies in another
language, a task which I am pleased to report he succeeded in.
The grand reveal of Richard’s murderous plans at the end of
the first half was a torrential outpouring as he finally opened
up and let his true self show. Even without an understanding of
the language, the passion and savagery of his thoughts were ably
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 82 25/02/2013 09:56

Henry VI Part 3 83
conveyed. But for all the physical power and aggression of the
men, time and again it was the women who showed themselves
as the superior forces behind the disputes. To support this, each
battle scene involved the men dancing and acting out death after
death, while in the foreground a woman was portrayed either
as formidable or dignified. At Wakefield, for example, it was
Margaret who mediated our experience of the mayhem; when the
battle sequence was done, and all the men lay dead, she walked
calmly and dispassionately across the stage, surveying the carnage
done in her name.
The best scene of the production, for my money, was in the
court of the French King, who again was played by a woman
(Kristina Hristova Nikolova). The male characters had frequently
shown themselves partial to display and bravado: when the lusty
Edward IV was captured, he was caught literally with his pants
down, and had to shuffle off stage in handcuffs with his trousers
still round his ankles. So in this scene, when Warwick, Margaret
and the King/Queen sat round the table drinking spirits they
were able to get down to the real business of politics without men
to distract or interrupt. The young Prince Edward lay slumped
unconscious on the table, while on the other side was the Lady
Bona, played brilliantly by Valentina Gramosli as giggly, perky and
flirty, table-dancing cheerily to the music of the band while her
fate was discussed by those around her. (Gramosli also doubled
as the Lady Grey, who was seen cavorting on stage with her new
husband Edward irrespective of his approaching brothers; if she
was lusty, she was so on her terms, and unapologetic for it.)
The most significant portrayal of women was as mothers. Lady
Grey was seen talking to her brother Rivers (played by Ivan Jercic
in lace gloves and feathers) while in the throes of morning sickness,
her concern for her captured husband continually deferring to the
symptoms of her impending motherhood. Margaret’s son Edward
was an able accomplice and sidekick; Nikolche Projchevski’s
smirking portrayal of the young Prince showed him up as the
school bully: taunting, smug, cruel. He followed his mother’s
every move like a dutiful admirer, supporting her in her most
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 83 25/02/2013 09:56

vicious moments: it was he who carried York’s severed head

gleefully up to the gallery to put it on display. Thanks to the
rapport and relationship developed by both Petrushevska and
Projchevski, the death of Prince Edward was always going to be
an emotional climax as Margaret truly lost a part of herself, and
the scene, when it came, did not disappoint, meriting well-earned
spontaneous applause from the audience after Margaret’s heart-
break and desolation were admirably portrayed. Warwick’s death
was a different tragedy; the battle at Barnet again involved the
men miming various deaths while Warwick performed a mournful
dance, stripped of her headscarf and coat to reveal her frail form
beneath. The ensuing soliloquy in which she recognized the
futility of pursuing power held new implications given the way
she had been physically altered from warrior to maiden; she
re-embraced femininity at the end, and rather than die onstage,
she walked proudly off stage, a victor in death.
Lady Grey’s finale was equally defined by womanhood, with
the proud presentation of her new son and future king repre-
sented on stage by a white rose lovingly carried on a blanket. The
blistering heat of the midday sun that had heralded the start of the
trilogy had by now given way to the night sky above us, and after
the sons of York had all sworn their duty to the babe, the mother
and child were left alone on stage, she singing a lullaby to the
baby, a triumphant symbol of the maternal bond promising hope
after the onslaught of violence we had all just endured.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 84 25/02/2013 09:56

Henry VIII 85
Henry VIII
Directed by Ernesto Arias for Fundación Siglo de Oro (Madrid,

Spain) at Shakespeare’s Globe José A. Pérez Díez
The Globe to Globe Festival made a notoriously misinformed
claim in its subtitle: ‘37 plays, 37 languages’. Three Spanish-
speaking companies were invited to take part in the festival, and
were duly advertised as performing in ‘Argentine’, ‘Mexican’
and ‘Castilian’ Spanish: three regional variants of one of the
most unified languages in existence. Unlike English, Spanish
is regulated by a central authority: the Association of Spanish
Language Academies, who jointly publish the same dictionary,
grammar and orthography in all Spanish-speaking countries. If
it was certainly a privilege to see three productions in Spanish as
part of the Festival, one can scarcely imagine that the Globe would
advertise productions in Australian, Jamaican or British English
as distinct and separate ‘languages’, which is probably why they
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 85 25/02/2013 09:56

decided to announce the production of Othello by the Chicago

Shakespeare Theater as being performed in ‘Hip Hop’. Spain’s
contribution was a special commission from the Globe, who
chose Henry VIII rather than the more obviously Spanish Love’s
Labour’s Lost, a play that, after all, takes place in Navarre, and
includes the stereotypically excessive Don Adriano de Armado
among its principal characters. The choice of company was also
unlikely. The Fundación Siglo de Oro (formerly Rakatá) is a
young non-subsidized company founded in 2003 that – unusually
for a private ensemble – specializes in the performance of Spanish
Golden Age drama. One would have expected, perhaps, that
the Compañía Nacional de Teatro Clásico, established in 1986
following the publicly funded model of the RSC, would have
been institutionally more appropriate. But the turbulent cultural
politics of Spain seem to have operated in Rakatá’s favour. The
lack of State support was partially alleviated by the individual
aid of two public institutions: Madrid’s Teatro Español loaned
the costumes from their wardrobe, while the town of Almagro,
home of the International Festival of Classical Theatre, lent
the company their Corral de Comedias – the only seventeenth-
century outdoor playhouse to have survived in Spain – to rehearse
in a space that resembles the setup of the Globe.
The choice of play, however, is immediately justifiable by the
centrality of Katherine of Aragon, who constitutes the most
memorable and vivid character in Fletcher and Shakespeare’s
collaboration. In the textual adaptation, she was appropriately
transformed into the tragic heroine of the story. The dramaturg
José Padilla, in collaboration with the director, Ernesto Arias,
and his assistant, Rafael Díez Labín, cleverly rearranged scenes
and speeches, and conflated secondary characters to clarify the
plot, always following the basic structure of the original play. The
result was a prose text in contemporary Spanish that, at the same
time, managed to use diction that was recognizably reminiscent of
the Spanish Golden Age.
The show started with music from an organ in the gallery
played by composer Juan Manuel Artero. Among other Spanish
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 86 25/02/2013 09:56

Henry VIII 87
Renaissance pieces, I identified the beautiful Recercada segunda

sobre el passamezzo moderno by Diego Ortiz. The male members
of the cast – 11 out of 14 – came on stage from the yard, wearing
basic jackets and modern trousers. They bowed to the cheering
audience in pairs or individually, and went into the tiring house.
The last two, Asier Tartás and Diego Santos, stayed to speak
the opening prologue. Tartás appropriately inserted the line
from Henry V referring to ‘this wooden O’, not included in the
adapted script. They put on Renaissance overcoats and caps on
top of their modern dress, a simple but effective device used by
all the actors that managed to suggest the historical setting, while
probably minimizing the costs of securing and travelling with a
full period wardrobe.
Fernando Gil was an imposing Henry VIII who, like other
members of the company, sacrificed subtlety for audibility,
relying on a constant mezzoforte that seemed unnecessary in a
space where clarity of diction easily allows the sound to carry
through the auditorium. Jesús Fuente, playing Wolsey, offered
a more nuanced performance, even if slightly one-dimensional
in presenting the Cardinal’s ambition as the only driving force
of the part. Buckingham (Julio Hidalgo) started his final speech
among the groundlings, who received his onstage beheading with
amusement at a convincing special effect. The scene, interpolated
before the feast at Wolsey’s house, provided a startling contrast
between that tragic climax, and the subsequent triviality of the
King’s courtship of Anne Bullen. The weakest link in the cast,
though, was Sara Moraleda, a good-looking young actress who
somewhat downplayed Anne’s complexities.
Cranmer’s part was retained and enlarged (played by Jesús
Teyssiere as a long-haired religious fanatic in black robes), and
was contrasted with Gardiner (conflated with Cromwell; played
by Alejandro Saá); but, though the religious controversy was
elaborated towards the end of the show, it was by no means central
to this version. Instead, most cuts, additions and rearrangement
of key moments managed to focus the play almost exclusively on
the fate of the dispossessed Katherine of Aragon, played by the
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 87 25/02/2013 09:56

remarkable Elena González. Her performance was full of tragic

dignity, and profoundly moving, providing the two emotional
cores of the show. On the one hand, the trial scene at Blackfriars
was re-structured so that her long speech defending her cause
was presented after the King’s, giving her the last word, after
which she exited through the yard mingling with the groundlings
to striking effect. On the other hand, in a startling take on the
final scene, Princess Elizabeth’s baptism was enacted as a vision
that a desperate Katherine contemplates in her chamber as her
lady-in-waiting is narrating the events; as the ceremony drew to
its climax, the Queen collapsed on stage, and was covered with a
shawl.
This carefully crafted, but appropriately stripped-down
production resulted in a memorable evening that concluded with
a song and a dance, after which the audience recompensed the
company’s efforts with a very long and well-deserved final bow.
Julius Caesar
Directed by Andrea Baracco for Compagnia I Termini (Rome, Italy)
at Shakespeare’s Globe Emily Oliver
Any audience members expecting to see men in togas stabbing
an emperor in the Capitol will have been sorely disappointed
at Compagnia I Termini’s contribution to the Globe to Globe
Festival. Time and place were irrelevant in this radical adaptation
by Vincenzo Manna and Andrea Baracco, which focused relent-
lessly on men consumed by power politics. For non-Italian
speakers the summative surtitles would also have been of little
use, due to the complete disjunction between text and stage image
for large parts of the production. However, for those willing to
engage with this challenging performance, the evening held rich
rewards.
Baracco’s staging presented an austere, claustrophobic vision
of Rome, with a potential conspirator lurking behind every door.
Cassius (Roberto Manzi) was a terrifying presence throughout the
first half of the play, seething with pent-up anger as he persuaded
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 88 25/02/2013 09:56

Julius Caesar 89
the others to join in Caesar’s murder. After the interval Brutus

(Giandomenico Cupaiuolo) took over as the focal point, utterly
compelling even when alone on stage. Since this adaptation used
only six actors, many scenes were turned into soliloquies with
an imagined scene partner. However, the conceit was handled
so skilfully that I was well into the play before realizing that the
company was in fact performing Caesar without Caesar. During
the murder scene, Caesar was represented by a bottomless chair
with a light bulb stuck into it. The conspirators moved forward
in slow motion and very deliberately marked the chair with lines
of red chalk. Excising Caesar from the play was a daring choice,
but one that yielded unexpected insights: it showed to what extent
Shakespeare’s Caesar is defined by what others say about him.
The number of performers was not the only economical
aspect of this production. Text and movement were reduced,
concentrated and repeated, making the actors appear manic or
frenetic, like figures trapped in a predetermined world, controlled
by something outside them. This was particularly evident in
Calphurnia’s character (Ersilia Lombardo), as she hurled herself
at each of the male figures, who literally let her fall. One
of the most poignant moments of the performance occurred
after Calphurnia’s warning to Caesar (2.2), when Casca (Lucas
Waldem Zanforlini) mimed sewing her mouth shut while she
was still speaking. The physical precision of the movement
and simultaneous desperation in the actress’s eyes was one of
many examples of the entire cast’s great attention to detail. This
adaptation showed women being silenced, ignored, controlled and
rejected, as the casual victims of the men’s power games.
One striking aspect was the use of underscoring through
classical music and film scores (among others, I recognized Philip
Glass’s piano music for The Hours). Although the individual
pieces were well chosen, this device felt like an emotional
shortcut. It was almost as if the production was compensating for
its austerity through the use of film-like aesthetics, and relying on
music to create a point of emotional connection for the audience.
The actors showed great physical and vocal commitment to their
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 89 25/02/2013 09:56

parts, but apart from a few poignant moments the intensity of

the action remained confined to the stage, with the fourth wall
resolutely in place.
The set consisted of three movable doors which at different
points became screens, seats, platforms, stretchers or walls.
Although carried out smoothly and precisely, the incessant door-
ography was tedious at times, until the anonymous hands on the
doors suddenly became a very effective representation of the
murderous mob. This phenomenon was true of several devices
used in the production: initially meaningless, they gradually
acquired layers of significance, forcing spectators to see earlier
moments of the play in a different light. For instance, the light
bulbs, which seemed like arbitrary additions, gradually came
to represent clear-sightedness, particularly on the part of the
female characters. Thus, Portia (Livia Castiglioni) committed
suicide on stage with two light bulbs in her mouth instead of
hot coals, smearing her face with red chalk. The chalk, in turn,
became a potent symbol as the power struggle unfolded. It was
first used to graffiti Caesar’s and Brutus’ names onto the doors,
literalizing Cassius’ line: ‘Write them together: yours is as fair a
name’ (1.2.143). In the murder scene the chalk simultaneously
represented daggers, wounds and blood, gradually contaminating
all who came in contact with it. Brutus’ coat became progressively
soiled with traces of red, and Cassius died with his head coloured
in red.
This retrospective decoding was a bold tactic, and one that
demanded great concentration from spectators. Some of the
props caused rare moments of humour. For instance, during Mark
Antony’s (Gabriele Portoghese) funeral oration, the weeping
Roman citizens were represented by anonymous hands holding
up white handkerchiefs from behind the doors, and wringing
them out on cue. Later in the performance, the faceless mob
emerged from behind the doors, clad in identical hats and trench
coats. It was these figures who finally killed Brutus. Whereas
Caesar’s murder had been aestheticized and dehumanized, the
mob ran around Brutus, marking his shirt with streaks of red
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 90 25/02/2013 09:56

Julius Caesar 91
chalk. The final stage picture was that of a stabbed body slumped
in a chair – the image that had been withheld throughout the
production. It was disturbing to realize that its appearance came
as something of a relief and a gratification of expectations. Rarely
has a production left me so shocked at my own response to it.
Directed by Gregory Doran for the Royal Shakespeare Company at

the Theatre Royal, Newcastle Monika Smialkowska
‘Is this a holiday?’ (1.1.2) The question which Flavius asks of the
commoners gathering in the streets in the first scene of Julius
Caesar felt particularly apt at the beginning of this production. As
we walked into the auditorium to take our seats, we were greeted
by a full-blown fiesta-cum-political-rally taking place on stage.
A small crowd was excitedly milling about, talking, bickering,
buying, selling and occasionally dancing to the lively music played
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 91 25/02/2013 09:56

by a band located on a set of granite steps which dominated the

stage. In the middle of the festive throng, Caesar’s supporters
were conducting a campaign, sporting his photographs and
placards. They were heckled and challenged by an opposing
faction. The scene was clearly set in present-day Africa: the
band combined traditional instruments such as mbira and kora
with guitars and saxophones, and the all-black cast wore casual
contemporary clothes with some African accents. The grandeur
of the granite set and the giant statue of a man with one arm
raised in salute or blessing, placed at the rear of the stage, hinted
at a modern dictatorship. Finally, an element of ritual was added:
an effigy of Caesar was carried around, and an ominous figure of
a soothsayer appeared – barefooted and bare-chested, in startling
make-up and greyish body paint, wearing a flowing skirt made
of animal skins. The first impression of this Julius Caesar was
undoubtedly exciting, but also somewhat disconcerting – after all,
were we not being presented with an accumulation of European
stereotypes of Africa? What was the company trying to say?
Recent events in countries such as Zimbabwe, Libya, Egypt
and Tunisia make Julius Caesar – a play violently embodying
debates surrounding democracy and tyranny – unquestionably
relevant to an African context. Transposing republican Rome
plunging into civil war to an unidentified African country torn
by violent internal struggles worked very well, evoking timely
political resonances. What made me uneasy, however, was the
context of this particular production – one of the RSC’s contribu-
tions to the World Shakespeare Festival. It is one thing to watch
a Tunisian ensemble like Artistes Producteurs Associés make
parallels between Macbeth and Ben Ali’s recently toppled regime;
it is another thing for a British, state-subsidized company to
adapt Shakespeare to comment on African politics. In the latter
case, some uncomfortable questions arise: are we, in the Western
world, assuming a superior position to criticize developments
which we necessarily only know as outsiders (and which, inciden-
tally, can to some extent be traced back to the legacy of European
colonial enterprises)?
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 92 25/02/2013 09:56

Julius Caesar 93
This problem was compounded by the fact that the play was
set in an unspecified, nameless African country. Are we to assume
that Africans in general are like the figures represented here? Are
we, consciously or not, dealing in stereotypes and objectifying
Africa as an exotic ‘Other’? Moreover, to a layperson like me,
the accent in which the characters spoke was a generic ‘African
English’, and I could not shake off the impression that it was
British actors putting it on (an impression reinforced by the
programme listing a ‘Dialect Coach’ among the production team).
This felt rather different to overseas companies which partici-
pated in the World Shakespeare Festival translating his plays and
words ‘to states unborn and accents yet unknown’ (3.1.113). The
RSC’s Julius Caesar revealed that adapting Shakespeare into alien
social settings can be a sensitive issue: it is not only Shakespeare
but also cultural representations that can be ‘owned’, contested
and appropriated.
Interestingly, the production registered that transferring
Shakespeare across time and space is problematic, and commented
on this in theatrical terms. In the scene of Caesar’s assassination,
there was an unexpected departure from the modern-dress
convention: the conspirators appeared in black togas and Caesar
donned a sumptuous blue cloak. However, contemporary refer-
ences did not entirely disappear, as the characters kept on their
wristwatches and some of the togas were worn over modern
clothing. The effect was that of Brechtian alienation – we no longer
could take for granted either the ‘original’, Roman setting or the
modernized, African one. This raised even more questions: was
the company commenting on Shakespeare’s own historical inaccu-
racies, such as the infamous clock striking in ancient Rome? If so,
why? Maybe to defuse potential criticisms of this production’s
generalizations regarding its African setting. Or maybe to say that,
after all, Shakespeare is universal and his plays deal with the ‘human
condition’, not with specific times or places. But then why make a
point of presenting such an explicitly ‘African’ Julius Caesar?
Creating more questions than answers, this was undoubtedly
a fresh and thought-provoking interpretation of the play. One
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 93 25/02/2013 09:56

of its surprising features was the strong infusion of humour.

Julius Caesar can appear very solemn, with its rhetorical pathos
and its sententious, canonized speeches. The RSC’s rendering,
especially Joseph Mydell’s Casca, who was often played for
laughs, unexpectedly showed that high politics has its ridiculous
side too – petty rivalries, trivial motivations, embarrassing vanity,
greed and folly. At the same time, the production did not shy away
from showing deadly serious consequences of political upheavals
to ordinary citizens, as embodied in the chilling scene of Cinna
the poet being burned alive, in a car tyre, by the enraged mob. To
me, however, the most important issue which this performance
brought to light was the problematic nature of the West’s repre-
sentation of (and, by extension, involvement or intervention in)
non-Western cultures and politics. The RSC took a risky step
in setting their Julius Caesar in Africa, especially during the
World Shakespeare Festival, which hosted some visiting African
companies. Representing another culture can mean depicting it
(from what position – equal or privileged?) or speaking for it (by
what right?). In the postcolonial world, engaging in either of these
activities is liable to arouse suspicions of cultural imperialism. By
braving these suspicions, the RSC provided an arena where these
important issues can be debated.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 94 25/02/2013 09:56

Julius Caesar 95
Image removed for copyright

reasons
I, Cinna (The Poet), written and directed by Tim Crouch for the
Royal Shakespeare Company at the Swan Theatre, Stratford-
upon-Avon Kathleen E. McLuskie
I knew this would be a special kind of show: the programme
folder was almost blank and I was given a tiny pencil so that I
could ‘Follow Cinna’s lead and write here’. Ah! This must be
theatre for people who would not be left alone to make what they
might of a play: we were going to be instructed and improved.
Shakespeare was going to be accessible and relevant. We would be
seeing great events, as we have done since T. S. Eliot’s Prufrock
and Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, from
the position of the bit parts and we would be expected to reflect
on their significance as we peered over Shakespeare’s shoulder.
Bit parts, of course, always make the most of their moment
on the stage and Jude Owusu certainly made the most of his 50
minutes of solo performance. He showed us a Cinna frightened
by street politics, troubled by bad dreams, hoping for freedom,
building a persuasive image of the possibility that words might
change the world. He was astonished to be part of history, angry
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 95 25/02/2013 09:56

at the lies and deception of politicians, sad that he could not write
of love and peace, and brave as he stepped out to play his part
in the main story. In the final sequence, when he imagined the
shades of Caesar and Brutus after his own death and spoke to the
invisible small-scale casualties of civil disturbance, he turned his
speech, overloaded as it was with Shakespeare quotations, into a
moving reflection on the unjust ironies of history.
All the way through, Owusu made the most of a script and
direction that cut him no slack: the play, apparently, gave him ‘the
chance to speak for himself and his poetry’, but it had to do so
much more. Cinna the poet owes his existence to Shakespeare’s
play so the script had to tell the off-stage story of Julius Caesar,
give voice to Cinna’s thoughts about his art, simplify the politics
of republican democracy and deliver inspiring messages about the
connection between writing and freedom. It was hard enough for
Owusu to switch styles from a matey encouragement of the young
audience’s writing to acting out the high drama of Caesar’s death:
it was impossible to make much of Cinna’s death when the actor
had to dodge round the set’s central door to play the roles of his
two attackers.
And why did Cinna have to go through the business of a comic
ritual reading a chicken’s entrails? To make the children squirm
at the blood? To create a moment of horror when the chicken was
found to lack a heart? To echo a generic version of Roman religion?
Or to reach for a symbolic resonance beyond the character and his
situation? Cinna’s action speeches always had to make a claim for
meaning. Language itself, as he explained in an elegant analogy,
followed the model of political divisions: conjunctions were the
‘little people’, nouns the citizens, adverbs the politicians and
abstractions the ‘danger words’. Like an overloaded curriculum,
or an ingenious critical essay, the play’s ideas worked its actor and
its audience a bit too hard.
The RSC has a terrific reputation for its educational work
based on the practice of the legendary Rex Gibson and Cis Berry.
Its principle of learning ‘on your feet’, feeling the connection
of words and action as a physical sensation, could have come in
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 96 25/02/2013 09:56

Julius Caesar 97
handy here. As it was, the words, the ideas and the action were
in pretty watertight compartments. The young audience was
assured that ‘we are all equal here’ and they were encouraged
to start some poems by writing random words on the folders
provided. But it was not long before the words made a sentence:
‘it must be by his death’. Even their writing opportunities were
structured like educational best-practice. They were given the
easy task of writing the name of their country, the harder task of
writing the name of our leader and then the open-ended task of
writing a word to describe him (adult laughter and a punch line:
‘did anyone write a bad word?’). The culmination was a silent
exam when the children had to write a poem while Cinna put on
his ‘dead’ make-up and intoned the passing minutes. It was all
good fun; we could send the results to a website; there were no
wrong answers. But is not that always what the teachers say?
For this afternoon, the Swan Theatre was a classroom where
the teacher had all the best lines and the children were astonish-
ingly co-operative and obedient. They wrote the words down
when asked, they shared their words with their neighbours while
waiting for one school group to return for the post-performance
discussion, and they offered back the abstractions, ‘the danger
words’, when asked what their important words were: ‘Power’,
‘War’, ‘Conspiracy’, the stuff of high-rated exam answers. The
children’s own questions, by contrast, showed how sharply they
had engaged with the play: why did Cinna think he was a coward?
Why did he have to die? Why did he not write about love anyway?
Why did you use a fake chicken? Motivation, narrative and theat-
ricality had caught their imagination in spite of the laboured
abstract analogies between poetic and political freedom.
The best of the RSC’s educational work never deals in
abstraction and never uses the stage as a platform or a pulpit. It
uses the creativity of teachers and the pupils themselves to explore
the plays in the best traditions of progressive pedagogy. When
the children do come to watch a play, they (and their attendant
adults) are inspired and delighted by such high points as the
2011 Little Angel puppet theatre The Tempest or the stunning
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 97 25/02/2013 09:56

Matilda the Musical, now in the West End. But that face-to-face,
physical, creative work is costly in teacher and pupil time and is
very difficult to scale up, though the company have done wonders
with their Lancasterian system of cascaded teacher training. This
show, by contrast, will be video-streamed into schools – thank
you, Cisco systems and the Joint Academic Network (Janet).
That may mean that more children experience an RSC perfor-
mance than ever before; it may be an effective use of the kit that
has been a priority for school funding over the last decade; it
may give some teachers learning resources to supplement their
own creativity. However it returns us to the teacher-knows-best
learning that some of us hoped had disappeared forever. The
children may end up knowing more repeatable information but I
wonder if they will be moved to writing or action beyond the set
classroom tasks or even to thinking independently about why they
should care about Cinna the poet.
King John
Directed by Tigran Gasparyan for the Gabriel Sundukyan National
Academic Theatre (Yerevan, Armenia) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Georgie Lucas
‘By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings’ (2.1.373),
so rails King John’s Bastard: ‘Turn thou the mouth of thy
artillery,/As we will ours, against these saucy walls’ (2.1.403–4).
Tigran Nersisyan’s maniacal ranting for the Gabriel Sundukyan
National Academic Theatre’s Armenian production of King John
was surtitled rather more prosaically: we were informed that the
Bastard was disturbed by the prospect of peace, but we were not
told why. The frothy aggression with which Nersisyan delivered
his lines was dissipated, however, by laughter and applause from
the Globe’s yard. Visibly surprised by the interruption, Nersisyan
broke character: ‘Thanks’, he said, as the decimation of Angiers
became a by-word for situational comedy.
This was a very clappy audience. The production, framed with
the arrival of the actors, suited in their low-key browns, blacks
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 98 25/02/2013 09:56

King John 99
and greys, and carrying the battered travelling trunks that would
later provide the production with its set (and Angiers with its
artillery), and plenty of booze, was doubly reminiscent of a troupe
of travelling players and of a heaving immigration port. As the
13-strong ensemble, ably supported by three musicians playing
the clarinet, guitar and Armenian flute, the duduk, prepared
self-consciously to assume their roles, the applause was almost
oppressive; as the production waded through its first 30 minutes,
I started to wonder if the audience was on commission. I do not
normally find applause disconcerting, but this King John did not
seem to warrant such undiluted approbation; the kind of blind
approval in which the shift in tone accompanying the threat of
wholesale and bloody annihilation becomes so garbled that it
elicits applause.
It is perhaps unfair to cite the play-text: they were not the
lines spoken, nor the lines displayed on the surtitle board; they
were certainly not what was understood by the audience. But
Shakespeare’s lines are integral to the translation that the World
Shakespeare Festival in general, and Globe to Globe in particular,
necessitate. In this instance, the play, presumably rendered into
a literal or proximal Armenian translation, was accompanied by
discursive English surtitles. Twice-removed from the play-text,
through language difference and surtitle board, Shakespeare’s
text was later, partially, reinstated by the abridged play-text that
provides The Space 50 with their sub-titles. The Bastard’s ‘thanks’
– a return to English at a moment of audience misapprehension –
complicated these processes.
Explorations of these complexities have been dismissed, by
some, as mean-spirited. Director of the World Shakespeare
Festival, Deborah Shaw, has voiced her concern that reviewers
are not ‘getting it’, that any Shakespeare production can be
understood more accurately as an adaptation or appropriation.51
Within the Festival, however, was a range of different produc-
tions, each of which probed the boundaries of adaptation in its
own way and deserved to be taken on its own terms. Indeed,
the Festival seemed to be predicated on (at least) two hackneyed
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 99 25/02/2013 09:56

cultural commonplaces: the first, that Shakespeare’s appeal, as

the ‘world’s playwright’ is universal; and the second, that ‘he
hath the tongues’ (Much Ado 5.1.163) so expressive that his
texts can be easily transmitted to, and understood, in multiple
languages, by multiple audiences and through multiple media. It
is not that I think that Shakespeare cannot be translated, nor that
I find his drama unappealing or elitist; as many of the Festival’s
productions attested, watching Shakespeare without one of his
DNA markers – his language – can be liberating, enriching
and provocative. But when notions of his universality and of a
Shakespearean lingua franca are uncritically over-stated, when a
production jars, or when the surtitles do not seem to be stable
indicators of meaning, it becomes harder to distinguish between
what you are actually seeing and what you are actually listening
to: this is, and is not, the Bastard. Instead, a banal Bardolatry
is summoned, as Shakespeare, the Festival and the production
become a fragmented, Babylonian mass, a confusion of tongues.
For King John, its translation from a history play into a
kind of burlesque (tragi-)comedy, accompanied by inadequate
or misleading surtitles, resulted in: Nelly Kheranyan’s tedious,
witch-like Eleanor, whose state of desiccation made it hard to
believe that this particular blend of fishwife and spectre was ‘a
soldier and now bound for France’ (1.1.150); Liana Arestakyan’s
singularly vampish Blanche; a one-dimensional Bastard whose
transition from Faulconbridge to illegitimacy was never properly
accounted for; and a weirdly loud King John (Armen Marutyan).
Finally, given that the Festival’s guidelines did not preclude
the casting of children, what was the justification for the adult
Arthur? ‘O boy, then where art thou?’ (2.2.34); what does become
of Constance? In many ways the lynchpin to King John’s action,
Arthur is years shy of his majority and the main conflict is
advanced in his name. His eye-gouging at Hubert’s hands is
averted by his persuasively ‘innocent prate’ (4.1.25) and his long
drop to death is the result of a disastrous, but altogether juvenile,
miscalculation that the ‘[g]ood ground’ would ‘be pitiful and
hurt’ him not (4.3.2). In this production, Gnel Ulikhanyan’s
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 100 25/02/2013 09:56

King John 101
wine-swilling Arthur was not worth the coil made for him (cf.
2.1.165); this, and similar textual deviations, needed more justifi-
cation than could be offered by the surtitle board.
As the actors concertinaed back into their pre-show roles, and
as the audience continued theirs of noisy admiration, it seemed
that there were two distinct processes at play: emotional reactions
to the Festival as a totalizing whole, and evaluative responses
to individual productions. The overwhelmingly celebratory
and congratulatory atmosphere of Globe to Globe seemed to
guarantee King John a happy reception by association, but,
for me, this King John with its Bastard and his ‘thanks’, were
symbolic of the some of the Festival’s taboos, and I could not so
easily take his ‘thanks’, a Bastard’s ‘thanks’, ‘[t]o make a more
requital’ of my ‘love’ (2.1.34).
Directed by Maria Aberg for the Royal Shakespeare Company at

the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon Will Sharpe
The stage was set. The stage was carpeted. The carpet was ugly.
The plants were potted. The balloons were netted (the balloons
were later released). The chandelier was art-deco (still not sure
why). The lights were bright. The costumes were catwalk rococo.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 101 25/02/2013 09:56

The King was a raffish stud. The Bastard was a woman. The
Bastard was also Hubert. The predictions were dire. The opinions
were split. The people were leaving in disgust.
If so, then the people were wrong. On the evidence of the
audience size on the night I saw it – admittedly a Monday – there
may have been some truth to the walkout rumours. King John is
Shakespeare’s political sleaze play, and 2012’s Cultural Olympiad
is predominantly about emphasizing the Shakespearean now.
Pictures of David Cameron and Barack Obama in the programme,
along with a now slightly dated image of a group of protesters
literally figuring Bush as a corporate puppet dallied by sponsors,
seemed to confirm alliance to this trend. Yet Maria Aberg’s
production pulled away from such brisk topicalities, drawing its
overriding energy from a very canny grasp of the play’s experi-
mental oddities as a disturbing fantasy of legitimacy and the abuses
of power, rather than a lucid depiction of recognizable events.
Pippa Nixon’s Bastard/Hubert composite started by trying to
rouse us with a sing-along ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ on a ukulele.
Just in case we needed our elbows jogged, a neon sign, rear
stage, reading ‘For God and England’ was revealed post-interval
while P. J. Harvey’s ‘Let England Shake’ played the curtain call
out. A pink-suited Chatillon – the French all pastel shades and
composed swaggers straight out of a Stella Artois advert – was
then received by John’s retinue in this Marriott-style conference
room, bespeaking the cheap, three-star grabs at decadence that
are the hallmark of the grubbing, aspirant, middle-class local
politician, all off-the-rack cocktail dresses, dowdy suits and
champagne flutes. Alex Waldmann’s John was a notable exception
at the centre, dressed in a variety of outfits throughout the night,
all of which made him look roughly, in review shorthand, like
a member of Kings of Leon (skinny jeans, wifebeater, boots,
spangly suit jackets). This was no weedy mummy’s boy, but a
smouldering, hedonistic seducer; one unusual clinch between
him and Siobhan Redmond’s Eleanor seemed to suggest in fact
that even his mother wanted his hands not so much on her apron
strings as at the zip of her dress.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 102 25/02/2013 09:56

King John 103
The hotel aesthetic was consistent with a powerful technique

throughout of bringing remote and unfamiliar settings and
experiences into recognizable contexts. It seemed less like inter-
national power brokering than like a family wedding gone horribly
wrong. The wedding theme came to the surface with Louis
(Oscar Pearce) and Blanche’s (Natalie Klamar) nuptials played
out as a garish party, Waldmann’s John taking to the same mic
he had used to address the citizens of Angiers to serenade the
newlyweds with Dionne Warwick’s ‘Say A Little Prayer’. This
evolved into a full-cast chorus and shifted into Bill Medley and
Jennifer Warnes’s ‘(I Had) The Time of My Life’, complete with
Dirty Dancing number. Its gift to the play was in showing, in this
fleshing out of what are textually off-stage revels, that no matter
how influential people become, they still just want to drink, dance
and degenerate, ideally at the right parties, when they get there.
After parties, of course, come mornings after, and one of
the triumphs of the production was in its gradual accretion of
signs of past merriment (paper hats, party poppers, champagne
bottles, confetti), trodden into the carpets and littering the
emptying rooms John finds himself in as the world comes down
around him, leading up to and following Arthur’s death. The
moving scene between Arthur and Susie Trayling’s Constance,
as Salisbury tried to summon them back to the throng, showed
this childish world of adult hedonism was no place for an actual
child to be. Neither did this seem a world in which religion had
any genuine purchase, and Paola Dionisotti’s Pandulph, looking
like a slightly superannuated Anna Wintour, fostered the visual
impression that excommunication from Rome meant no invites
to fashion week, a far more painful exclusion to the numb of soul.
The aforementioned balloons were released, along with a
veritable explosion of tickertape, which strewed the theatre at
the second coronation scene post-interval. As we know, crowns
in Shakespeare tend to make islands of men, and fragile, mortal
men of kings, and this torrent of confetti covering an empty room
served potently to show that the gloss had really come off John’s
party pizzazz by now. Another musical number from the Bastard
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 103 25/02/2013 09:56

inaugurated the second half, Nixon this time singing Baltimore

hipster folk-rock duo Wye Oak’s song ‘Civilian’. Perhaps inconse-
quently, perhaps interestingly, it contains the lyrics ‘I am nothing
without a man’, though perhaps those about keeping baby teeth
in the bedside drawer reiterated the play’s sadnesses surrounding
children (either infanticide or the yearning to go back – ‘mother
dead’? [4.2.127]).
Either way, it was striking how much recorded music – songs
recognizable in their original form rather than played live – was
used in this production, showing a David Chase-esque (creator
of The Sopranos) discernment in playlists as well as his atten-
tiveness to their potential for use as Greek chorus. ‘Within me
is a hell’, grimaces John as the poison takes hold, a hell shown
brilliantly – again made familiar through an everyday, of-the-
body strategy – by Waldmann dancing wildly to Frankie Valli’s
‘Beggin’’ before collapsing in a heap as the small cluster of scenes
preceding it played out as a mad cacophony from the galleries.
Cradled in the Bastard’s arms, in a setting familiar to many a
Sunday morning cleaner, ‘this England’ contained little to entice
the proud foot of a conqueror. This was a bold and brilliant
production, tempered by an intelligent critical distance from
Aberg, both in theorizing the play and in applying performance
methods to tell the story she saw.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 104 25/02/2013 09:56

King Lear 105
King Lear

reasons
Directed by Vladimir Shcherban for Belarus Free Theatre (Minsk,

Belarus and no fixed abode) at Shakespeare’s Globe Sonia Massai
From the moment Aleh Sidorchik’s Lear stepped onto the Globe
stage, donning a long leather coat and an iron gauntlet, to the
closing sequence, when he re-entered, a broken man, mourning
the death of his daughter Cordelia, this fast-paced, action-packed
production struck me as breathtakingly original. Sidorchik’s
Lear was more obviously an autocratic patriarch than a powerful
king and the production more generally was less interested in
exploring the public consequences of Lear’s decision to divide
his kingdom than the tragic impact of despotic power on inter-
personal relationships. Goneril (Yana Rusakevich) and Regan
(MarynaYurevich), clearly the victims of an abusive father, pleased
Lear by performing an erotically charged dancing routine, while
Cordelia (Hanna Slatvinskaya), who camped up her performance
and ended by mooning her father, misjudged his intentions and
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 105 25/02/2013 09:56

his reaction. Lear rewarded his elder daughters with a kiss on

the lips and wet soil, which he grabbed with his bare hands from
an old pram and dropped into their skirts. Goneril and Cordelia
looked heavily pregnant as they hugged the soil inside their
skirts and held it close to their stomachs. While some reviewers
found the sexual quality of Lear’s relationship with his daughters
gratuitous, I thought that it worked well because it drove home
the point that despotism had turned him into an abusive, jealous
father. This trait in Lear’s character was reinforced by the casting
of a young female actor to play France as a crippled old man.
Male nudity, which became a bit of a recurrent motif during
the World Shakespeare Festival, was also effectively used in this
production. Edgar, the rich, spoilt and dope-smoking heir to
Gloucester’s fortunes, who is forced to go into hiding and ends up
roaming the country-side, homeless, hungry and covered in his
own excrement, is completely naked, and fittingly so, when Lear
addresses him as a ‘poor, bare, forked animal’ (3.4.105–6) straight
after the storm. It seemed equally appropriate that Lear should
also take off all his clothes after his first meeting with Edgar
disguised as Poor Tom, both because so much in Shakespeare’s
own language and imagery revolves around the king’s decision
to ‘divest’ (1.1.49) himself of the trappings of power and because
this production repeatedly relied on simple but arresting visual
signs to convey complex meanings. Most memorable was the use
of a blue tarpaulin to recreate the effects of the storm on Lear’s
raging mind. The noise of the tarpaulin, manually shaken by a
few stage hands, was surprisingly deafening and overwhelming.
The driving rain was also simply but effectively simulated when
a bucket of water was thrown at Lear as he negotiated, unsteadily,
his way across the tarpaulin. The spray that made Lear’s progress
even harder reached halfway through the yard and some of the
groundlings got to experience this company’s rough theatrical
magic first-hand. I was less impressed when a red tarpaulin was
used to stage the battle scenes towards the end of the play, simply
because even the most original and effective of stage images tend
to lose their power when used more than once within the same
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 106 25/02/2013 09:56

King Lear 107
production. Exceptionally, though, when Lear re-entered in the

final scene pushing the same pram that had featured so promi-
nently in the opening sequence, this time laden with Cordelia’s
corpse, a powerful visual connection was established between the
wet soil that Lear had used to reward his elder daughters after the
love test and the dead body of his youngest daughter, thus linking
Lear’s moral blindness and its tragic consequences.
Cordelia’s execution was equally powerful and showed that
even graphic violence was never gratuitous in this production.
Interestingly, Gloucester’s blinding, one of the most violent
sequences in Shakespeare, was toned-down and signified by the
swift placing of glasses with dark red lenses over Gloucester’s
eyes, while Cordelia’s hanging, which takes place off-stage in
Shakespeare, was performed onstage. Cordelia’s murder became
an agonizingly long sequence, where Edmund’s thuggish servants
coldly lifted Cordelia to a noose hanging from the roof over
the Globe stage and let her drop to her death, before casually
disposing of her body. In a production that was fiercely political
without being topical, the manner of Cordelia’s death was
probably the closest extra-dramatic reference to the violence
and summary executions inflicted by Lukashenko’s regime on
dissident detainees in Belarus. Cordelia’s death, even more so
than in Shakespeare, seemed here to suggest the devastation
brought about by despotic power and by the failure to grant one’s
subjects, or even our loved ones, dignity and freedom.
The stark realization that redemption was beyond Lear’s
grasp made his attempts to revive Cordelia in the final scene
heart-rending. Generations of readers and critics have described
the ending in King Lear as so unbearable as to be dramatically
indecorous. It is therefore hardly surprising that Nahum Tate’s
Restoration adaptation, where Cordelia survives, should have
replaced Shakespeare’s version for roughly 150 years on the
London stage. The Belarusians struck a good balance between
eliciting the audience’s sympathy for Lear and stressing his
political and moral responsibility, but the type of sympathy I
experienced was quite different from the cathartic relief prompted
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 107 25/02/2013 09:56

by the mode of mournful meditation and the grandiloquence that

have become associated with how the ending in King Lear is
traditionally staged in the West. The ending in this production, as
much as its overall tone and register, was fiercely political but not
unemotional. The very fact that this company, whose founding
members are dissidents forced to live in exile, performed King
Lear in Belarusian was an act of resistance since Russian is the
only official language that can be legally spoken in Belarus under
Lukashenko’s despotic regime. Their superb acting and the
clarity of their artist vision, coupled with an awareness of the
extreme circumstances under which this company operates, filled
me with a deep sense of respect and admiration for their work,
a bright beacon in the darkness of real-life political oppression.

reasons
Directed by Michael Attenborough for the Almeida Theatre, London

Sonia Massai
Having sat through the first few minutes of Attenborough’s
production of King Lear at the Almeida, I found myself thinking
just how different it looked and sounded from the production of
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 108 25/02/2013 09:56

King Lear 109
the same play staged by the Belarus Free Theatre at the Globe a
few months earlier. Following the guidelines issued by the Globe
to Globe Festival organizers, the Belarusians used only simple
props and no setting, and managed to create a stunning piece of
physical theatre. Attenborough’s cast, which included Jonathan
Pryce in the lead role, was instead constantly surrounded by the
sturdy walls of a medieval castle, which remained visible even
during the long outdoor scenes in the second half of the play. The
soundscapes in these two productions were also very different.
The distancing effect of the translation into Belarusian, along
with the absence of recorded music or sound effects, turned King
Lear into a raw but intense theatrical experience, which seemed
perfectly suited to the acting space offered by an open-air amphi-
theatre like the Globe. The intimate indoor space shared by actors
and audience at the Almeida was instead filled by sophisticated
light and sound effects and by the beautifully calibrated voices
of the cast, who spoke the familiar English text of Shakespeare’s
play precisely, clearly, almost reverentially, as an act of worship
or collective remembrance of the common values associated with
Lear’s journey of emotional discovery. Even more obviously,
while the Belarus Free Theatre’s production of King Lear was
thoroughly embedded in the context of an international festival,
nothing at the Almeida or in the programme signalled that this
King Lear had also been advertised as one of the many offerings
under the auspices of the World Shakespeare Festival. Directed
by the Almeida’s own artistic director since 2002, this Lear was
an in-house production through and through.
And yet, as Attenborough’s production progressed, I started to
notice interesting similarities with the Belarusian King Lear. The
set, for example, was as substantial and imposing as one would
expect it to be in a production where the fictive world of the play
is realistically evoked. The sturdy brick walls curving around the
small stage at the Almeida clearly suggested the gloomy courtyard
of a medieval castle. However, they also matched the structure,
colour and texture of the theatre’s back walls, thus blurring
the distinction between the dramatic fiction and the theatrical
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 109 25/02/2013 09:56

trappings underpinning it, as often happens in performance

spaces like the Globe, where the stage and the theatre are visible
at all times.
Even more crucially, it soon became apparent that Pryce’s take
on Lear was very similar to Aleh Sidorchik’s portrayal of the King
as a violent and abusive autocrat in the Belarusian production.
Though doting and benign, Lear suddenly and unexpectedly
kissed his daughters on the mouth after their profession of
unconditional filial devotion during the love test at the beginning
of the play. The seemingly white, middle-class audience who filled
the theatre when I saw this production was clearly familiar with
the play, judging from the way key moments were punctuated
by impeccably timed murmuring or laughter. Having sat in rapt
admiration up to this point, the audience seemed to shudder and
to hold its breath in quietly outraged disbelief. Were these inces-
tuous kisses a mere slip from a well-established staging tradition,
within which the old king is sympathetically portrayed, and which
the polished, conventional qualities of this production refer-
enced from the start? Other equally startling details in the stage
action that followed suggested otherwise. When, for example,
Goneril (Zoe Waites) complained that the loutish behaviour
of Lear’s knights made her house seem ‘more like a tavern or
a brothel/Than a graced palace’ (1.4.236–7), her aggravation
seemed justified by the fact that, on entering the stage as if
coming straight back from hunting, two of Lear’s knights hung
a dead deer from one of the arched doorways in the castle walls
and then proceeded to bleed it, while others harassed one of her
female servants. Pryce’s Lear, instantly enraged by his daughter’s
suggestion that he should reduce the number of knights in his
retinue, first cursed Goneril in what seemed like a particularly
vicious and prolonged verbal attack, and then forced a violent
kiss on her lips before pushing her away as he stormed off stage.
Goneril tried to enlist her husband’s support by delivering her
line ‘Do you mark that?’ as a plea, but a visibly older Albany
(Richard Hope) refused to acknowledge her as a victim and
replied coldly and dispassionately ‘I cannot be so partial, Goneril’
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 110 25/02/2013 09:56

King Lear 111
(1.4.303–4). Goneril’s response to Albany’s discovery of her illicit

liaison with Edmund in the final scene of the play – ‘the laws are
mine, not thine./Who can arraign me for’t?’ (5.3.156–7) – thus
acquired new resonance.
While Attenborough’s take on Goneril and Regan (Jenny
Jules) as the victims of a sexually abusive father was consistent
and effective throughout, the tension that this reading created
in the second half of the play, when Lear normally becomes
more sympathetic, seemed to remain ultimately unresolved. Two
superb performances by Clive Wood as the Earl of Gloucester
and Trevor Fox as a sharp, witty Fool (Fox’s broad Northern
accent added warmth and charm to his extraordinary eloquence)
helped the audience re-direct their sympathy towards Pryce’s
Lear, whose initial moral blindness and brutality were also at
least partly redeemed by the sense of rediscovered self-awareness
he gained on his way to Dover. However, the emphasis that Pryce
placed on Lear’s misogyny as he bantered with Gloucester in Act
4 showed that his character was still affected by the contempt
that generally underlies sexual abuse. Pryce linked the smell of
mortality, which he graphically tried to wipe off his fingers, to
the female sexual genitals, ‘the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding’
(4.6.124–5), which he had also obscenely mimed a couple of lines
earlier. This production’s commitment to exploring the roots of
Lear’s despotism as a father more than as a king was interest-
ingly foregrounded in the programme: three headings, ‘truth’,
‘gender’, and ‘nature’, introduced a selection of quotations from
the play, but only ‘gender’ was glossed by an explanatory note,
where the play was described as ‘dominated by power-oriented
masculinity’. Though a far cry from Jane Smiley’s A Thousand
Acres, this production offered a similarly radical re-reading of
Lear’s character, which turned out to be uncannily similar to
the sexually abusive Lear portrayed by Aleh Sidorchik in the
Belarusian production. However, unlike the latter, where the
loss of Shakespeare’s language allowed the company to refocus
the play on issues that resonated with their own experience of
homelessness at the hands of a despotic regime, Pryce’s Lear
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 111 25/02/2013 09:56

struggled to secure the audience’s sympathy as he approached the

tragic ending precisely because this production had not presented
itself as an overt adaptation and had therefore at least partly
failed to manage the audience’s expectations as to what type of
production they were going to see.
Love’s Labour’s Lost

reasons
Directed by Paula Garfield for Deafinitely Theatre (London, UK)

at Shakespeare’s Globe Stephen Purcell
As the audience awaited what had been advertised as the first ever
fully adapted British Sign Language production of Shakespeare,
the Globe was filled with a unique kind of visual noise. All around
me, audience members were signing enthusiastically to friends
and acquaintances across the full breadth of the auditorium,
between the yard and the galleries. This unfocused excitement
spilled over into the opening scene of Deafinitely Theatre’s Love’s
Labour’s Lost, in which the whole cast of ten, and five musicians,
played out a five-minute-long drunken ceilidh. I found myself
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 112 25/02/2013 09:56

Love’s Labour’s Lost 113
uncertain as to where, precisely, I was supposed to direct my

attention.
Once the actors started to sign Shakespeare’s text, however,
this problem all but disappeared. I am not at all literate in BSL,
but I found the signing remarkably easy to follow – largely,
I suspect, because it was a mixture of pure BSL and generic
comic pantomime (a colleague informed me afterwards that
miming a voluptuous hourglass figure is certainly not BSL
for ‘woman’). The medium lent itself very naturally to highly
physical performances: Matthew Gurney’s Berowne mimed being
violently pelted in the stocks as he described the prospect of
‘public shame’, for example, and he physically impersonated the
Princess and her father when he narrated their back story. David
Sands’s Costard, meanwhile, signed with the chaotic energy of a
silent movie clown, constantly bending towards the audience and
gesticulating wildly.
Deafinitely Theatre’s focus was generally on narrative rather
than poetry. In an item for the British Sign Language Broadcasting
Trust’s television programme The Hub, director Paula Garfield
explained how she and her team had devised the adaptation:
assistant director Andrew Muir had adapted Shakespeare’s script
into modern English, and creative interpreter Kate Furby had
then translated Muir’s script into BSL. Garfield argued that
previous attempts to do Shakespeare in BSL had failed because
interpreters had ‘got too bogged down in trying to translate
each old English word’, and that her team had decided that ‘the
content and the meaning was the main thing’.52
The company found some inventive ways of adapting Love’s
Labour’s Lost’s more distinctively verbal elements into visual
language. While they seem to have admitted defeat on the
tortuous linguistic play of Sir Nathaniel and Holofernes – the
former character was cut entirely, and the latter reduced to a
fraction of his usual role – they conveyed the play’s various
distinctive idiolects with great clarity. Adam Bassett’s Don
Armado, for example, adopted a Spanish ‘accent’ by using florid,
over-extended, Flamenco-style gestures (to the accompaniment
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 113 25/02/2013 09:56

of Spanish music, for the benefit of hearing audience members).

When Boyet (Brian Duffy) read out Armado’s letter in 4.1, he
nodded to the musicians, and then he, too, adopted the ‘Spanish-
accented’ BSL – to a small round of applause. A similar use of
music and physicality conveyed the Lords’ disguises as ‘Russians’
later in the play.
The production’s translation of Shakespeare’s wordplay
was one of its most remarkable achievements. As the Ladies
mocked the Lords, and the Lords mocked one another, the
company developed a style of repeating, exaggerating, satirizing
and mutating each other’s gestures in order to expose their
artificiality. Rosaline (Charly Arrowsmith) and Berowne’s conver-
sations maintained the stichomythic structure of Shakespeare’s
script: both actors picked up on each other’s gestures and
subverted their meanings in arch, rapid-fire exchanges. Boyet
and Costard, meanwhile, easily conveyed the text’s sexual puns by
repeating ‘innocent’ gestures and transforming them into cruder
ones (memorably, Costard mimed turning Boyet’s testicles into
bowling balls).
The style was, on the whole, very broad. Costumes were
colourful and carnivalesque, with more than a hint of the fancy-
dress shop: Stephen Collins’s Ferdinand and Nadia Nadarajah’s
Princess wore glittering top hats, while Donna Mullings’s Moth
had bright purple hair. There was a great deal of audience
involvement from the start – one actor mimed being desperate for
a drink, and a groundling passed him up a pint – and performers
entered and exited through the audience throughout, inter-
acting all the way. The active use of facial expression is of course
central to BSL, but even so, the cast’s tendency was towards
exaggeration; this meant that sometimes nuance was lost. The live
musical accompaniment which underscored the whole perfor-
mance was highly evocative, but had the tendency occasionally to
flatten a whole scene into a single ‘mood’.
The final scene, however, moved the play into another register
entirely. As the anarchic pageant of the Nine Worthies reached its
comic climax, one of the musicians interrupted it by walking to
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 114 25/02/2013 09:56

Macbeth 115
the centre of the stage to deliver the news of the death of the King
of France. Following this, Don Armado performed the ‘Poem
of Spring and Winter’ in a style which demonstrated the poetic
potential of Shakespeare in BSL. To musical accompaniment, he
mimed a series of emblems of spring: blossoming flowers, pollen
flowing in the breeze, a cuckoo and more. Halfway through, the
Princess joined in, then Rosaline, and then other cast members,
until – with the onset of winter – the whole company was
enacting the torrential snow of a blizzard, and shivering in the
cold. Armado finished the poem, and the evening’s performance,
by miming a single green shoot emerging from the ground. In
its simplicity and its emotional power, it was an extraordinary
moment.
Macbeth
Directed by Maja Kleczewska for Teatr im. Kochanowskiego

(Opole, Poland) at Shakespeare’s Globe Paul Prescott
Halfway through Maja Kleczewska’s production I was struck
by the thought that Poland, home to this Macbeth and to one of
the richest and most serious theatre cultures on the planet, is
the same country that, in the late nineteenth century, gave the
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 115 25/02/2013 09:56

world Esperanto. Esperanto, kiel ĉiu scias/as everyone knows, is

a ‘constructed international auxiliary language’, that is a lingua
franca devised to allow communication between people with
different native tongues.
What has this got to do with last night at the Globe? Well,
director Kleczewska is clearly interested in problems of language
and self-expression and I’m intrigued by the extent to which
this production, while performed in Polish, also spoke a kind of
theatrical Esperanto, offering an accessible mash-up of familiar
signifiers to an international audience more or less well-equipped
to decode and enjoy them.
This production was fluent in the sub-branch of stage
Esperanto that we might affectionately call EuroShakespearean.
EuroShakespearean productions will tend to include some
combination of the following: transvestitism, simulated sex, binge
boozing, karaoke, ghettoblasters, grubby furniture, tracksuits,
flip-flops, unexciting underpants, leather jackets, sunglasses,
sexual violence, techno-techno-techno, narcosis, nudity and, for a
finale, some more karaoke. (As if one did not get enough of all this
at home!) Anyway, you get the idea, and if you still do not, have a
look at the trailer on YouTube.53
Demotic, disillusioned, anti-heroic and shop-soiled, this is
Shakespeare as many continental Europeans directors have liked
him for some time. Or rather, perhaps this is what the New
Europe looks and smells like – the air does not nimbly and sweetly
recommend itself unto our gentle senses but rather hangs mephitic
and heavy with vodka, sweat and kitsch. Pop culture is every-
where, as are borrowings from e.g. Lynch, Almodóvar, Tarantino
and Lukas Moodysson. (The latter’s impressively repellent A
Hole in My Heart [2004], released earlier in the year this Macbeth
premiered, might well have been a pungent influence.) At times,
the staging aspires to the concentrated montage effects of well-
produced, slightly arty mainstream music videos.
And yet, and yet … I have stressed what the production
has in common with wider trends in postmodern staging and
culture, but this is to ignore the topical, specific force it must
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 116 25/02/2013 09:56

Macbeth 117
have had for the audience when it premiered in 2004. Alongside

the apparently accessible signifiers listed above were points of
reference lost on a non-Polish audience or even perhaps lost on a
non-2004 + non-Polish audience. As my colleague Tony Howard
helpfully described in the comments section under Michael
Billington’s online Guardian review, this was a production that
used Shakespeare’s play to mount a bold and vivid response to
some very troubling trends, including gangsterism, greed and
homophobia, in post-communist Poland.54
When the production premiered, one reviewer wrote of his
fear that ‘the evil would cross the footlights and mess with your
head’. Many aspects of last night were indeed mood-altering
(which I take it is what we go to the theatre for) and I was deeply
impressed by the force of the central performances. The show was
at its best – for me – when Judyta Paradzinska and Michal Majnicz
were given the run of the stage: their acting was passionate, bold,
committed and precise. When Lady M’s inert body was brought
to her husband, he cradled her in his arms in a touching moment
Shakespeare failed to give us but which had a visceral dramatic
payoff when he stumbled and danced her body around the stage
in a hopeless attempt to reanimate it. (Romeo does the same
with Juliet’s corpse at the end of Macmillan’s choreography of
Prokofiev’s ballet.) Here, even the regrettable, pseudo-cinematic
decision to blast out that ubiquitous theme from the film Requiem
for a Dream (and Britain’s Got Talent) could not detract from the
raw beauty of the staging.
Macbeth tends to work its magic when produced with a
sustained, even hallucinogenic intensity. But last night, with the
almost constant presence of the drag queens and the regular and
very self-conscious tonal shifts, it was as if the Porter were coming
on every few minutes. Tension was repeatedly, perhaps systemati-
cally defused. Another reviewer of the original production wrote
approvingly that it was ‘like watching the best action film’ but
that kind of experience was impossible in this revival: any pseudo-
cinematic production designed for the controlled conditions of
an end-on, indoor theatre and then transplanted to this venue is
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 117 25/02/2013 09:56

liable to be upstaged, downstaged and off-staged, as it were, by

the volatile dynamics of the Globe.
No British director with any ambition to work the Globe-
RSC-National axis would allow or push themselves to make this
type of theatre on a regular basis (although Rupert Goold, of
course, flirts with e.g. karaoke and pop culture) and it cannot
be overstressed that it is particularly great to see it at the Globe.
This is the kind of Shakespeare production that offends the Daily
Mail and for that reason alone it should be celebrated. (Sam
Wanamaker, for one, would have approved.) But – to change my
opening metaphor from language to money – if this is €uroShake-
speare, legal tender across most of the Continent, especially on
the festival circuit, how do we decide its value in any one location?
And was its heyday in the 1990s or 2000s? And is this fledgling
analogy mortally wounded by the fact that Poland has its own
currency?!
I’m troubled by lots of other questions. What was the meaning
of having that gay anthem, Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’,
punctuating the action, most meaningfully overscoring the very
abrupt mass slaughter of Macbeth at the end? Was the moral –
compounded by the decision to make the Macduff children two
little girls – that this was a culture that annihilated women, but
that men and the bonds between them (whether of hatred or love)
would indeed survive? And does an audience really need to see
Lady Macduff being raped to know how wicked are the ways of
men and where its moral sympathies should lie?
2008: Macbeth, directed by Grzegorz Jarzyna for the TR

Warszawa (Warsaw, Poland) at the Edinburgh International
Festival, Lowland Hall, Edinburgh Aneta Mancewicz
War was the main protagonist. Its appearance in 2008: Macbeth
(TR Warszawa) was made disturbingly familiar through refer-
ences to the invasion of Iraq, action movies and computer games.
Performed at the Royal Highland Centre, Grzegorz Jarzyna’s
staging was one of the highlights of the Edinburgh International
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 118 25/02/2013 09:56

Macbeth 119
Festival in 2012. Although the production was shown in a trimmed

format compared to its earlier version, 2007: Macbeth, it has still
stirred discussion among viewers and critics about the aims and
boundaries of Shakespearean appropriation.
Jarzyna’s adaptation of Macbeth used several approaches to
staging Shakespeare that have become popular in the last decades;
it updated the setting and the language, it rearranged and reduced
the plot, and it incorporated new scenes and references. The
events evolved in a Middle Eastern location suggestive of wartime
Iraq. The political context was crucial for this production; it
premiered in 2005 in a munitions factory in Warsaw that exported
weapons to Iraq where Polish troops were stationed. Jarzyna used
a modern translation by Stanisław Barańczak and extensively
adapted it, alluding to war film jargon (such as the line ‘Scotland
52 landed’) and computer games (the recurrent automated
answer, ‘Yes, Sir!’). As Shakespeare’s dialogues and soliloquies
were reduced to a terse military idiom, the action moved rapidly
from one murder to another.
The scenario had a circular structure, which was reminiscent
of repetitive power struggles within Shakespeare’s history plays,
defined by Jan Kott as the Grand Mechanism. The performance
opened with a film-like sequence in which Macbeth (Cezary
Kosiński) defied the orders of Duncan (Mirosław Zbrojewicz),
and, instead of returning to the military base, ambushed and
beheaded Macdonwald’s accomplice Ryazan (Karan Bhopal) in a
high-risk commando raid. The production closed with Macduff
(Michał Żurawski) cutting off Macbeth’s head, which Malcolm
(Piotr Głowacki) triumphantly showed to the audience.
What distinguished this staging from other recent versions
of Macbeth, including Maja Kleczewska’s sexually charged
adaptation at the Globe to Globe Festival, was the ingenious
merging of modern media and genres. The performance was a
mixture of a horror movie, a war thriller and a gory computer
game. The action developed in a two-storey building whose great
size and grim appearance trapped and downscaled the actors (set
design by Stephanie Nelson and Agnieszka Zawadowska). The
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 119 25/02/2013 09:56

edifice was divided into five areas that could be lit up separately
or darkened, allowing for swift changes of scenes (lightning
design by Jacqueline Sobiszewski). The action unfolded through
a cinematic montage rather than a theatrical flow. Furthermore,
the division into several spaces evoked the scenario of early
role-playing games, in which the players move between rooms
and levels. The analogy suggested that the protagonists might
not have been fully in charge of their actions. They were not
independent individuals, but figures in a virtual environment
where they were being played rather than playing.
References to modern media were introduced not only through
the set, but also through the cinematic use of sound throughout
the performance (music by Abel Korzeniowski, Jacek Grudzień
and Piotr Domiński), as well as through multiple screens and
projections (video design by Bartek Macias). The projections
gave the audience a closer view of the relationships between the
characters and their emotions. At critical moments in the plot,
the protagonists appeared in close-ups. When Lady Macbeth
(Aleksandra Konieczna) urged her husband to murder Duncan,
her enlarged image appeared on the wall, while Macbeth was
nervously pacing next to it, deliberating his decision. The scene
provided a powerful visualization of Lady Macbeth’s overblown
ego, dominating and menacing Macbeth. By analogy, during the
‘unsex me’ speech, the heroine stood in front of the projection of
Macbeth, whose image and words stirred up her cruelty.
Apart from mixing live and recorded imagery, 2008: Macbeth
incorporated the cinematic medium through spectacular effects.
Jarzyna’s adaptation abounded in elements evocative of war
thrillers, such as pyrotechnic stunts, military combats and
the landing of helicopters represented with the use of lights
and sounds. These effects were interspersed with moments
reminiscent of horror movies, such as the apparition of a burka-
clad Hekate (Danuta Stenka), or the naked ghost of Banquo
(Tomasz Tyndyk). The production also featured a few uncanny
characters, such as an Elvis Presley impersonator entertaining the
soldiers, and a human-sized rabbit playing a hand clapping game
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 120 25/02/2013 09:56

Macbeth 121
with an Uncle Sam figure. Their presence gave the production

a nightmarish quality, echoing cinematic representations of evil:
the unnerving protagonists from David Lynch’s movies and the
giant bunny from Richard Kelly’s Donnie Darko.
Introducing images of violence and evil through allusions to
cinema, games and pop culture, Jarzyna’s Macbeth deliberately
refrained from addressing moral issues in the play. There was no
sense of right and wrong to guide the protagonists, particularly
as they appeared to be programmed into cinematic and computer
game scenarios. Their emotions were stripped to bare instincts
and desires, while they strove to survive the nightmare of war.
Such an approach to the Shakespearean characters was reflected
in the acting style of the TR Warszawa ensemble: visceral, brutal
and yet distant. The most powerful performances were those of
Kosiński and Stenka, who played their parts with confidence
and charisma. Konieczna’s interpretation of Lady Macbeth as
a conniving Eastern woman was less convincing. The heroine’s
death caused by the malfunction of a washing machine has drawn
the attention of the critics more than the actress’s performance.
A few reviewers have observed that Jarzyna’s pop-culture
adaptation of Macbeth narrowed the interpretative potential of
the tragedy, since it downplayed Shakespeare’s poetic language
and the characters’ moral dilemmas. It might also be argued,
however, that in its portrayal of war as a pre-programmed
scenario, the production made an important point about the lack
of ethical concerns in recent representations of military conflicts.
This observation may illuminate our understanding not only of
Macbeth, but also of contemporary media and politics.55
Macbeth: Leïla & Ben – A Bloody History, directed by Lotfi

Achour for the Artistes Productuers Associés (France/Tunisia) at
Northern Stage, Newcastle Adam Hansen
Ted Hughes’s ‘Note’ in A Choice of Shakespeare’s Verse describes
Shakespeare’s language as ‘an heroic attempt to resolve [ … ] the
layered, fissile antagonisms within a nation formed by successive,
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 121 25/02/2013 09:56

brutal, military occupations’.56 For many reasons, this description

came to mind when watching and hearing this at times superb
rendering of Macbeth, a crash course in recent and not-so recent
Tunisian history as heroic and passionate as it was agonized and
demanding.
Leïla and Ben layered registers, idioms and dialects (many
more than this listener could identify), as it also manifested
languages actual (local to Tunisia, the wider Afro-Arabic world
and beyond) and theatrical (documentary drama, re-imagined
events, puppetry, live songs and music, film and interview footage,
choric figures). In Hughes’s terms, brutality was evident too.
In the beginning, there was only darkness visible; audible,
however, were full-blooded screams and cries, deriving, we soon
understood, from a spot-lit woman stripped to underwear, her
head bagged in a sack. We witnessed an act of torture; she
retreated into a darkness the play tried to illuminate.
Referencing the play’s insistent imagery of hell-kites and other
bestial beings, this opening was followed by footage of a bird of
prey projected onto a curved screen upstage (the same screen
on which surtitles appeared). We had moved from nightmare
to dream, itself nightmarish. A female figure with a moustache,
supernaturally long hair, white robes and ghostly elevation told
a prone man – Ben Ali, ruler of Tunisia 1987–2011 – that ‘Your
dream is clear, your time has come’. Echoing the play’s proph-
ecies, and querying gender roles, this spectral figure presaged
the arrival of Leïla Trabelsi, Ben Ali’s wife, a woman ‘said to
have been a hairdresser’ (according to the programme’s ‘Historic
Notes’) who used ‘her charms and dreadful intelligence’ to rule
‘over a genuine empire’; as Leïla repeatedly described her motiva-
tions and ambitions, she did so using Lady Macbeth’s imagery.
Mirroring but altering the opening, by the production’s end,
as now in reality, Leïla and Ben would be stripped of power and
its illusions, shown standing in all their make-up and puffed-up
padding, slowly coloured by streams of blood dripping from a
chandelier. Between opening and ending we were made to realize
this story had complex and multiple sources and influences,
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 122 25/02/2013 09:56

Macbeth 123
a realization that provoked more questions than answers,

questions which the ‘Historic Notes’ could not resolve. What
happened in 1978? During the Bread Uprising? At Gafsa? The
production’s interrogation of historiography was understandably
prominent. The usurping Ben Ali and Leïla proclaimed ‘we
eat up the present’, and ‘History starts from today’, making
the point in a triumphal duet sung on caged skulls worthy of
Christopher Marlowe. Until their demise, in their eyes, history
was there for the taking. We saw history in the re-making in one
song praising ex-President Bourguiba as ‘handsome’ and ‘cute’
(set against images of him on a hospital bed), which changed
mid-flow to trumpet support for ‘Maczine’ (Ben Ali): the king
is dead, long live the king. Equally, the fantastic post-coup
debate between Ben Ali and ‘stake-holders’ – civic groups,
intellectuals, religionists – where necessary sycophancy mingled
with pushy pragmatism, was all too believable. Yet for the
masses enduring others’ history-making, agency seemed illusory
until or even after they could make a revolutionary history as
they pleased: one recurrent choric figure observed ‘even today,
nothing’s changed’. Where once the Italian ‘Admiral Fulvio
Martini’ helped install puppets like Ben Ali to secure oil for
Europe, now ‘the IMF [International Monetary Fund] rules’.
Obama’s catchphrase ‘Yes, we can’ cropped up in English: did
this ironically signal distance from such optimism, or its global
reach?
So what role has art to play in contesting political pessimism,
and the exploitation that creates it? Near the end, footage of revolt
was set against bare-chest-beating, abstract, hyper-lyrical, quasi-
sloganeering poetry – can words successfully express political
causes and effects? A choric figure frankly exposed Macbeth’s
shortcomings in representing the struggle of ‘the people’. One
might also note that in Shakespeare’s play Macbeth is haunted by
Banquo’s ghost, not King Duncan’s, and in life Ben Ali tormented
many: why, then, should Leïla and Ben make the particular death
of Bourguiba torment Ben Ali, as opposed to the other deaths he
orchestrated?
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 123 25/02/2013 09:56

Viewed like this, the production’s use of interview footage

from unnamed sources was both fascinating and problematic.
Fascinating because such footage provided another set of voices,
problematic because some of those voices offered a kind of
Orientalist essentializing and ahistorical generalizing: Sunni
Muslims display ‘total submission’ to their ‘ruler’; ‘citizenship’
does not exist in Arab culture; ‘we are conceptually limited’.
(What, then, does the Arab Spring mean?) Such claims may
be born of frustration, and did not go without contestation. At
several points, when he was not gagged with tape, gesturing
mutely at the surtitles, the chorus figure reflected on living with
knowledge of Arabic and Muslim cultures’ contributions to
enlightening humanity, while also knowing those contributions
did not seem to have improved the socio-political conditions of
ordinary people. Enduring this paradox caused mental stress: ‘I
am becoming schizophrenic’.
Mixing modes to portray such states can be risky. Some of
the acting was compelling, not least the torturer’s cane-swinging,
gruesomely Satanic performance. The singing was incredible, as
technically expert as it was emotionally affecting. The puppets
worked well too. One chorus told us Ben Ali was ‘part of us’
– later we watched each actor carry their own personal puppet
of their President, at once satirizing and despairing at submis-
siveness. And even the puppets had nightmares – Bourguiba saw
Salah Ben Youssef, his rival in the Neo-Destour movement in the
1950s.
So perhaps self-reflexive mixtures help avoid the self-
destructive, self-forgetting dynamic of what the production
termed ‘our culture: erase and repeat’. From Hughes, then, to
Brecht, a dramatist who knew a thing or two about mixed-up
art, brutality and making alienated audiences shift uncomfortably
(not to say critically) in their seats: ‘In the dark times/Will there
also be singing?/Yes, there will also be singing/About the dark
times’.57 Is that ever enough?
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 124 25/02/2013 09:56

Measure for Measure 125
Measure for Measure
Directed by Yury Butusov for Vakhtangov Theatre (Moscow,

Russia) at Shakespeare’s Globe Sarah Olive
Not entirely unexpectedly, marriages were scarce on the ground
in this production of Measure for Measure – except for that
between expressionism and naturalism. Indeed, the programme
notes for Vakhtanhov Theatre describe the company as ‘always
following the twin influences of Meyerhold and Stanislavsky, of
spectacle and psychological truth’. It was a union that gripped a
packed Globe theatre audience, half of it seemingly comprised
of Russian speakers (in comparison to the noticeably smaller
numbers of Swahili speakers at the matinee of The Merry Wives of
Windsor performed the same day). The demographic was perhaps
more striking for those used to the typically older audiences
of Shakespeare’s less famous plays in that it included many
family groups with children. No squeamishness about the ‘adult
themes’ was in evidence: was this an indication of widespread
unfamiliarity with the plot or different cultural values? Whatever
the cause, the young girls watching near me demonstrated their
abilities as frank and mature-minded performance critics, asking
their parents at various points in Isabella’s ordeal (as depicted by
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 125 25/02/2013 09:56

the Carey Mulligan-esque Evgeniya Kregzhde), ‘Is she laughing

or crying?’
The action commenced with loud, seedy-sounding music
and the stage being littered by the actors with shredded paper
and litter, including bottles, cardboard and (more politically
suggestively) books – not to mention stylized but nonetheless
dissolute Viennese citizens. Both the rubbish and characters
were blown about by stormy winds conjured up by the actors
and echoed throughout the theatre by the reality of a brutally
cold, wet evening (a factor the actors played up, periodically
gesturing to the sky and bathing in the rain on the stage’s
uncovered edge).
The Duke’s ‘departure’ from the city left in charge a sharp
suited and geek-chic bespectacled Angelo – both Duke and Angelo
played superbly by Sergey Epishev – symbolically obsessed with
nurturing an innocent-looking collection of potted plants. The
benign first impression of his reign was swiftly undercut by his
prosecution of ‘vice’, including Claudio’s impregnation, out of
wedlock, of his lover Juliet; the antics of Mistress Overdone;
and the jovial disorder of Pompey and Froth – throughout the
trial of which he sat, statue-like, downstage centre. In addition,
repeatedly blown virtually (and then, climactically, literally) into
the arms of Angelo by Claudio’s friend Lucio, Isabella’s entreaties
to Angelo on her brother’s behalf had the effect of unleashing a
tide of desire from the acting leader. Towering over the gauche,
petite, teenage-like Isabella, he was nevertheless unmanned by
her emotional pleas and intermittent body contact. His hands
shook uncontrollably, and later he dreamed of sharing an eroti-
cally charged swing dance with her while downing alcohol fiercely
in preparation for their next meeting. Apparently disgusted by
his urges, he constructed a table almost the length of the stage, so
that they could each be seated at opposite ends when she arrived.
Yet his resolve soon dissolved into violent pursuit of her across
the room, where he delivered his ultimatum (she must have sex
with him to free her brother from jail) while pinning a sobbing
Isabella to the table.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 126 25/02/2013 09:56

Measure for Measure 127
Isabella visited Claudio, convinced that her brother would

never ask her to sacrifice her chastity to save himself. Throughout
the scene, the Duke, disguised as a Friar, watched from behind a
pillar. The expressiveness of Isabella’s voice as she pleaded with
her unsympathetic sibling, horrified by his selfishness, brought
unexpected tears for me. Brother and sister knelt on the floor in
echoes of their companionate childhood selves when, uncontrol-
lably outraged, Isabella snapped and struck Claudio repeatedly
until he collapsed, convulsing. The violence done to her in the
previous scene thus became her only weapon, her last resort, in
the increasingly desperate defence of her sexual integrity.
At this stage, the Friar-Duke emerged and suggested that
Mariana, spurned by Angelo, take Isabella’s place in his bed.
Mariana, whose enduring love for Angelo was represented by the
miniature forest of plants she carried with her, agreed. The bed
trick went unstaged, which is not an unusual directorial decision
in Shakespeare productions, but Marianne Elliott’s visually
stunning, crystal clear staging of the one in All’s Well That Ends
Well at the National Theatre in 2009 had left me hoping that
more directors would attempt it. Thus the production whipped,
albeit with continuing flair, through the business of substitute
executions and pardons for Claudio and Angelo. Suddenly,
ear-splitting party music once again rocked the stage and the
Duke, resuming his role, chased Isabella across the stage in an
almost exact replica of the choreography of the earlier struggle
between Isabella and Angelo. The audience’s hopes for Isabella’s
escaping marriage to the Duke were momentarily raised as she
served him a resounding slap, in response to his lashing out at
her as she mocked his proposal with laughter. However, they were
just as quickly dashed and the production ended with Isabella
again pinned sobbing to a table, as the set regressed into a chaotic
rubbish heap.
As we dodged vast puddles en route to the station, the party
I had gone with, ranging from ages 18 to 58, agreed that the
production had been worth withstanding the bitter weather for –
perhaps even enhanced by it.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 127 25/02/2013 09:56

The Merchant of Venice
Directed by Ilan Ronen for the Habima National Theatre (Tel

Aviv, Israel) at Shakespeare’s Globe Peter Kirwan
The Globe to Globe performance of The Merchant of Venice by
Israel’s Habima Theatre was unavoidably different from all others
in the Festival. Airport-style security greeted those audience
members who had made their way past two groups of protesters,
pro-Palestinian and pro-Israeli, debating the right of a company
criticized for performing in disputed areas to be invited to the
UK; and the performance was punctuated, though not halted, by
instances of protest in the theatre itself.
The actors of Habima emerged onto the Globe stage and called
for a welcome, whipping the audience immediately into applause,
foot-stamping and cheering. After taking a bow, the actors, dressed
as Renaissance-era Italians, donned bright red carnival masks and
began singing, dancing and creating a festive atmosphere. This
revelry continued as Jacob Cohen’s Shylock entered the stage
and, in high spirits, the Christian carnival-makers surrounded
him, pushed him to the ground and kicked him mercilessly in the
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 128 25/02/2013 09:56

The Merchant of Venice 129
stomach. Only at the point of violence did the crowd fall silent;
but how easily the same jubilant ribaldry that had swept along the
audience was co-opted into the abuse of a Jew! Habima usefully
pointed up the ease with which we are told what to think and can
become implicated in abuse and suppression.
Habima’s fine production of Merchant pulled no punches in
its depiction of anti-Semitism, with both Shylock and Tubal
manhandled and abused as a matter of course by a group of selfish
and wasteful Christians. Alon Ophir’s Antonio, in particular, was
sickening. This tyrannical figure refused to sit in Shylock’s chair,
decorated with a Star of David, and grabbed the frail, elderly
usurer by the throat as he vowed he would abuse him again. Even
while trussed up in the trial scene, he leered down at Shylock, a
smile of satisfaction playing on his lips as Shylock’s plans were
thwarted.
The ‘bonds’ of this production were made literal on two
levels. Ropes and pulleys hung all around the set, used initially
to demonstrate Portia’s (Hila Feldman) entrapment. Standing
on a chair centre stage, her six suitors gathered around the edges
of the stage and held the ends of ropes attached to her corset,
positioning her at the centre of a tangled web of controlling
attachments. For the trial scene, Antonio was placed on the same
chair, but stripped to his waist and clipped to ropes that snaked up
the pillars and across the yard, literally strung up by bonds that
linked the entire building. Into these same bonds Shylock was
later forced, hanging limply amidst the jeering Christians.
The other bonds were physicalized as reams of computer
printouts, contracts to be signed by Antonio in the first instance,
but also by Bassanio who, having chosen the correct casket and
‘won’ Portia, was presented with a disturbingly realistic head
representing his new bride and an enormous wad of contracts,
which he began scrutinizing instead of kissing her, much to
her dismay. The focus of the men on letters and contracts was
a running theme, revisited at the end as Nir Zelichowski’s
Lorenzo failed to look once at Liraz Chamami’s Jessica after he
had received news of his good fortune. The massive contracts
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 129 25/02/2013 09:56

also became Shylock’s punishment, Gratiano draping them over

Shylock and leaving him to stumble, slowly and blindly, offstage
following the trial.
The prejudice running throughout the production was not
always held up to adequate critique, however. While Portia and
Nerissa’s dismissive attitude towards Jessica extended to even
forgetting her name, Jessica’s disappearance at the production’s
close left unresolved an interpolated and ambiguous subplot. The
biggest change to the text was the creation of a conflict between
Jessica and Lorenzo that saw her threaten to leave him. While
the conflict was alluded to throughout the ring incident as she
screamed at her husband, it was unclear to this non-Hebrew
speaker exactly what she was objecting to, and the sadness she
showed on hearing of her father’s misfortune was kept upstage
and unremarked. Far more problematic was the treatment of the
suitors. The establishment of these scenes was entertaining, as a
team of sycophantic make-up artists and tailors dressed actors
up in stereotypical national costume. However, Danny Leshman
as Morocco went on to cover himself in black make-up that even
rubbed off on Portia. The audience’s laughter at her disgust felt
disturbing and complicit, and the production failed to make any
point here about racism, leaving this disquieting device uncriti-
cized and, apparently, amusing to many. A similar, though less
loaded, approach informed Yoav Donat’s appearance as Arragon,
moustachioed and screaming ‘Olé!’
Cohen, diminutive and quietly spoken, was a victim through
and through, only taking command of the stage during the ‘Hath
not a Jew eyes?’ speech where he roared in defiance at Salarino
and Salerio (Leshman and Donat again, interestingly bringing
the bodies of the three racially abused victims together), who
backed up in shock at the effect of their ribbing. Elsewhere,
the performance aimed for pathos. We were privy to his moans
on discovering Jessica’s flight, and the production closed with
Antonio casting a satisfied look over the abandoned stage and
leaving, followed by Cohen emerging and taking a long, slow walk
around the edges of the stage in utter silence. Similar pathos was
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 130 25/02/2013 09:56

The Merchant of Venice 131
aimed for in Jessica’s performance, as following her flight she was

seen repeatedly in tears, ignored or scorned by the Christians.
A group next to me were aghast during the trial scene, crying
out as Shylock went to take Antonio’s flesh, which rather spoke
to the vulnerability of the strung-up bodies presented. The scene
struggled to recover following the interventions from the pit
of ‘Hath not a Palestinian eyes?’ and the subsequent jeering of
the crowd as more protesters were evicted; and perhaps because
of this, the role of Portia and Nerissa, who were kept to one
side of the stage, seemed relatively unimportant. I was drawn
throughout the scene instead to Aviv Alush’s Gratiano, who
moved freely about the stage and mocked Shylock mercilessly,
as well as appealing to the Duke and Advocates who stood in the
audience galleries. Alush’s overt prejudice throughout the scene,
and Shylock’s slow collapse under his assault and the smug glares
of Antonio, seemed to be far more important.
Have I silenced the protests? Certainly the bulk of the protests
were themselves silent, and for much of the first half I and
those around me divided our attention between the action on
stage and the silent stance of a group in the middle gallery with
masking tape over their mouths, who did not reappear for the
second half (perhaps removed). The performance of the protest
in the pit and galleries drew the attention of all, and the actors
themselves were clearly aware of it. Interestingly, however, the
content of the protests during the performance was not directed
at Habima themselves as far as I could see, concentrating on
the broader ‘Free Palestine’ message rather than challenging
Habima’s own complicity in performing to Israeli-only groups
in the settlements. By remaining silent and using few words, the
protests instead aimed to draw attention to their act of resistance,
attention they maintained (even when rendered inactive) for the
entire performance. The final applause of the company lasted a
long while, a mutual celebration between audience and actors
of the successful completion of the performance. Yet anyone
watching carefully, who had listened to a production that spoke
eloquently about Venice’s silencing of Shylock, should have had
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 131 25/02/2013 09:56

serious questions about the anger with which the performance’s

own protesters were greeted. During the trial scene, one dissenter
was shushed and ejected, and an audience member shouted abuse
after him, prompting laughter and agreement from many in the
audience. The scene then continued, during which a dissenter
(Shylock) was silenced and ejected, while an onlooker (Gratiano)
shouted abuse after him, prompting laughter and agreement from
the other Christians. If a production concerning the silencing of
dissenting voices can only be heard by silencing dissenting voices
in the auditorium, then perhaps the play has never been more
timely.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 132 25/02/2013 09:56

The Merry Wives of Windsor 133
The Merry Wives of Windsor
Directed by Daniel Goldman and Sarah Norman for Bitter Pill

and Theatre Company (Nairobi, Kenya) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Sarah Olive
Two feisty, wickedly funny women. Two pretty grand households
in a wealthy neighbourhood. A gaggle of flawed men, jealous or
lecherous, who have in common their desire for, and their failure
to outsmart, the local ladies. A series of farcical domestic shenan-
igans, including a panting lover hiding from an enraged husband
in a gargantuan laundry basket to escape being discovered in his
wife’s bedroom. Children who roll their eyes at their parents’
embarrassing follies, resistant to and wiser than their elders.
Such a scenario could very well belong to Wisteria Lane, home
of Desperate Housewives, or any other such American comedy-
drama where secrets and lies, truths and untruths, are spun out
and revealed by groups of female friends. It was this location/
period unspecific quality that spoke most profoundly of Bitter Pill
and Theatre Kenya’s achievement in this tight, uncomplicated
production of The Merry Wives of Windsor. Their rendering of
the play foregrounded universal types over extra-textual concepts
or theoretically informed comment. The audience could just
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 133 25/02/2013 09:56

as easily have been observing the goings-on among the picket-

fenced plots of post-Millennium Fairview, the bustling streets
of Elizabethan Windsor or the gated communities of an affluent
Nairobi suburb today.
The Kenyan setting was signalled perhaps most strongly by
costuming choices including Mistress Page’s bright headscarf as
well as the spirits whose masks, music and dance seemed to draw
on tribal traditions. Yet the Globe’s cosmopolitan audience that
day – some ex-pat Kenyans, a smattering of European tourists and
a handful of British retirees, with no particular group dominating
the numbers – constituted a resistance to the potential, however
persuasive the production, to read the action as taking place
in a particular locality. There were few Swahili speakers in the
audience – although those who were in evidence found plenty
of humour in the translated language of the play. However, there
was no shortage of general laughter at Mrisho Mpoto’s fat-suited
Falstaff or Neville Sanganyi’s affected Slender. The audience’s
unceasing mirth was proof of the way in which the actors captured
a variety of characters’ essences through their mannerisms, facial
expressions and intonation in a way that attempted to transcend
language and appeal to a global community.
For me, the factor which distinguished these genuinely merry
wives most strikingly from their tight-lipped, mean-eyed, modern-
day desperate counterparts, was the way in which their relationship
with each other was untinged by backstabbing or one-upmanship.
Brim-full of shared, conspiratorial glee, they covered Falstaff in a
hide rug, Mistress Page perched on top of him, as though he were
a daybed, ‘accidentally’ but nonetheless roundly slapping him
through the fabric to punctuate her ‘concern’ at Master Ford’s
imminent approach. I never doubted for a moment that Chichi
Seii’s Mistress Page and Lydiah Gitachu’s Mistress Ford were
best of friends – Mistress Page watched the Ford’s reconciliation
with unadulterated pleasure, whooping with delight as the couple
kissed and made up.
In the vein of straightforward Elizabethan comedy or a modern
sitcom rather than catty drama, the production’s end restored
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 134 25/02/2013 09:56

order and happiness. Falstaff, at first dejected, was encouraged

to dine with the others, before becoming the focal point of a
celebratory dance, cheered on by his neighbours as he vigor-
ously threw shapes across the stage. Nor was Falstaff left alone
as the other characters paired up for their exits – plucking a
woman from the audience, he exited proudly with her on his
arm. This was a community, which, with the wit and insight of
Mistresses Page and Ford, successfully cured itself of the follies
that threatened to divide it.
Having mentioned at the end of the show that I was planning
a review featuring popular culture parallels and a feel-good, girl-
power factor, my companion asked me, ‘Can’t it just be about the
fact that there’s some pretty good acting?’ Well, yes, it could have
been. Especially given the way in which the eight actors success-
fully and humorously covered 20 parts (more if one counts the
non-speaking roles of, for example, the children disguised as
spirits). But, alas, you will have to make do with my tendency to
read Shakespeare comparatively; to understand The Merry Wives
of Windsor through characters played by the likes of Barbara
Windsor.
Falstaff, by Giuseppe Verdi and directed by Robert Carson for the

Royal Opera House, London Dave Paxton
I am always troubled by Falstaff, but I can never quite say why.
The interpersonal drama is taut, even more so than in Otello,
while the music is staggeringly fertile and inventive, without a
single dead stretch. But I still feel that something’s not right.
I think that my doubts have to do with the nature of Verdi’s
aesthetic at the end of his career. I adore the earlier works, though
I also empathize with those people who think that the first two
acts of Rigoletto are boring, that Il Trovatore does not have a plot
and that La Traviata is objectionable on moral grounds. But
something about those operas, for me, works. They are exciting,
energizing, moving; they release and discipline vigorous emotion
into tight musical structures; they provide their audience with
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 135 25/02/2013 09:56

an emotional liberation which is also, more importantly, an

education; they are a large part of the reason why some of us think
that opera, done well, is miles better than anything else.
The Verdi of the last two operas, however, is different, because
this is a Verdi who has engaged with Wagner, and who is trying to
push Italian opera beyond itself, into the new, mature, Germanic
idiom (I am obviously being very schematic here). The arias and
choruses now work differently, more complexly; the through-
composition has reached a new level of ingenuity; the oom-pah
orchestral accompaniments have been largely replaced by a richer
soundscape and set of orchestral effects. So far, so Wagnerian.
But Wagner reconstructed the operatic forms that he received
in order to do various idiosyncratic things, for example, to shatter
his audience’s preconceptions, engage them on a level deeper
than one which would be traditionally characterized as ‘aesthetic’,
get them to think (surprisingly difficult!) and provide them with
an overwhelming, perhaps transcendent, experience. And what
stands out about Falstaff is that it does not require a seriously
engaged and thinking audience. Rather, it wants an audience who
will laugh and smile at the action and the music; Falstaff wants to
give its audience pleasure, though clearly a deeper sort of pleasure
than that attainable elsewhere. This is to say that Verdi adopted
the Wagnerian aesthetic, but he did not adopt the Wagnerian
philosophy that underpinned this aesthetic.
This results in, I think, something not entirely successful.
The enjoyable melodies of La Traviata have gone, but the attempt
at enjoyment is still there, all the same. Falstaff gestures forward
to the new ‘post-operatic’ opera, but it tries to give its audience
members satisfaction in the old style. I think that this is much
less pronounced in Otello where there is – pomposity, boring
stretches and weird plot/character dislocations aside – actually a
serious tragic narrative unfolding, to which one can easily grant
one’s (emotional, though probably not intellectual) attention. But
Falstaff is a different case, perhaps.
My bemusement on this issue became so strong, during the
Covent Garden performance, that I ended up devoting most of
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 136 25/02/2013 09:56

my mental energies to thinking it through, which meant that I

did not respond to the performance in terms more sophisticated
than ‘The set’s a bit gaudy’, and ‘He’s not fat enough’. The cast
of singers did well and the conductor held everything together
admirably (which needs to happen, this being an ‘ensemble’
opera to an infamous degree, though in a different way than
Cosi Fan Tutte). The orchestra did not seem to me to sparkle as
it might have done, but I was sitting in an acoustically poor part
of the house, under a balcony, so I may have missed much of the
sound. I did not like that a horse was put on stage through the
opera’s second half, though it drew from me a stronger response
– apologetic sympathy – than anything else did. But the last act
was staged excellently. The set drew apart to reveal an imposing,
star-studded night-scape, which set the mood beautifully for the
A Midsummer Night’s Dream-magic. The young lovers were also
the most arresting, moving people on stage.
When I was not meditating on my reactions to the opera, I was
meditating on its (the opera’s) ideological import; these things
are tied together. Falstaff is not politically or ethically serious in
the way that Mozart’s or Wagner’s (or Britten’s) best operas are,
but it does deal with various important things – class, property,
marriage, sexuality, popular fascism – which the director Carson
brought out by updating the opera to the 1950s, but which could
have been brought out a lot more. The opera does not, however,
end with an imposed solution to the problems that it poses, nor
does it give one the sense that the problems have been articulated
with enough clarity and force for one to reflect on them on the
train home. Instead, after all the complexity and intrigue, there is
a concluding chorus the gist of which is that we are all crazy and
so should be able to just laugh at each other – sung by the entire
cast with, typically, as here, the house-lights up.
The problem with this sort of ending – unless it is done
unusually well, as it is by Mozart in Le Nozze di Figaro – is
that it operates as a disavowal of what has come before, a retreat
into triviality. Instead of leaving the theatre pondering class
divisions, or musing upon the ethical status of theft in a social
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 137 25/02/2013 09:56

structure which privatizes property, or thinking about marriage

as a repressive, coercive institution (for men as well as women) –
instead of doing any of this, one throws one’s hands up in the air,
guffaws with laughter, and heads to the bar for another drink, still
stuck in the prejudices with which one entered the theatre. Social
issues have been engaged with, but in a heavily structured and
mediated way, and precisely so that one can then disengage from
them at the final curtain and feel that that act of disengagement
– such is the power of the music – is a liberation, a release. What
should be our reaction to this?
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Directed by Jung Yang-ung for the Yohangza Theatre Company

(Seoul, South Korea) at Shakespeare’s Globe Adele Lee
Contrary to most recent performances of A Midsummer Night’s
Dream, there is nothing dark or sinister or indeed that grown-up
about the Yohangza Theatre Company’s version, directed by
Jung Yang-ung: one imagines this production would appeal as
much to kids as to adults, which is apt given the dual nature of
the play, but also given South Korean culture’s predilection for
cuteness (Kawaii). Performed in a mixture of Korean theatre
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 138 25/02/2013 09:56

A Midsummer Night’s Dream 139
styles, including song, dance, mime, acrobatics and martial arts,

the production was vibrant, energetic and immensely enjoyable,
and the cast did a great job of overcoming the language barrier
(the surtitles were barely needed) and forming a rapport with the
predominantly English-speaking audience. Effectively conveying
ideas, events and emotions through music and movement, costume
and (exaggerated) facial expressions, the small, multitalented and
super-fit cast performed a substantially pared-down version of
the source material, focusing only on the plight of the four lovers
and the Fairy King and Queen’s marital problems.
The use of several English words and phrases also helped
forge a bond with the spectators, but why every time a word
in English was used it was met with quite such laughter and
applause is a mystery. Perhaps the overreaction signalled a desire
for more points of commonality and glimpses of the familiar?
The reference to ‘fish and chips’ and ‘mushy peas’, which showed
the company catering to a distinctively English sense of humour,
unsurprisingly caused the loudest laugh of the evening and
no doubt contributed to the popularity of this already likeable
cast. But where does Shakespeare fit into all of this? And did
the play provide any fresh insights into our understanding of A
Midsummer Night’s Dream?
In this simplified version, Yang seems to borrow as much from
his own culture and folklore as he does from Shakespeare. And,
kowtowing to the trend in twenty-first century Korean theatre for
reversing gender roles, the director has Oberon/Gabi being the
one punished by Titania/Dot and an old female herb-gatherer
called Ajumi taking Bottom’s place as the object of the King’s
misguided affections. But as refreshing as it was to see Oberon
(Cheong Hae-Kyun) being humiliated – for his habitual woman-
izing – and tempting as it is to interpret this as a feminist ‘take’ on
the play, the female Bottom figure (Jeong A-Young) was humil-
iated to an extent that the male Bottom rarely is. Small, coarse
and dithering, Ajumi was transformed by the Dokkebi (Korean
forest sprites or goblins) into a pig instead of an ass. This brought
to mind the infamous Renaissance ‘freak’, Tannakin Skinker, and
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 139 25/02/2013 09:56

other, unruly, early modern ‘pig women’, although in Eastern

cultures the pig possesses more positive connotations. Ajumi
was subjected to repeated ridicule and mortification, and at one
rather discomforting point she urinated at length, centre stage,
before proceeding to smear her face with the liquid (Dokkebi
are supposedly repelled by the smell). Indicative of the crude
nature of the humour, this also seemed to be pandering to the
(again, particularly Renaissance) belief that women were incon-
tinent – figuratively and literally. In fact, Yang’s production could
be accused of reinforcing many misogynistic stereotypes, both
Eastern and Western, including that of the shrewish, scolding
wife. However it was all handled with too light a touch to be ever
regarded as simply offensive.
The lovers (although typically rather indistinguishable)
perhaps presented a more progressive attitude towards gender.
Dressed, at first, in primary colours – red, yellow, blue and green,
which in Korean theatre symbolize distinct personality traits –
Hermia/Byock, Demetrius/Hang, Helena/Eeck and Lysander/
Rue proceeded to lose their individuality in the forest where they
were all attired in white, unisex outfits. This also, according to
Korean culture, symbolizes harmony with nature, and a reversion
to a state of innocence. The loss of distinction between the
almost-identically dressed members of this quartet, who move in
a beautifully synchronized fashion (Korean dance is often charac-
terized by a concern with ‘symmetrical beauty’), perpetuated a
collapse in gender difference. The men were graceful, elegant and
Rue even brandished a fan, while the women were equally elegant
but tough and assertive. Their freedom from the heavy, ornate
make-up and costumes of the Dokkebi, interestingly, further
signified a liberated break from tradition. Indeed, the four lovers
might be interpreted as representatives of the new generation in
Korea that have enjoyed the benefit of increased democracy in the
country since the 1990s.
Another particularly interesting and wonderful aspect of this
production was its splitting of the character Puck into the twin
spirit Duduri, played by the mesmerizing Jin Lee and Seong-Yong
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 140 25/02/2013 09:56

Han, both of whom arguably stole the show – and this was definitely
more show, more spectacle, than narrative drama. Duduri, Dot’s
naughty little brother, successfully embodied the comic, festive
elements of Dream and played tricks on the audience as well as
on members of the cast. Making full use of the playing space, the
dual character made several ventures into the yard (I myself had
the privilege/embarrassment of gaining its attentions) and often
perched smugly on the upper stage, reflecting its puppeteer-like
power to control and laugh at the fates of others. Evidence of how
much the duo cast a spell over the audience was the never-ending
curtain call and the long queue that formed in the foyer post-show
for photographs with the actors still in their costumes. Maybe
this signified an attempt to capture the metatheatricality of the
‘original’, but it seemed to me that these actors clearly relished
their roles and genuinely did not want to relinquish them. The
audience seemed to agree. I cannot remember the last time I have
seen spectators leave in (and in awe of) such high spirits.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 141 25/02/2013 09:56

A Midsummer Night’s Dream (As You Like It), directed by Dmitry

Krymov for the Chekhov International Festival and Dmitry
Krymov’s Laboratory and the School of Dramatic Theatre Art
(Moscow, Russia) at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-
upon-Avon Peter Kirwan
The programme for Dmitry Krymov’s production, a special
commission for the World Shakespeare Festival, depicted an
acrobatic Jack Russell Terrier balancing on one paw on top of
Shakespeare’s head. It is an image that says everything and
nothing about the production that ‘turns Shakespeare on his
head’, speaking to the conscious irreverence of the company’s
approach. The play’s double title was itself an act of misdirection,
the ‘As You Like It’ perhaps more appropriately glossed as ‘if
you like’. Apart from the promise of Venya – the aforementioned
performing dog – this was a production that revelled in its
surprises and secrets.
This collaborative Russian-language piece, bringing together
the Chekhov Festival and director Krymov’s experimental
laboratory based at the Moscow School of Dramatic Art, took as
its theme the final act of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The Royal
Shakespeare Theatre was covered in plastic sheeting and sawdust,
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 142 25/02/2013 09:56

into which unfinished space an enormous company of clowns,

technicians and actors struggled to drag spectacular pieces of
scenery. Sprawling branches, an enormous tree trunk and a
gushing fountain appeared and were taken offstage, never to be
seen again. As the Mechanicals bickered, a captioned ‘translation’
informed us that they were debating the thematic and linguistic
complexities of Pyramus and Thisbe, establishing straightaway an
idea of comically distrustful mediation. The self-awareness of the
production was its own theme, a deconstructed process of estab-
lishing and immediately challenging its own identity.
In sequence, a long train of finely dressed audience members
were escorted onto the stage and to boxes and balconies on either
side (at its peak, about 50 performers shared the stage). These
nobles turned up their noses distastefully at the ramshackle
arrangements. Standing for the wedding guests of Shakespeare’s
play, the rude guests proceeded to answer their mobile phones,
interject with personal anecdotes (causing the production to
halt at awkward moments) and criticize the arrangements loudly,
providing an ongoing framework for the play that turned inter-
pretation itself into a performance, the spectators increasingly
involved in the spectacle.
Meanwhile the Mechanicals donned tuxedos and one of them
apologized for the ramshackle nature of the performance, though
pointed out that there was no way for the audience to know
whether or not this was deliberate or a matter of exigency. This
was the game that the paying audience was asked to play along
with the onstage spectators: was this seemingly random assem-
blage of images, physical comedy, puppetry, music and apparent
improvisation as random as it appeared? Was this show incom-
plete, or was its incompleteness, in fact, the point?
The main action, insofar as the main action could be separated
from the other layers of performance, concerned two ten-foot
high puppets of Pyramus and Thisbe, manipulated by the
company and made up of scraps, with grasping metal fingers. A
narrator informed the audience that the company had decided on
Pyramus and Thisbe as a story of pure love, and their meeting and
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 143 25/02/2013 09:56

wooing was played out at length. Male and female operatic singers
‘voiced’ the puppets as they moved clumsily around the stage.
‘Pyramus’, with a cutout image of a youthful Grecian boy (one
of the so-called Fayum Portraits) for a head, gathered a bouquet
from various bunches of flowers held up by clowns in various
extraordinary poses – one standing on another’s shoulders, one
balancing on his head on top of another’s head and holding the
bouquet with his foot, one wobbling on top of a stack of four
precariously balanced cylinders.
The combination of humour as the Mechanicals attempted
to maintain control of their puppets and wonder at the physical
dexterity of the clowns served to heighten the meeting of the
lovers, turning a simple romance into something more trans-
cendent. At first this was undercut with deliberate crudity.
The puppets sat together as Venya performed for them, and
Pyramus fed assorted fruits to Thisbe whose head unhinged, as
if a dustbin lid, to swallow the food whole. The onstage audience
finally erupted in disapproval as Pyramus’s crotch panel was
unscrewed to reveal an enormous phallic balloon pumped up by
the Mechanical who represented ‘Shakespeare’ throughout the
show.
However, as the lovers parted following the outrage of the
spectators, the production’s tone shifted. Thisbe was attacked by
a lion, a costumed actor with enormous dragon’s wings, who was
dragged back by other performers. Venya barked in defence of
Thisbe, and ‘Shakespeare’ tore off strips of her skirts and scattered
them on the floor, interspersed with strips of red. As Thisbe left
the stage, the lights fell, the singers sang and a moon rose behind
the back curtain, through which Pyramus slowly emerged. In
an extraordinarily moving sequence, Pyramus discovered the
bloodied strips and the puppet exploded, arms and torso being
carried to different corners of the stage and coming back together
three times. Each time, Pyramus’s face had changed, becoming
increasingly aged and bearded. Finally, he thrust a sword into his
stomach and the puppet was left in a pile for Thisbe to discover,
flanked by four puppet swans who lamented alongside her.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 144 25/02/2013 09:56

Much Ado About Nothing 145
The pathos was, once again, undercut by the Mechanicals

(now joined by some ‘audience members’) who performed a
ridiculous noise collage of shrieks and shrill singing, before being
joined by four ballet dancers who performed the cygnets’ famous
steps from Swan Lake while the rest of the company broke up
and began chatting and laughing with their onstage audience.
‘Shakespeare’ began sweeping the stage with a broom instantly
recognizable as Puck’s, forcing the dancers to skip about. As she
departed, one of the onstage audience members had a simple
moment of reunion with the actor playing ‘Shakespeare’, flirta-
tiously suggesting they go to see a show together. The play
stumbled to a close in this combination of beautiful images juxta-
posed with the mundane, seeking the universal story buried under
the momentary spectacle. Capturing the spirit of Dream, this
collage of stunning visual images, extraordinary physical perfor-
mances, evocative music and a dancing dog ultimately exposed the
art of storytelling itself. Its studied artlessness belied the detailed
craft on display in a deliberate strategy, designed to best show the
production’s heart in an evocation of love and laughter.
Much Ado About Nothing

Directed by Clément Poirée for Compagnie Hypermobile (Paris,
France) at Shakespeare’s Globe Paul Edmondson
I heard a striking statistic as I was leaving the show. London is
the sixth largest French city, on account of the number of French
people who live there. Certainly there was a strong French
presence in the audience for Compagnie Hypermobile’s Much
Ado About Nothing.
This production was characterized by its clarity and its
straightforwardness. There were no ostensible gimmicks (such
as the nipple-clamps, trampoline, skateboard and Gloria Gaynor
which were to follow in the Bremer Shakespeare Company’s
Timon of Athens); there were no elements of design nor acting
which came between the storytelling and the audience’s reception
of it. Yet there were thoughtful interpretative touches to be seen
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 145 25/02/2013 09:56

in the costuming, make-up and props which resonated crisply

and added to an overall sense of a finely contoured and properly
thought-through narrative drive.
Benedick (Bruno Blairet) and Beatrice (Alix Poisson) were
clearly destined for each other. Unlike Prince Don Pedro and his
entourage (who entered in strikingly handsome adaptations of
evening dress, with slightly whitened faces suggestive of a troupe
of demure mime artistes), Benedick sported a purple tartan kilt
and postured himself awkwardly, differently, with his exquisitely
over-long goatee beard sticking up diffidently as though his chin
were pointing, way above our heads, at a bird or a plane (both
continual and intermittent literal realities at the Globe). Beatrice
was almost cross-dressed, in Flapper-like tweed trousers, a brown
jersey, shirt and tie. The two of them behaved like misfits.
Beatrice over-demonstrated everything she was talking about, a
young woman, craving attention, who knows what it is to hold
her family as her audience around her. She covered herself in a
white sheet and evoked with it something momentarily angel-like
when she imagined herself going up to ‘the heavens [ … ] where
the bachelors sit’ (2.1.41–2). Benedick danced on his own at the
masked ball, flapping his kilt lightly in a lonely, rather pathetic
quasi-flamenco. All of us seemed to feel the relief when, after
their respective eavesdropping scenes, the two of them changed
their costume: Benedick into purple tartan trousers, with his
goatee gone, Beatrice into a silky slim dress.
Don John (Nicolas Chupin, cleverly and efficiently doubled
with Verjus the watchman) sought comfort from a bright-blue
liquor, dispensed for him by Borachio (Francois de Brauer, there
was no Conrad). Chupin managed to convey an exhausted anger
as the malcontent, illegitimate, royal brother, flinging himself to
the floor only to be caught, held and assisted by Borachio. It was
emotional contouring of this kind that evoked Much Ado About
Nothing as being a humours play; this Don John and Borachio
were definitely choleric and melancholy.
There was a tough-edged sexuality portrayed. From the
central balcony, de Bauer’s Borachio, when plotting with Don
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 146 25/02/2013 09:56

John, convincingly mimed having sex with an imaginary Margaret

(from behind) which he followed with a thundering orgasm. It
was masterly done – comic, outrageous and utterly convincing.
Later, Margaret (Aurelie Toucas), playing her part in the eaves-
dropping scene with Hero (Suzanne Aubert, there was no Ursula),
simulated orgasm with a shrill soprano note, the final moment of
aural proof that persuaded Beatrice of her love for Benedick.
I recall, too, a strong trinity of women – Hero in her wedding
dress on the morning of the ceremony, standing on a chair, with
Beatrice and Margaret on either side, downstage centre. These
women were played as self-knowing, and knowingly flirtatious, as
much as with each other as with the audience.
These crackles of sexuality were accompanied by true love.
Laurent Menoret’s older than usual Claudio was visibly made
vulnerable when telling Matthieu Marie’s Don Pedro about
his feelings for Hero. When she was presented to him for
marriage, he solemnly went on bended knee and placed a ring
on her (2.1.281–4). Beatrice’s only moment of verse – her
truncated sonnet soliloquy after she overhears Margaret and
Hero (3.1.107–16) – was properly and tenderly honoured, as were
hers and Benedick’s confessions of love in the chapel after the
broken wedding (4.1.269–76). These were all valuable moments
of important sentiment.
Directors and actors often misunderstand Dogberry. There
is no great secret other than making sure that you never, ever
try to make him funny. Alas, the moment Raphael Almosni’s
Dogberry appeared (with Verjus from the trapdoor) I knew we
were in trouble. They appeared, absurdly attired as over-the-hill
quasi-medieval superheroes, acting too slowly and exaggerating
everything. I felt no affection, no amusement and no truth. But
you are stuck with the Dogberry you are given, and he must
do certain things to take us to where we want to be. At least
Almosni’s Dogberry was interestingly doubled with Antonio,
the priestly brother of Leonato. Antonio took on the role of the
Friar, too, and officiated at the wedding. This meant that as well
as discovering mischief while on watch duty as Dogberry, the
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 147 25/02/2013 09:56

same actor, as Hero’s uncle, helped to rescue his niece from social
disgrace speaking the lines usually given to the Friar. Perhaps
only a brother who is also a priest could have intervened to stop
Jean-Claude Jay’s splendidly patriarchal Leonato from striking
his daughter Hero with a dagger as she lay on the chapel floor
(4.1.150–4).
Finally, mention should be made of the sheer exuberance and
precision with which the language was spoken. I wondered and
worried from time to time whether Jude Lucas’s translation,
‘Beaucoup De Bruit Pour Rien’, was too literal. So, for instance,
there was Benedick’s ‘Le monde doit être peuplé’. Is that really as
funny or as meaningful as ‘the world must be peopled’ (2.3.233),
or might a more French equivalent have been sought? On balance,
I think Lucas was willing to honour as much of Shakespeare’s
text as possible, its literal meanings as well as its rhythms and
rhetorical shapes. I just wonder how far, to a native French ear,
this translation sounded like French on its best behaviour.
Two incidental Globe moments resonate in my memory of this
production. As Hero fainted (4.1.109.1), a mother blackbird flew
into the auditorium feeding one of her young. And, as Benedick
started to compose his abortive song, an aeroplane flew over the
open-air auditorium (5.2.26–9). But these potential interruptions
only enhanced the clarity and diction of this precise and Parisian
Much Ado About Nothing.
At the end there was lots of noise about something – the
rapturous applause from all the French and everyone else
assembled in Shakespeare’s Globe.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 148 25/02/2013 09:56

Directed by Iqbal Khan for the Royal Shakespeare Company at the

Courtyard Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon Kate Rumbold
Bicycles dangled from the ceiling, engines revved and car horns
blared: the Courtyard Theatre foyer invited audiences into a world
of warmth, colour and noisy excess. Inside the auditorium, the
elegantly shuttered windows, doors and staircases of the Indian
house that formed the backdrop to the set provided entrances and
exits for the pre-show comings and goings of a busy household. In
their midst, Dogberry (Simon Nagra) misarticulated instructions
to the chattering audience to turn off their cameras and mobile
phones. Even before the performance began, this Much Ado About
Nothing set out to charm its audience with a sensory experience
of Delhi.
Early scenes expanded this bustling domesticity, as members of
the household greeted, flirted and, in the case of Beatrice (Meera
Syal), bantered with the returning, UN-uniform-clad soldiers.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 149 25/02/2013 09:56

The mood was festive: a drink was never far from anyone’s hands,
and Beatrice and Benedick’s (Paul Bhattacharjee) sparring was
punctuated with sips. For all the busyness, the blocking could
often be static, with several actors looking on as one delivered
their lines. There were bursts of energy: Beatrice and the girls
clambered rowdily onto the stage singing a pop song, and the
cast, disguised in sunglasses (women) and headscarves (men)
performed the ‘masked’ dance to a Bollywood backing (even if
its restrained movements seemed a muted echo of the Slumdog
Millionaire energy audiences might associate with that genre).
Meera Syal made a very appealing Beatrice. At once
grounded and mischievous, she showed compassion for her
young, naïve cousin Hero (Amara Karan), and sharp-tongued but
vulnerable disdain for Benedick. An experienced comic actress,
she surpassed him in wit and timing. Bhattacharjee’s slightly
shambling appearance worked in his favour, though, and the
coming together of this weary couple seemed deeply felt as they
sat quietly together on a swing at the side of the stage.
Along the way, the two were duly gulled into believing the
other loved them, Benedick overhearing Balthasar’s (Raj Bajaj)
hauntingly upbeat version of ‘Sigh no more’, and Beatrice tricked
while clad in a dressing gown with hair removal cream on her top
lip. In a nod to the ‘thrusting commercialism’ of contemporary
Delhi noted by Syal in the RSC programme, Hero communicated
the false news of Benedick’s love by smartphone, her message
blaring out improbably on speakerphone for Beatrice to overhear.
Beatrice showed warmth and maturity as she accepted its criti-
cisms, and hugged herself with delight at news of Benedick’s
apparent affection.
Hero and Claudio’s (Sagar Arya) wedding was a dazzling focal
point. The household worked together to decorate the stage with
colourful garlands and ribbons, guests arrived in increasing finery,
several audience members were invited into the celebrations, and,
finally, Hero walked down the central aisle and on to the stage in a
dress glittering with gold. This protracted, earnest build-up only
exaggerated the swift cruelty of Claudio’s misguided rejection.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 150 25/02/2013 09:56

The wedding scene was also central to the connections the

production wished to draw with the arranged marriages, family
honour and changing attitudes to women of contemporary Indian
culture. Two other productions in the World Shakespeare Festival
from the Indian subcontinent – the Gujurati All’s Well That
Ends Well and the Urdu The Taming of the Shrew – also turned
anachronistic Shakespearean narratives of arranged marriage
and patriarchal control into live cultural issues. Yet where, for
example, the Urdu production raised questions such as ‘Would
theirs be a “modern” love match [ … ] or a “traditional” family
arrangement? Would feminism or patriarchy triumph?’, and then
transcended them by ‘soaring above such polarized stereotypes’
(pp. 187–8), it is not clear how far Khan’s production went beyond
pointing out those elements that ‘richly resonate within the Indian
social and cultural milieu’ to explore what these resonances tell us
about Shakespeare’s play, and about Indian culture.58
The second half peaked with the relief and laughter of Beatrice
and Benedick’s first kiss, and a final dance, with the whole cast
moving joyously and stylishly around the stage. Where other
Asian WSF productions, such as the Hindi Twelfth Night (‘a
carefree romp, punctuated throughout with musical numbers’
[see p. 222]), and All’s Well (which ‘began with the entire cast,
brightly costumed in the dress of 1900s Gujarat, lining up to
sing’ [see p. 33]), seemed to burst into song every few minutes,
Khan’s production largely confined itself to the music prescribed
by Shakespeare’s play, making the explosive energy of the final
number in this lengthy production all the more welcome.
Khan’s Much Ado was described as a ‘postcolonial adaptation’
in comparison with John Barton’s 1976 version, which was set
in British India, with a Sikh Dogberry and numerous colonial
officials.59 Some reviewers, however, have criticized Khan’s
production as a ‘parody or pastiche of “internationalism”, with
apparently second generation British actors pretending to return
to their cultural roots in a decidedly colonial way’.60
It is interesting to reflect on why such criticism might be
levelled at Khan’s production in particular. The RSC often
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 151 25/02/2013 09:56

sets plays in foreign locales, without the expectation that every

member of the production team and cast be from that country.
It is possible, though, in the hyper-global context of the World
Shakespeare Festival – and particularly, of the Globe to Globe
Festival – that the internationalism of the play came under new
scrutiny. The carefully constructed ‘authenticity’ of Shakespeare’s
Globe has been much discussed in recent years (for example in
the work of Dennis Kennedy and Paul Prescott) but this summer,
the combination of its distinctive space, the otherness of its
foreign visitors and the absence of the English language, seemed
to extend its brand of ‘authenticity’ to its 37 foreign-language
productions, co-opting them into it. However successful it was
on its own terms, Khan’s English-language RSC production
might simply have suffered by contrast. Khan’s warm-hearted
production raises the question of what constitutes ‘authenticity’
in global Shakespeare, and shows how far the intense internation-
alism of the WSF has changed expectations of ‘global’ theatre – at
least for now.
Othello
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 152 25/02/2013 09:56

Othello 153
Directed by GQ and JQ for The Q Brothers, Chicago Shakespeare

Theater (Chicago, USA) and Richard Jordan Productions at
Shakespeare’s Globe Erin Sullivan
When the Globe announced its 37 Plays, 37 Languages season,
the inclusion of the Chicago Q Brothers’ Othello: The Remix in
the ‘language’ of Hip Hop was bound to raise a few eyebrows.
A culture, a lifestyle, a musical and artistic form, Hip Hop may
perhaps be a kind of dialect, as one friend suggested to me, but
lined up as it was alongside Juba Arabic, Cantonese, Polish and
Bangla there was an implication of foreignness that was, at least
theoretically, provocative.
I say ‘theoretically’ because, in the more practical realms of
ticket sales and audience reaction, Othello: The Remix proved to
be one of the Globe to Globe Festival’s greatest successes. With
three showings, as opposed to most productions’ two, it was
nevertheless the first billing in the Festival to sell out, meaning
that more than 4,500 people saw the Q Brothers’ modern take
on Shakespeare’s tragedy over the course of one weekend. And
judging by the boisterous, ecstatic audience response I witnessed
at the opening matinee performance, both in the theatre and
afterwards online (the words of one Tweeter: ‘Holy crap Othello
@The_Globe is not just one of the best Othellos I’ve seen but one
of the best Shakespeares I’ve seen’), it was a strong contender for
popular favourite in the Festival as a whole.
In terms of plot, Othello: The Remix was remarkably compre-
hensive, condensing down but rarely cutting narrative detail from
its Shakespearean source to a running time (including interval)
of 90 minutes. Set in present-day America, it featured four
actor-MCs and one DJ who together told the story of Othello
(played by Postell Pringle), the ‘reigning King of Hip Hop’,
who won the love of Desdemona, a sheltered, gated community
white girl, through the magic of his mixtapes. In the style of late
’90s teen films based on Shakespeare’s plays (think 10 Things
I Hate about You), characters from the original became jokey
pop-culture stereotypes, with Roderigo (played by JQ) appearing
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 153 25/02/2013 09:56

as a gamer nerd, Bianca (JQ again) an obsessive groupie, Brabantio

an uptight suburban dad (GQ) and ‘Loco Vito’ (JQ one more
time) a gangsta record exec with a bizarre yet amusing predilection
for tennis-based analogies. Cassio (Jackson Doran) became a
pop-rapper who wrote lame, commercial rap songs ‘for teenage
white chicks’, while Iago (GQ) presented himself as an authentic
MC who had fought ‘battle after battle’ on the freestyle stage, only
to be overlooked at the crucial moment. ‘He never lets me get my
foot in the door’, we were told, ‘and this is why I hate the Moor’.
As with the Caesar-less Julius Caesar which had its turn on
the Globe stage just a few days earlier, one of the most striking
features of this production was the absence of a key player, in this
case Desdemona. The Q Brothers’ company of five was made
up entirely of men, meaning that Bianca and Emilia were both
played in drag (by JQ and Doran, respectively), while Desdemona
appeared only as an ethereal, trilling voice that echoed down from
the Globe’s speaker-laden rafters. While the choice may well have
been pragmatic (looking at material about the Q Brothers’ other
projects, it seems that they always work with a small, all-male
cast), the implications both for the play and for the depiction of
Hip Hop were significant. For much of the production, women
were presented as either highly burlesqued, sex-obsessed beings,
or as angelic non-entities, driving the plot of the play without ever
really being a part of it. Both Othello and Hip Hop became zones
for male identity formation, although Doran’s insecure Emilia did
finally rise beyond a caricature of female sexual frustration in the
second half of the production when all four actors donned wigs
and dresses to give a sassy, Glee-esque rendition of ‘It’s a Man’s
World’, which garnered the biggest, most enthusiastic crowd
reaction in an afternoon full of energetic applause.
The other standout number for me was Othello’s love duet
with Desdemona, inserted (rather interestingly) in the same
space as the love duet in Verdi’s Otello (perhaps a sign that
audiences want, even need, to witness something more private
and intimate between the two lovers here?). In this tender moment
Pringle offered us a thoughtful, emotionally deep Othello, while
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 154 25/02/2013 09:56

Othello 155
simultaneously showing off his sonorous flow in a piece that drew

as much on fellow Chicago-based rapper Common’s ‘The Light’
as anything in Shakespeare’s text. The Q Brothers themselves
demonstrated impressive versatility as performers as they moved
between a half dozen different characters, with their steady beats
and clever lyrics (Iago: ‘I’m messin’ with his mind, I’m alterin’ his
ego’) keeping the pace up and the witty attention to detail strong.
There’s no doubt that this was a hugely entertaining production,
and it was also not without its own insights into questions about
the intersection of race, identity, language and culture. Even more
emphasis on these issues would have pleased me – while Othello
addressed feelings of cultural exclusion at the very end (‘I am
an alien lookin’ for a home not an earthling lookin’ for escape’),
I wondered if more could have been made of this throughout,
as well as of Bianca’s Latina identity, which ultimately was
played for laughs. Still, walking out of the theatre, it was clear
that many members of the noticeably youthful audience had
thoroughly enjoyed this production which, as opposed to the
other ‘foreign’ offerings in the Globe to Globe Festival, worked to
make Shakespeare more familiar to his modern audiences, rather
than something supposedly familiar more foreign.
Otello, by Giuiseppe Verdi and Arrigo Bioto and directed by Elijah
Moshinsky for the Royal Opera House, London Stanley Wells
For me, the grand climax of the Year of Shakespeare came with
a revival at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, of Elijah
Moshinsky’s production of Verdi’s Otello which was first given
for the opera’s centenary in 1987. It was a grand climax because
this is one of the grandest of all operas, because it was given
in the grandest of all British theatres and because it demands
grand forces – a large chorus and orchestra, spectacular staging
and great singers including if possible the world’s finest
heroic tenor. It was also a production of a work in which the
greatness of the text that Shakespeare wrote is complemented,
even challenged, by a musical score which has equal claims to
greatness.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 155 25/02/2013 09:56

All the performances we have been seeing are to some degree or

other adaptations of the original plays, altering and usually short-
ening the texts, many of them translated into languages different
from that in which they were written, adopting new sets of theatrical
conventions and making explicit or covert allusions to contem-
porary political and social issues. In a sense there is no such thing as a
Shakespeare play, only an ongoing series of infinitely variable theat-
rical and other events stimulated by the words that Shakespeare
wrote. Each can be enjoyed (or not), and demands to be judged,
as a new creation. And operatic adaptation offers its own critical
challenges because it is multi-layered, requiring not only adaptation
of the text to fit the requirements of musical setting but also a
musical setting of the adapted text which makes independent claims
to artistic integrity. Add to this the interpretation of the resultant
work of art in a period later than that in which it was composed and
you have a whole Chinese box of critical complexities.
The first requirement for a Shakespeare opera is an
adaptation of the text which, while having its own kind of
theatrical validity, allows room for musical creativity. Almost
inevitably this requires both abbreviation and simplification.
Only one Shakespeare opera – Britten’s A Midsummer Night’s
Dream – uses Shakespeare’s words virtually unaltered, and
even this shortens the play by about a half, opening in the
forest not in Athens; similarly Arrigo Boito, Verdi’s librettist,
working of course in Italian not in English, starts Otello not in
Venice but in Cyprus, though he skilfully incorporates bits of
Shakespeare’s first act, such as references to Othello’s account
of his martial adventures, into the later scenes. He pares away
minor characters, streamlines the plot and cuts dialogue back to
its bare bones so as to allow the music full scope for emotional
expressiveness. Boito also creates opportunities for solo arias
and other set pieces, such as Iago’s creed (‘I believe in a cruel
god’), Desdemona’s Willow Song and Ave Maria and the great
love duet climaxing in the words ‘ancora un bacio’ – ‘one more
kiss’ – which close the first act and recur with devastating effect
as Otello, sinking to the ground, sings them over Desdemona’s
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 156 25/02/2013 09:56

Othello 157
corpse in the opera’s last moments. And, like the English actor-
managers of his time, he brings the curtain down on the tragic
hero’s last breath.
Music limits interpretation. That is to say, the music to which
Verdi sets Boito’s words – assuming that it is performed as
written – goes a long way to determining the style and impact
of the performance. An actor speaking Shakespeare’s verse has
more leeway for interpretation than the singer of musical notes
whose dynamics are governed by the composer’s shaping of
the words and by the intricate orchestration that goes alongside
them. Similarly the production style in purely theatrical terms is
largely laid down by the conventions to which the original work
conforms. If Verdi writes music demanding a large body of choral
singers, as he does in this opera’s first act, you’ve got to have
room for a lot of people on stage. To this extent an opera belongs
more firmly to its own time than a play; it is far less easy (though
not, as the recent English National Opera A Midsummer Night’s
Dream set in a boys’ school demonstrates, impossible) to have a
radical reinterpretation of an opera than of a play. Two years after
its premiere in Italy, in 1887, Otello received its first London
production at Henry Irving’s Lyceum Theatre, around the corner
from the Royal Opera House, and as I saw this production I could
have almost imagined myself transported back to the Lyceum
of Irving’s time. Timothy O’Brien’s set, defined by dark green
Corinthian pillars, is based on Michelangelo’s Laurentian Library
in Florence. The singers wear Renaissance costumes. Pervasive
religious symbolism, which counterpoints Iago’s declarations
of atheism and reinforces Desdemona’s devout Christianity,
includes two massive painted backdrops, one of a crucifixion and
the other of Tintoretto’s ‘Deposition from the Cross’, along with
a succession of crucifixes. In the thrilling opening scene, with its
choral and orchestral depiction of a tempest which anticipates
the internal one that will destroy Otello, the presence of a great
cannon facing directly into the auditorium along with the milling
of a crowd of citizens is as naturalistic as anything produced by
Irving or Beerbohm Tree.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 157 25/02/2013 09:56

Verdi’s music demands large-scale acting, too, but allows also

for lyricism and subtlety. Otello makes what is surely the most
thrilling first entry in all opera with his cry of ‘Esultate!’ delivered
here by the Latvian tenor Aleksandrs Antonenko with a burnished
tone that immediately established his heroic credentials. But later
the role modulates into the tenderness of the love music and this
too was finely sung. The Desdemona I saw, Marina Poplavskaya,
had intended to be in the audience but took over from the
announced singer. She did full justice to the role, phrasing not
only beautifully but dramatically. In the Willow Song, for instance,
she sang ‘Salce, salce!’ – ‘willow, willow!’ – as if it came from the
lips of the maid Barbara, not from a diva performing a set-piece.
The handsome Iago, Lucio Gallo, singing in his native language,
acted with disingenuous subtlety, addressing his creed directly to
the audience. Blessed with the Royal Opera’s superb chorus and
orchestra, Antonio Pappano conducted with commanding skill.
Verdi’s Otello is a rare instance of one masterpiece engendered by
another, and this production did full justice to it.
Desdemona, directed by Peter Sellars with Toni Morrison and

Rokia Traoré for the Barbican at the Barbican Hall, London
Erin Sullivan
In her foreword to the most recent Vintage edition of Beloved,
Toni Morrison describes the ideas and feelings that possessed her
as she sat down to write what would become her most celebrated
novel. Drawn in by the story of Margaret Garner, a young mother
in the nineteenth century who murdered her child rather than let
it be taken back into slavery, she wanted to write about a woman
who had found a way of ‘claim[ing] her own freedom’ at a time
when so little was offered to her. In order to do this, to understand
the haunting effects of not only the murdered baby’s memory,
but of the whole institution of slavery and the horrible legacy it
bequeathed both its willing and unwilling participants, Morrison
writes that she had ‘to pitch a tent in a cemetery inhabited by
highly vocal ghosts’, to allow ‘the order and quietude of everyday
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 158 25/02/2013 09:56

Othello 159
life’ to be ‘violently disrupted by the chaos of the needy dead’.

In Beloved the past and its bumptious ghosts are always present,
wrapping their arms around the houses, lives and even necks of the
living, strangling them with their desire to be remembered even as
their survivors strive ‘to remember as close to nothing as [is] safe’,
to start each day with the ‘serious work of beating back the past’.61
The same might be said of Morrison’s new project, Desdemona,
a collaboration between her, director Peter Sellars and singer-
songwriter Rokia Traoré, which resurrects the ghosts of
Shakespeare’s female characters in Othello in order to re-work,
re-view and re-member the events of this tragedy from their point
of view. The setting is the underworld, a land of night shades
inhabited by Desdemona herself (Tina Benko), her childhood
maid Barbary (Rokia Traoré), two female singers wearing the
same long, white dresses and bare feet of the female leads (Fatim
Kouyaté and Bintou Soumbounou) and two male musicians
seated, off and on, to the side of the stage (Mamah Diabaté and
Mamadyba Camara). They appear on a spare black set littered
with hanging tea lights, small floor lamps and standing micro-
phones, apparently arranged to mark the sites of four different
graves addressed in Desdemona’s monologues (a detail I did not
catch unassisted). To the back hangs a large white scrim, where the
shadows of the performers rise, fall and multiply as they tell their
story through words and song, these projected spirits populating
a ghostly world of memory, defiance, oppression and – ultimately
– the reclaimed freedom all Morrison’s protagonists seek.
The atmosphere of Desdemona is beautiful and mystical, but
the overall theatrical result, to my mind, is mixed. While powerful
voices are found not only for Desdemona, but also Barbary
(the source of the Willow Song in Shakespeare’s play, who is
imagined here as a black woman named Sarah brought from
Africa’s Barbary Coast), the performance is sometimes stilted and
declamatory, conveying its message not through subtle dramatic
representation but through diegetic, and didactic, narration.
Women are misused, men damaged by circumstances. Those
in power misread those below them, mistaking obedience for
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 159 25/02/2013 09:56

love, survival for cunning. While there are traces of Morrison’s

deliciously emotive word pictures – at their first encounter,
Othello appears to Desdemona as ‘a mass of a man, tree-tall,
glittering’ in his uniform – there are also layers of righteous
platitudes reminiscent of the pages of New Age self-help books –
‘Today I aspire to self-respect’, ‘I am not the meaning of a name I
did not choose’. Benko’s low, somewhat mannered vocal delivery
accentuates this feeling, with the lines as she speaks them taking
on the theatrical air of spoken-word poetry – a disproportionate
number of ‘THEs’ and ‘As’ are pronounced emphatically with
long vowel sounds, and normally silent ‘Ts’ (at least in Benko’s
American accent) find new prominence in words like ‘si-TTing’.
Small points, to be sure, but collectively they arrest the ear,
remaking Desdemona’s confessional speeches into something
altogether more performative, pre-planned and affected. But
perhaps this is no bad thing – we are talking about ghosts, after
all, and who am I to say how they should sound? It is possible
as well that I’m coming at this from the wrong angle entirely –
Desdemona is at least as much about Traoré’s music as it is about
Morrison’s words, with the Barbican situating the piece in its
music programme and The Guardian sending along a music
critic rather than a theatre one (despite running the review in the
Stage section of its website).62 Traoré’s soft ballads are indeed
magical, with her fluty voice giving way to airy cries and deep,
guttural vibrato in equal measure, a sound that conjures up the
ghost of Nina Simone alongside those of Shakespeare’s Barbary,
Desdemona and Othello. Throughout the performance Traoré
and Benko take turns telling the story, moving it from song to
narrative and back again as glowing colours spread across the
backdrop and English translations of Traoré’s Bambara lyrics
appear for us to read. Like Morrison, her words are saturated with
prayers for love, warnings against hate, celebrations of nature and
calls for peace, all potentially heavy-handed material. But as with
all lyrics, when they are woven into the music around them their
simplicity takes on richer, more suggestive meaning, avoiding
the awkwardness of stark words on a page and developing more
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 160 25/02/2013 09:56

Pericles 161
naturally and atmospherically through the rhythms and sounds of

which they are a part.
When the lights went up at the end of the two-hour perfor-
mance, I was left with a feeling of thoughtful, albeit strained,
reflection, with a lingering sense that the ghosts that had appeared
before us had always remained modern-day imaginings of what we
think liberated spirits – especially female ones – should be. Like
Ouija board conjurations, their stories had been ventriloquized
through sympathetic, but nevertheless distant voices, their fearful
haunting never allowed the full, unbridled and unpredictable rein
we might wish for it. Perhaps form, more than content, dictated
this – straddling theatrical performance and musical concert,
Desdemona maintained a staid, rigid, even formal demeanour
throughout. Only after seeing the performance did I realize that
for me Desdemona’s reclaimed freedom looks like something
altogether messier, rougher and more fragile.
Pericles
Directed by Giannis Houvardas for the National Theatre of Greece
(Athens, Greece) at Shakespeare’s Globe Stephen Purcell
The Globe auditorium erupted with applause as a member of the
National Theatre of Greece’s cast bounded onto the stage and
proposed, in English, ‘Let’s play!’
It was a moment which summarized nicely the sense of goodwill,
imaginative complicity and indeed ‘play’ that characterized this
Pericles. All 12 of the company remained on the bare stage from
start to finish, sitting and standing around the periphery until the
production demanded their involvement. Sometimes they were
required to play specific characters, but just as often they were
needed as an ensemble: a pressing throng in Tyre, the starving
population of Tarsus, the eddying sea of the shipwreck, a crew
of sleeping sailors or a gaggle of lecherous customers waving
banknotes at the brothel in Mytilene. In the moments when they
were not directly involved in the play’s action, they watched their
fellow actors with a physical intensity that encouraged the Globe
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 161 25/02/2013 09:56

audience, their mirrors, to do the same. When Dimitris Piatas’s

casual and likeable Gower came downstage to deliver passages
of narration, the rest of the cast smiled out at us, as if they were
inviting us to share in their evident enjoyment of the tale.
Ensemble-based physical theatre can sometimes be accused of
simply showcasing its actors’ virtuoso skills for their own sakes,
but this was not a problem here. Giannis Houvardas’s production
was slick and economical, telling the story with clarity and pace,
rarely indulging in mere display. When the acting did draw
attention to itself, it was often informed by a precedent in the text:
the play’s three comic fishermen, for example, made frequent
asides in English, disrupting the illusion of the Greek-language
scene with reference to the here-and-now of its performance in
twenty-first-century England in a way which paralleled the text’s
own interplay between heightened poetry and satirical, vernacular
prose. ‘I’m starving – I’m Greek’, explained Pericles (Christos
Loulis) to the groundlings as he begged them for food. Upon
being presented with a sandwich by an obliging playgoer, one of
the fishermen (Giorgos Glastras) ad-libbed: ‘You’re so nice here
in England! You should join the Euro’.
Performers slipped between characters at a moment’s notice,
twisting their scarves and coats into new configurations to enact
an instant costume change: Lydia Fotopoulou’s Bawd became
Dionyza by flipping her coat-tails up around her neck, while an
anonymous fish (Manolis Mavromatakis) suddenly transformed
into Simonides with the addition of a pair of shades and a
mimed cigar. This presentational style was complemented by the
English surtitles on either side of the stage, which described the
basic plot elements of each scene in a manner similar to Brecht’s
employment of placards. We were not being asked to empathize,
or kept in a state of dramatic tension: we were sharing in a collab-
orative act of storytelling. Indeed, the company’s repeated use
of song and percussion frequently lent the production an almost
ritualistic, mythological feel (though this was regularly undercut
by its self-reflexive humour).
There was a certain artful naïvety to the performance at times.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 162 25/02/2013 09:56

Pericles 163
The use of a Greek nursery rhyme (‘specially dedicated to the Globe

audience’) to lead into the play’s denouement, for example, felt
ever so slightly insincere to me. The company had clearly worked
hard to convey a sense of improvisational chaos, but the production
was in reality highly polished – the scarf snatched at a moment’s
notice to create Thaisa’s pregnancy became a recurring motif, and
Simonides’s seemingly irrelevant mimed cigar opened the door to a
whole sequence of physical clowning which culminated in him and
Pericles holding mimed guns to one another’s foreheads.
The ensemble was able to change gear very quickly and effec-
tively, as was evident in their simple and moving portrayal of
Thaisa’s (Maria Skoula) apparent death – though the potential
emotional impact of this moment was limited by the deliberately
sudden transition into the interval. Stefania Goulioti’s Marina
provided a forceful and spirited protagonist for the second half
of the play, but again, the production seemed to pull back from
allowing its audience an emotional payoff in her reconciliation
with her mother. Instead, the play’s final scene became a meta-
theatrical epilogue, in which Pericles came face-to-face with each
member of the ensemble in turn, each one representing a central
‘player’ in his life story.
A life-affirming song by the entire company rounded the
evening off, and the audience was encouraged to clap along –
which it did. The production ended as it had begun – with a
warm and enthusiastic round of applause. From start to finish, it
had been first and foremost an act of communal celebration.
Directed by James Farrell and Jamie Rocha-Allan for the Royal

Shakespeare Company at the Courtyard Theatre, Stratford-
upon-Avon José A. Pérez Díez
Arguably, the main difference between professional and amateur
actors is that the latter expect to gain no economic benefit and
work, etymologically, out of their love for the art. Professionals
have the advantage of having received formal training and of
having the support of a technical crew, while amateurs may double
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 163 25/02/2013 09:56

as lighting technicians, set designers or even interval bartenders

and have learned how to do it by doing it. And sometimes by
doing it over many decades. Often some amateur shows prove to
be more engaging, direct and powerful than professional enter-
prises of supposed great pitch and moment born at the whim of
bad Regietheater (Director’s Theatre).
Early in 2011, the Royal Shakespeare Company started the
Open Stages festival as a forum to celebrate the diversity and
creativity of amateur theatre practitioners all over the United
Kingdom, plus some companies from the Isle of Man, Guernsey
and the Republic of Ireland. A total of 268 groups performed full
productions or adaptations of plays by Shakespeare under the
banner of the RSC and in co-operation with ten regional partner
theatres. The Royal Shakespeare Theatre was the Open Stages
hub of the Midlands of England and the centre of operations
of the whole project. Members of the team led by producer Ian
Wainwright attended performances of most of the participant
productions and offered a number of free Skills Exchange days
in each regional hub, encompassing sessions on voice and text,
movement, stage combat, and acting with professional RSC
coaches. Some shows were selected to take part in a series of
regional showcases in the ten partner theatres. Finally, though the
festival was not conceived as a competition, a national showcase
was prepared for July 2012, selecting one production from each
region to be performed in the RSC theatres in Stratford as part
of the World Shakespeare Festival.
The groups varied enormously in background and resources,
from school and college societies, or youth theatre ensembles, to
well-established community companies, and groups in the armed
forces. Some of them had frequently performed Shakespeare in
the past, but for many Open Stages was their first Shakespearean
venture. I was fortunate to witness the process from its start,
since I was cast in the title-role of the production of The Life
and Death of King John that the dramatic society of which I am
a member, the Shakespeare Institute Players, pitched for the
festival in March 2011. Under the direction of Robert F. Ball,
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 164 25/02/2013 09:56

Pericles 165
the cast that included M.A. and Ph.D. students, as well as two
of our doctoral graduates (Will Sharpe as the Bastard, and Jami
Rogers as Constance), took great pride in having the opportunity
to perform on the stages of the Swan and the Courtyard theatres.
Having no formal acting training, I thought the coaching sessions
with the RSC provided an excellent insight into how professional
actors prepare for a role, while the training also proved to be
helpful in actual performance.
October 2012 marked the culmination of the festival with the
production of Pericles at the Courtyard with the newly formed
RSC Amateur Ensemble. They tried to demonstrate that, given
the time and technical resources that major professional companies
can afford, amateur actors can perform at the same artistic level as
their professional colleagues. The auditions for the 29 available
parts were fierce, with almost 400 applications received. According
to Ian Wainwright’s programme note, the final cast included ‘an
IT consultant, two teachers, a waitress, a DJ, a binman, a mobile-
phone salesman and a solicitor’, and it looked ‘to celebrate the idea
of Shakespeare as the people’s playwright’. The result was worthy
of the endeavour and amply proved the point.
The modern-dress production ran for 90 minutes with no
interval, using Phil Porter’s cleverly cut text that included all major
events of the play, but skipped some sections by using Gower’s
summaries enacted as dumb shows. Gower’s lines were distributed
among 15 of the actors, who functioned as a Greek chorus speaking
in unison. They were pre-set at the start sitting on stage, watching
the audience coming in. The fixed set upstage replicated the hull
of a modern ship, painted in a greenish brown and splattered with
blood. A central opening also served as above playing space (Diana’s
apparition) and the upstage left ramp was used to wheel tables and
sofas onto the thrust stage, making for a dynamic succession of
scenes. The cast had to struggle with the difficult acoustics of
the Courtyard Theatre, especially hollow with no audience on
the upper gallery. Sope Dirisu’s Pericles was undoubtedly the
centrepiece of the show, offering a nuanced and moving reading
of the part and succeeding in showing the King’s ageing process
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 165 25/02/2013 09:56

in a physically impeccable performance. Among other stylized

moments, members of the chorus replicated the movement of
the sea before Pericles’s shipwreck on the coast of Pentapolis, and
carried him above their heads as if he were swimming on the crest
of a wave. His wooing of Thaisa (Imogen Hartley) in the presence
of her father Simonides (Stephen Bridgen) was accompanied by
an outstanding dance sequence. Other striking effects included
the transformation of the baby Marina into her adult self, played
by Chloe Orrock, who pulled the swaddling clothes out of the arms
of Lychorida (Sue Whyte) to use them as a shawl. Among the most
memorable scenes, Thaisa’s resurrection stood out due to Peter
Malin’s humane and lyric performance as Cerimon. The reunion
of Pericles with his wife and daughter was the final emotional note,
after which the chorus resumed their initial positions to speak the
final lines of a truly beautiful show.
Let us hope that the RSC’s remarkable idea of reaching out to
non-professional theatre makers may be the first of other projects
that seek to bridge the sometimes arbitrary gap between profes-
sionals and amateurs. After all, both should spend time together
in the celebration of the love of their craft.
The Rape of Lucrece

Adapted by Elizabeth Freestone, Feargal Murray and Camille
O’Sullivan for the Royal Shakespeare Company at the
Edinburgh International Festival, Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh
Fionnuala O’Neill
Singer Camille O’Sullivan presumably did not expect her show
suddenly to become so topical. The Rape of Lucrece’s opening
night at the Edinburgh Festival occurred during the week in
which US Congressman Todd Akin caused outrage with his
remarks concerning ‘legitimate’ rape. Lucrece is a powerful and
timely reminder to its audiences of how even the most appallingly
violent act of rape may still become for its victim a source, not
just of pain and anger, but of searing shame and unjustified yet
torturing guilt.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 166 25/02/2013 09:56

The Rape of Lucrece 167
Adapted by Elizabeth Freestone, Lucrece became something

like a dramatic recital, set to music and part-spoken, part-sung
by O’Sullivan while Feargal Murray accompanied on piano. The
score was entirely original, composed by Murray and O’Sullivan,
and reflected many of O’Sullivan’s usual musical influences. Her
standard repertoire ranges from jazz to cabaret and rock, from
Jacques Brel to Radiohead. Her shows are striking not just for
her singing voice but her ability to perform in speech and song,
ranging easily from humour to vulnerability, sexual power to
sad-eyed experience. Accustomed to performing as a singer rather
than an actress, she did occasionally struggle to get the lines of
Lucrece across. But it was fundamentally this chameleon-like
capacity that allowed her to portray the very different voices of
the poem with remarkable poignancy and command.
O’Sullivan introduced the show herself, rather in the style of
a bardic performance. The lighting was very dim and the stage
largely monochrome, with black piano, stacks of white papers and
heavily tarnished mirrors (recalling the poem’s mirror sequence,
which was one of comparatively few cuts made). A little pair of
white evening shoes, sitting neatly and rather pathetically side-by-
side, stood sometimes for Lucrece while O’Sullivan performed
the part of the narrator. Behind them, an enormous, battered
and threatening pair of black military boots represented Tarquin.
When O’Sullivan emerged on stage she wore a black military
overcoat, removing it at the moment of the rape to reveal a white
shift dress underneath. The coat itself was briefly used as a prop,
becoming the body of the struggling victim on the floor and
then used brutally to stifle her cries. The lighting was used to
wonderful effect, periodically dimming and darkening the mood.
Striking illusions were occasionally created, such as a beam
of light from an imaginary bedroom door as it opened under
Tarquin’s hand, or a great black shadow on the mirror as the
white-clad Lucrece stood facing it after the rape.
Switching between roles allowed the show to bring out
the poem’s sometimes discomfiting voyeurism. As the singer
circled the shoes, softly singing of Lucrece’s physical beauty, her
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 167 25/02/2013 09:56

fingertips brushed an invisible body as if exploring an artwork.

But there was an uncomfortably grey area in this gaze – in
which the audience was clearly invited to participate – between
tenderness and voyeurism, as she later shifted effortlessly into
Tarquin’s lust-filled perspective. The poem opens by bewailing
Collatine’s unwise boasting about his wife, the act which first
incites Tarquin. As Lucrece’s vulnerable body became the object
of male power struggles, this narrative tenderness verged uneasily
on complicity.
The music was, for the most part, the making of the show,
bringing out the poem’s beauty and its violence. Ripplingly soft
and gentle during the early passages, it rose ominously as Tarquin’s
rage and lust swayed him, as if echoing his swelling passions and
drumming heartbeat. The passionate songs allowed O’Sullivan
to make full use of her powerful voice. At times they recalled the
intensity of Brel’s ballads, one of her major influences, but there
were also occasional moments at which they drifted towards West
End-style numbers, as if Lucrece were performing Sweet Charity
and Tarquin playing Judd from Oklahoma! This seemed musically
inappropriate for the poem’s seriousness, uncomfortably insipid
for such intensely tragic rage and despair.
However, for the most part the score was superbly deployed.
One of the finest effects was the strength and power it lent to
Lucrece’s voice after the rape, especially as the audience was
clearly full of O’Sullivan’s regular fans, and her Lucrece was
thus ‘ghosted’ by traces of past performances in which other
powerful or suffering female voices feature. The storytelling was
courageously physical, but it was the music that gave Lucrece
(‘Philomel’) an ability to express passion, despair and above all
rage that a spoken performance would be hard-pressed to match.
Particularly striking was the swelling anger in the music as she
reproached Collatine for his fateful boasting, before turning to
reproach her body bitterly for its self-betrayal. It was a powerful
portrayal of the intense pressures exerted upon the victim by
such coercive physical and emotional intimidation, resulting
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 168 25/02/2013 09:56

The Rape of Lucrece 169
in corrosive guilt at the unjustified idea that she herself might

somehow bear responsibility.
Two particularly poignant moments occurred near the end of
the show; the first when Lucrece encountered Collatine on his
return, now distanced and alienated by her experiences and her
conflicted passions. The second occurred after Lucrece’s suicide,
at which red petals fell from the flies upon the discarded clothing
which now represented her body. The singer’s voice deepened to
lower alto range and became throatier, her body suddenly stilling
while the music slowed, as she performed Lucretius’ lament for
his daughter straight to the crumpled heap on the floor. After a
very physical performance, and in particular after the increasingly
uncomfortable voyeurism of the poem, this controlled portrayal
of Lucretius’ dignified grief came as a relief. His was the sole
voice to display no voyeurism or objectification towards Lucrece;
the only one who seemed to recognize and mourn Lucrece as
Lucrece, rather than as sexual object, property or battleground.
By contrast, Collatine’s subsequent lament was declamatory,
delivered with wide-flung arms to the audience rather than to
‘Lucrece’ herself. It was a timely reminder of the degree to which,
in the politicized discourse of rape and violence, suffering female
bodies too often remain at the level of stage props for political
arguments between men, bodies subject to a failure of recognition
in and as themselves.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 169 25/02/2013 09:56

Richard II
Directed by Conall Morrison for Ashtar Theatre (Ramallah,

Palestine) at Shakespeare’s Globe Erin Sullivan
The first thing we see is a man stumble onto the stage, bewildered,
frightened, his white shirt crumpled and smeared with dirt. Two
men in military dress follow him on, placing a stool downstage
centre and gesturing for him to sit. Obeying, he looks on with
uncertainty as one of the men produces a shaving kit, smearing
his left cheek with foam and offering him an open razor. He takes
it, and begins to shave, when the two men seize him from behind
and pin his arms back, grabbing the blade and pulling it forcefully
across his neck. As he falls to the ground, one of them opens a
small vial and pours its sticky, red contents onto his lifeless face.
They walk off, and slowly, eerily, he sits up, looking out at the
audience as he smears the crimson liquid across his forehead,
nose and mouth. This is the Duke of Gloucester, and we have just
witnessed his murder.
Those familiar with Shakespeare’s text will know that while
Gloucester’s death is a formative event in the plot, it is only spoken
about, not seen. By starting with his murder Conall Morrison and
Ashtar Theatre immediately root their production in visceral,
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 170 25/02/2013 09:56

Richard II 171
bloody conflict, rather than the more abstracted, wordy discussion

of political division that opens Shakespeare’s original. While we
still get the debate between Richard, Bolingbroke (Gloucester’s
kinsman) and Mowbray (who is complicit in Gloucester’s murder),
it is contextualized by the immediacy of a violent altercation that
gives shape and meaning to the fractious events that soon unfold
– indeed, the dazed Gloucester is still lingering onstage as they
enter arguing, looking on not with malice or vengeance but with
confusion, sadness and longing. This is a world in which too many
people die, without a clear reason why or how such violence has
come to pass.
There is much to praise and discuss about this production –
too much for one review – which marries artistic and political
concerns more successfully than any other show I saw in the Globe
to Globe season. Particularly notable for me was Sami Metwasi’s
portrayal of Richard II as a petulant, vain but nonetheless charis-
matic leader. When he oversees the duel between Bolingbroke
(Nicola Zreineh) and Mowbray (Ihab Zahdeh), he gestures
daintily with his fingers for them to move further apart … and
further again … and again still, until they are deep into the
Globe’s groundling yard. His playful, capricious Richard II
is not unlike the film clips I have seen of Mark Rylance’s fey
ruler for the Globe in 2003, although perhaps with a bit more
military machismo and a distinctly modern political arrogance.
This Richard, dressed impeccably in a tan military suit decorated
with several rows of colourful pins, medals and insignia, is
not a divinely anointed king, but a politically elected official,
supremely confident of his right to lead despite the obvious
frustration and discontent among his countrymen. After he
sentences Bolingbroke and Mowbray to exile, his courtiers enter
jokily with a bottle of Jameson whiskey and a mirror, which they
hold up for Richard as he straightens his collar. Both props are
significant – the Jameson highlighting this court’s disregard for
Islamic abstinence from alcohol, the mirror Richard’s character-
istic vanity. The early and casual entrance of the mirror in this
production – such a powerful and much-debated prop in the
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 171 25/02/2013 09:56

stage history of Richard II (the original stage directions require

it to be broken later on, a very unusual, and expensive, theatrical
specification in Shakespeare’s time) – disrupts expectations for
those familiar with the play, deflating the object’s significance in
the second half when Richard’s fortunes are far less secure.
At the interval and after the show I talk with two Arabic-
speaking audience members near me who tell me that Richard
comes across to them as a ‘jokester’, a narcissistic ruler who is not
entirely bad, but certainly is not inspiring or heroic either. They
tell me that the translation is in ‘formal’ or classical Arabic, the
Arabic used by newsreaders and writers but not usually spoken
in more casual, friendly settings. There are certain phrases in
the language of the play that you cannot understand if you have
not formally studied Arabic, and there are also subtle references
to modern Palestinian politics that you might miss if, like me,
you are not intimately familiar with the cultural dynamics of
the situation. In their costuming and behaviour, Richard and his
followers signal the Fatah party, they suggest, and Bolingbroke in
his bomber jacket and red beret Hamas (significantly, he changes
out of these once he becomes king). When Richard returns from
Ireland to find his country in revolt, a half dozen ensemble
members appear throughout the Globe auditorium, faces hidden
by scarves and flags waving in the air, an interpretive choice that
is reflected back to them by audience members during the curtain
call when they unfurl Palestinian flags.
Perhaps contemporary politicization is inevitable in a play so
marked by questions of leadership and rule and performed by a
company so shaped by national and political circumstances. But
it would be wrong, I think, to say that Ashtar Theatre’s Richard
II is first and foremost a cipher for modern political concerns.
For me, it is a production above all striking in its confident,
clear, yet complex performances, offering a reading of the play
that is at once attentive to the ideas and details put forward in
Shakespeare’s text yet unafraid to push them in new directions.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 172 25/02/2013 09:56

Richard III 173
Richard III
Directed by Wang Xiaoying for National Theatre of China
(Beijing, China) at Shakespeare’s Globe Peter J. Smith
Note: In the review that follows, I have been unable to identify
performers by name. The production’s cast list credits them only as ‘Actor’
or ‘Actress’ but does not ascribe particular characters to particular
names. The 12 performers were Zhang Dongyu, Wu Xiaodong, Chen
Qiang, She Nannan, Zhang Yifang, Zhang Xin, Wang Nan, Xu
Mengke, Cai Jingchao, Li Jianpeng, Wang Lifu and Chang Di.
In the cast list is a colour picture of this production with Richard

flanked by two witches. He is dressed in elaborate robes and crown
while they are weirdly masked and one carries a Gandalf-like staff.
But this performance was preceded by Dominic Dromgoole, the
Globe’s Artistic Director, announcing that all of the production’s
equipment was in a shipping container stranded somewhere
between Beijing and London. The costumes and props we were
about to see, he explained, had been cobbled together at the last
minute from the Globe’s stores. Given the superlative acting, the
balletic movement and the astonishing vocal range I, for one, was
relieved to see the production unadorned by visual extravagance;
it was as though we were seeing it in rehearsal and the simplicity
of the staging made perfect sense in a theatre which is supposed
to (but all too rarely does) stage the plays ‘naked’.
The production opened with red and white banners warring
against each other to the battle-like sounds of heavy drumming
– Wang Jianan sat in the balcony and punctuated the production
with a huge range of percussive rhythms and textures throughout.
Edward IV was enthroned and the court knelt in allegiance to
him. As he attempted to declare his governance, he collapsed into
a fit of sickly coughing and the courtiers surrounded and cosseted
him, leaving Richard downstage who turned to us and announced
his mission to destroy his brothers and assume the crown.
While the stage picture of Richard downstage centre isolated
him from the court, his malevolent autonomy was suddenly
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 173 25/02/2013 09:56

undermined. Three witches in long black cassocks and short

black capes appeared and wove their way about him, fixing him
between their orbits like a bewildered Macbeth. Right from the
outset, then, this was a Richard who was ‘determined [as in
preordained rather than resolute] to prove a villain’ (1.1.30). As
that line suggests, Richard can be read as fortune’s fool or as a
Machiavellian, completely free and unfettered by any chivalric or
familial obligations. This production decided to do away with that
ambiguity and read Richard in the former sense, as the plaything
of forces altogether larger than the political field. The scene
of the mourning queens (4.4) had the three women suddenly
morph into the witches to torture Richard’s conscience on the
eve of Bosworth. While above, on the balcony, Margaret appeared
at each of the many deaths to utter maledictions down upon
Richard’s various victims, the proximity of the witches to Richard
himself suggested that his ambitions were serving a greater force
than the discarded Queen.
Paradoxically though, this was a Richard of heroic stature.
Without the bodily deformities that usually complement the role,
this was a physically imposing and attractive protagonist. Lady
Anne trembled as he gave her the sword but she never really
seemed capable of dispatching him – though his visible relief in a
barely concealed sigh prompted audience laughter. He disarmed
her insult, patting her spittle around his chin and neck as though
applying after-shave. His rejection of Buckingham veered danger-
ously close to a physical attack while his sense of public display,
standing on a table, seeking the approval of the London populace,
was the opposite of Coriolanus’ nervous reticence: here was a
leader – charismatic, bold, presidential.
The two murderers, Richard’s henchmen, were extraordinary
acrobats. Their slow-motion crawling towards the supine Clarence
was accomplished in an affectation of pitch-dark, their deadly
curved swords skimming each other’s heads. The various assas-
sinations were things of balletic beauty as they leapt off tables
and somersaulted past each other. Though lost on this reviewer,
they constantly aroused the laughter of the Mandarin speakers
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 174 25/02/2013 09:56

Richard III 175
in the audience (one of whom told me at the interval that they

were speaking an equivalent of London Cockney). While Richard
himself, in many productions, is a source of comedy, descending as
he does from the medieval Vice, here the conspicuous murderers
drew the play’s comic focus.
On the eve of Bosworth, Richard’s paranoia (5.3) led to him
writhing on a table, throttling himself so that his psychological
torment was physicalized outwardly. Wounded, he crawled to the
throne and shouted for a horse (5.4.7) before being surrounded
and speared by the opposing army. Richmond was crowned while
the witches wailed his triumph. Richard, lying apparently dead
on the fore-stage, suddenly roused himself and repeated his call
for a horse. A look of horror passed over the courtiers. Richard’s
vicious afterlife had only just begun.
Directed by Roxana Silbert for the Royal Shakespeare Company at

the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon Peter J. Smith
Will I be in trouble for sounding sexist? Will my readers brand
me an unreconstructed patriarch? Oh well, here goes … I
knew – before opening my programme (which I always do
post-show) – that the director of this production was female.
Before you get cross, let me explain: in the history plays,
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 175 25/02/2013 09:56

Shakespeare does not give his female characters much to do.

Glendower’s daughter speaks no English; Kate, Hotspur’s wife,
is cruelly sent up; Princess Katherine’s English lesson results
in her becoming a comic butt as she accidentally pronounces a
series of slang obscenities and Mistresses Quickly and Tearsheet
personify the disposable playthings of the customers at the Boar’s
Head. But the women of Richard III are the exception. The
vehement exchanges between Elizabeth Woodville and Richard,
the protracted mourning of the three queens, the anti-maternal
denunciation of the Duchess of York, the prominence of Lady
Anne and the empress-like authority of the malevolent matriarch,
Queen Margaret, mean that this is no country for old men, or
young ones, come to that.
Richard’s misogyny may indicate his own masculine anxieties
about female government or, were one to become psychoana-
lytical about it, fears of female sexuality (exacerbated by his own
deformity since, as he reminds us, he is ‘not shaped for sportive
tricks’ [1.1.14]), but it is a misogyny not shared by the play, unlike
the other history plays. When Richard dismisses Elizabeth with
‘Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman’ (4.4.431), we
know he is wrong about her. As the young Elizabeth’s marriage
to Richmond makes clear, her mother was simply protecting
both herself and her daughter in appearing to assent. Women in
Richard III are much smarter than Richard gives them credit for.
This production made sure that the play’s power was contin-
ually articulated by its women. Most prominent here was Paola
Dionisotti’s Margaret. In the story of the play Margaret has
returned from banishment in France to gloat over the demise of
her political opponents. In this production she seemed to have
come back from the underworld. Her first entrance was accom-
panied by an eerie shift to cold blue lights and her clunky army
boots and cape/jacket suggested both military puissance and
vampiric malice. As she cursed those around her, she stamped her
foot and the naked light bulbs above her momentarily brightened
as though mystically in sympathy with her. Dionisotti’s adamant
pronouncements were simply chilling: ‘Think that thy babes were
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 176 25/02/2013 09:56

Richard III 177
sweeter than they were,/And he that slew them fouler than he is’
(4.4.120–1).
Siobhan Redmond’s Elizabeth Woodville was another locus of
female power. There was no brittle panic about her exchanges with
Richard (contrast Richard Loncraine’s film which has Annette
Bening’s Queen choking back tears over the dinner table); rather,
she weighed into him, giving as good as she got. Even Lady Anne
(Pippa Nixon) was not seduced by Richard but flattened by the
speed of his stichomythian returns.
Against this female intelligence and smouldering rage, Jonjo
O’Neill’s Richard and Brian Ferguson’s Buckingham were mostly
ineffectual: the world of masculine politics was parodied. As
Catesby (Alex Waldmann) stage-managed the peculiar mock-
alarm of 3.5, he, Richard and Buckingham ran around the set
like extras from a Whitehall farce. Interpolated instructions and
exclamations sent up the whole sequence, which took place in
near darkness. We heard Catesby, from offstage, shouting ‘not yet,
not yet’ as he scripted various entrances and someone collided
with an imaginary obstacle and let out a sudden ‘Ouch!’
From the beginning this protagonist was being sent up. Richard
spoke of the plots he had laid against Clarence and a heavy
pizzicato on the strings turned him into a pantomime villain. As
he and Buckingham welcomed the Prince to London in 3.1 they
hurled him around the stage in a throne with castors on it, under-
mining his royal entry as a dormitory prank. It might be that
O’Neill’s performance was simply under-powered – it certainly
failed to connect with the audience – but, more generously, it
might have been a deliberate strategy to allow the play’s female
characters not to be overwhelmed by what is usually shown to be
Richard’s Machiavellian brilliance. As he sat on an umpire’s chair,
facing upstage, he conversed over his shoulder with Buckingham
and then Tyrrel (Oscar Pearce) about disposing of the princes.
These whispered asides served only to turn his double infanticide
into a bit of rugby-club mischief.
But it was in the inclusion of two female ghost roles that
the production’s feminist aesthetic became clumsy. As Mark
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 177 25/02/2013 09:56

Jax’s Edward IV sat on his throne he was flanked by Queen

Elizabeth and Mistress Shore (Susie Trayling) who appeared
later, in surprised dishabille, as Hastings’s lover following their
untimely waking (3.2). This I have seen before and is acceptable,
if distracting, but the entrance of Elizabeth of York, who ran on
to embrace and kiss the victorious Richmond during his final
speech, was just intrusive. A feminist Richard III makes, as I have
suggested, complete sense but the fortunate outcome’s reliance
on a young princess does not call for her physical presence and
such crude sign-posting spoilt, at the final hurdle, a production
of considerable force.
Two Roses for Richard III, directed by Cláudio Baltar and Fabio
Ferreira for Companhia Bufomecânica (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil) at
the Roundhouse, London Sonia Massai
Two Roses for Richard III is a visually stunning retelling of one
of Shakespeare’s most popular plays and translates some of its
memorable lines into arresting stage images. Richard is literally a
‘wretched, bloody and usurping boar’ (5.2.7) and hunting scenes
open both halves of this production. In the first one, Richard
wears a boar’s head, sniffs the air and then kills his prey with
unflinching precision. Richard’s rifle, aimed at the vast and pitch-
black vault looming over the stage in the Roundhouse, goes off
with a loud bang and his first victim, Edward, the son of King
Henry VI, falls out of the sky, leaving a trail of red petals floating
mid-air behind him. After the interval Richard, who is still
wearing the boar’s head and is now on stilts, towers over Hastings
as the latter tries to hide behind moving trees, personated by
actors holding branches and wearing rough sacks over their heads.
In a vivid re-enactment of Stanley’s dream, the wild boar kills
again, this time by shooting an arrow through Hastings’s heart.
The use of sumptuous Elizabethan costumes, light and sound
effects and breathtaking aerial work is impressive but it often feels
a little contrived and detracts attention from other interesting
interventions by co-directors Cláudio Baltar and Fabio Ferreira.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 178 25/02/2013 09:56

Richard III 179
Foremost among them is the casting of Richard, who is played,

often simultaneously, by several actors. This casting decision
makes Richard’s character seem less accessible, despite the fact
that most of his famous soliloquies are retained, but it works
well during the wooing of Lady Anne (1.2), when three Richards
surround her and three more actors behind a huge screen at
the back of the stage make Richard’s power seem irresistible.
Also effective is the use of five actors in the persuasion scene,
when Richard tries to seduce the Queen into accepting his
plan to marry her daughter Elizabeth (4.4). On both occasions,
the two women are outnumbered by a crowd of Richards who
prevail more through their physical presence than through their
rhetorical prowess. Equally powerful is the use of two actors to
play Richard at the end of the play. First Richard sits on the
wheelchair that doubles as a throne for the sick King Edward IV
just before his death earlier in the play. Then Richard hands over
the boar’s head to another actor who crawls slowly downstage
before he exits through the auditorium, presumably to suggest
that Richard’s brutality will not die with him.
Other devices are used to reinforce the distancing effect
achieved through this peculiar casting of Richard’s character.
For example, the switch to English from Brazilian Portuguese,
the main language used by the Brazilian cast, foregrounds the
scrivener’s lines, which are often and regrettably cut in modern
productions, by setting them apart from the rest of the play.
Another switch to English marks the moment when the actor
playing Edward IV steps out of character to say that he does
not know how to die on stage. Metatheatricality is another
distinctive and generally attractive feature in this production,
but it occasionally feels rather heavy-handed. Earlier in the same
scene, when Edward tries to reconcile opposite court factions, he
asks not only the Queen and her allies to embrace their opponents
but also Henry IV to embrace Falstaff and, rather unnecessarily,
calls for an imaginary Kenneth Branagh to embrace an imaginary
Emma Thompson, probably alluding to their most popular roles
as Henry V and Katherine in Branagh’s Henry V (1989) or
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 179 25/02/2013 09:56

Benedick and Beatrice in Branagh’s Much Ado About Nothing

(1993), and to their subsequent divorce in 1995.
A similar distancing effect is achieved when Queen Margaret
speaks new lines just before the battle of Bosworth to reflect
both on her plight as a French woman, widowed and exiled, and
on her predicament as an actor stuck with a role she no longer
knows how to play, like one of Pirandello’s Six Characters in
Search of an Author. Margaret tests the strength of her character
and the range of her skills as an actor by delivering lines from
Henry VI Part 3, including ‘Look, York, I stained this napkin
with the blood [of your son]’ (1.4.79) and the famous epithet
York uses to describe her as a ‘tiger’s heart wrapped in a woman’s
hide’ (1.4.138). She also speaks a few lines from Henry VI Part
2 when she cradles Suffolk’s severed head in her lap (‘But who
can cease to weep and look on this?’ [4.4.19]). While the use of
these additional lines makes sense in the context of Margaret’s
metatheatrical digression, a passing remark, in English, about her
arch-rival, ‘Eleanor, that cow!’, provides some welcome but rather
facile comic relief. Unfortunately, although Margaret reassures
the audience that ‘an actor always knows how to return to
the beginning’, this otherwise daring and ambitious production
overreaches itself by using Shakespeare as a testing ground for too
many different theatrical languages and styles.
Romeo and Juliet

Devised by the Grupo Galpão (Belo Horizante, Brazil) at
Shakespeare’s Globe Kathleen E. McLuskie
The Saturday afternoon crowd, strolling from Waterloo past the
Globe, enjoyed a man in a bowler hat whose tuba spouted flames
and 40s dance music, a very tall berambao player, a trad-jazz
band and a flautist racing through a tune from The Magic Flute
with dazzling precision. The crowd was friendly: a slowing of
pace here, a smile there, but the only time people stopped was
when the tuba flamed and I did not see anyone pay. I hope the
performers covered the cost of their pitches.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 180 25/02/2013 09:56

Romeo and Juliet 181
The Elizabethan theatre builders were right: entertainment

only works if you put a wall round it. Once the crowd was inside
the Globe, we became an audience, keen to have a good time.
At the Grupo Galpão show, we had a fantastic time. When the
performers arrived at ground level, the crowd parted as one to
let them through; we all clapped along to the music; the Brazilian
Portuguese speakers laughed at the verbal jokes and began,
quietly, to sing along to the lullaby theme that carried the story’s
wit and sadness through changes of tempo. The rest of us joined
in whenever we could, applauding the most daring physical turns,
laughing at Tybalt’s stammer and shrieking when Friar Lawrence
finally sprayed us with holy water in a wildly anticipated and
perfectly timed gag. There was no need to read the surtitles that
told the story of each scene, and no point, when the action was
happening with such precision before us.
Grupo Galpão must have known they could rely on us. As my
native informant said: ‘It’s Romeo and Juliet: we’ll get it’. We got
it because Grupo Galpão had done their skilled creative work: the
set was a platform on top of a J-reg Volvo (they must have bought
it at a used car lot in Brixton) with stepladders for added height
and a silver moon with roses hung from fishing poles. The car,
its windows ringed with stick-on flowers, was the women’s space.
Girls hung out of the windows with tiny dolls as the boys played
a toy-gun battle to set up the opening conflict. Juliet peeped out
of the rear window to ask why Romeo was Romeo and Romeo
replied from the car roof above. Best of all, the nurse took over the
front, heaving her balloon bosoms out of the window in a gesture
that got a huge laugh the first time but communicated her entire
emotional palette as the story unfolded.
Each character’s signature action played multiple emotional
roles. The men on stilts were a gang of lads at the Capulet ball,
dancing and groping their enormous doll partners, but the same
stilts gave an edge of danger to the duel scenes and brought great
pathos to the moment when Lady Capulet released the dying
Tybalt from his. Juliet teetering en pointe in ballet shoes was silly
in the love scenes and then heartbreaking when she performed
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 181 25/02/2013 09:56

a perfect dying swan dance to accompany her final lines. The

Capulet family, lined up before the discovery space with Juliet
lying dangerously on the edge of the gallery above them, used
the same umbrellas that had balanced the stilt walkers or jokingly
hidden the kissing lovers from view, to signal the funeral to a now
silent audience.
Grupo Galpão also trusted us to listen to the language.
Shakespeare himself (the bald head, the doublet and hose) spoke the
prologue as well as providing the fishing-rod moon for the lovers’
meeting and leading the band. Mercutio gave us Queen Mab at
length but could also shift from mock heroic Portuguese to a howl
of ‘I am hurt’, spoken in English. Juliet spoke her ‘gallop apace’ aria
from the top of a stepladder with the banished Romeo sobbing in
hiding below. Some of us may have caught no more than ‘suspirao’,
‘allegria’ and ‘corazon’ but ‘sigh’, ‘joy’ and ‘heart’ seemed a pretty
good distillation of a performance of Romeo and Juliet, especially
when they were all so fully experienced by the crowd at the Globe.

reasons
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 182 25/02/2013 09:56

Romeo and Juliet in Baghdad, adapted and directed by Monadhil

Daood for the Iraqi Theatre Company (Baghdad, Iraq) and the
Royal Shakespeare Company at the Swan Theatre, Stratford-
upon-Avon Susan Bennett and Christie Carson
Monadhil Daood’s adaptation of Romeo and Juliet for the Iraqi
Theatre Company, Romeo and Juliet in Baghdad, started, literally,
with a bang. Several of them, as gunfire and light flashes from
explosions set the stage for a show that would relentlessly deliver
the quotidian violence – and its very long history – in Iraq’s
capital city. The Capulets and the Montagues were warring
families of Sunni and Shia peoples, and Romeo and Juliet star-
crossed lovers who must negotiate danger in addition to the
impossibility of their relationship.
These lovers were not struck by newfound affection at the
party at the Capulet’s house but were reunited after nine years
of separation due to the violent feud between the two families.
There were a number of references to ‘the boat’ which these
families find themselves in, apparently both a physical and
metaphoric reference to the disagreements between the Sunni
and Shia people. There were a great many additions to the text as
well as an interesting reassignment of some of the characters and
ideas. An enormous effort was made to make the audience feel the
experience of living under such disruptive and soul-destroying
conditions.
First through the intervention of the ‘Teacher’ (Sami
Abdulhameed), the play seemed to implore us (the West) to
better understand the brutal realities of life in a city so long torn
by war and the price it exacts on all its inhabitants. Benvolio,
(Ameer Hussein), for example, was played by a young boy
proudly sporting his Lionel Messi football shirt and dreaming of
another world where skills in heading the soccer ball rather than
firing a gun might be rewarded. Mercutio (Fikrat Salim) cried out
pitifully after being shot, trying to protect Romeo from Tybalt’s
drawn weapon: ‘I’m not going to die am I? I don’t want to die’.
None of these young men wanted to be there and none of them
could possibly leave.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 183 25/02/2013 09:56

Romeo and Juliet in Baghdad assaulted the senses, again and

again, to bleak effect: the very things we rely upon to assert
a common humanity, to advertise a world where we dare to
hope – love, football, food – fell far short in this Baghdad where
any laughter or tenderness quickly dissipated into the everyday
normalities of anger, hatred and death.
The young lovers found sanctuary in the church as we antici-
pated but instead of the mistaken deaths in Shakespeare that bring
about the tragic end, here Paris (Allawi Hussein) got to resolve
the plot in the play’s only moment of extreme passion – a suicide
bombing that shocked as it underscored the absolute loss of love
in this world. Lives lost by the end of Shakespeare’s tragedies
suddenly seem little more than aesthetic convention; the real
tragedy, this adaptation suggests, is the West’s passive specta-
torship of a story familiar to us from the nightly news.
The audience was sparse and seemingly predominantly Western
and unable to understand the Arabic language. The rapid-fire
surtitles made following both the action and words hard-going.
For many of the audience members there was an almost physical
recoiling at the onslaught of emotion, noise and language pouring
off the stage. It was a significant shift in the usual atmosphere of
the beautiful Swan Theatre space. The theatre, for this night at
least, was not a safe haven for anyone involved.
West Side Story, by Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim,

directed and choreographed by Will Tuckett for the Royal
Shakespeare Company’s Open Stages and The Sage at Hall One,
The Sage, Gateshead Monika Smialkowska
Like most of us, I first encountered West Side Story through the
1961 film version, with its unforgettable late fifties/early sixties
New York ambience: chain-link fences surrounding concrete-
covered playgrounds, dingy streets, tenements and – of course
– fire escapes. The first surprise on entering Hall One of The Sage
Gateshead was the lack of any of these iconic images. Instead of
tenement houses zigzagged with fire escapes, we were faced with
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 184 25/02/2013 09:56

a bare stage, framed by a curved black brick wall. The only fixture
was a ladder, leading to a large window upstairs. Throughout the
performance, doors sometimes opened in the wall, but most of
the time they remained shut, leaving it seamless and forbidding.
Other pieces of stage furniture – chairs, tailors’ dummies, Maria’s
bed – were nondescript and impermanent, deftly brought on and
taken off the stage by the members of the cast as the change of
scenes required.
This minimalist staging moved the action from the 1950s/60s
New York to a less localized, more neutral setting. This was the
intention of the choreographer and director Will Tuckett, who
explained: ‘I’m trying to [ … ] strip it back, to remove things that
fix it to a specific cultural period, or cultural point’ (all quotations
are from the production’s programme). By doing so, Tuckett
eliminated the possibility of seeing the musical as an account
of a conflict which flared up at a particular time and place, and
which may be long resolved or irrelevant to us. This production
told not so much a West Side story as an Anywhere story, making
us feel that what we were witnessing could happen at any time
to anybody. Instead of historical detachment, we experienced
immediate emotional impact.
If the original West Side Story updated Romeo and Juliet in order
to make it relevant to mid-twentieth-century young Americans,
The Sage production removed the risk such an update carries:
a possibility of it becoming frozen in its own historical moment.
Watching this performance, it was impossible to think that disaf-
fected youths, deprived communities, intolerance and division
belonged to the past or to some distant place. As the executive
producer, Katherine Zeserson, pointed out, ‘The conflicts and
prejudices laid out in the show have a frightening resonance in
2012 Britain, with increasingly violent gang activity in inner-city
communities, and a devastating failure of civil society to cherish
and nurture the well-being of children and young people’. By
removing some of the culturally specific references, the producers
made it hard to ignore this contemporary resonance.
The production’s visual stylization extended to the costumes,
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 185 25/02/2013 09:56

which were neutral rather than period specific: simple dresses

for women and plain shirt-and-trouser combinations for men.
Occasionally, some of the women (not just the tomboy Anybodys)
wore leggings instead of dresses, which gave the show a more
contemporary look. Interestingly, the costumes were colour-
coded – red for the Sharks and blue or white for the Jets
– and identical in cut within each gang. This created a feeling of
uniformity and a group, rather than individual, identity. For most
of the action, Tony and Maria stood out, wearing a chequered
white-and-blue shirt and a white dress respectively. However, the
fact that all other characters looked homogeneous, combined with
the choreography – of which more below – made this West Side
Story a tragedy of society, rather than of individuals.
Undoubtedly, dancing was this production’s outstanding
element. It sparkled with energy, beautifully conveying emotions
ranging from aggression to tenderness, hope and despair.
Tuckett’s original choreography evolved through the audition
and rehearsal process. In his words, ‘this piece is about young
people having their own voice’, and he was ‘not creating it at [his]
kitchen table and then teaching it to them’. This worked for a
cast recruited through open-call auditions, rather than belonging
to a pre-existing ensemble. The actors portraying the Sharks
and the Jets came together for this one production and became
one unified body. While there were outstanding individual vocal
performances by Leo Miles (Tony), Melissa James (Anita), Daisy
Maywood (Maria) and Rebecca Jayne-Davies (Rosalia), the most
impressive part of the show was the group dances. The most
breathtaking of those was the ‘Somewhere ballet’ – a sequence
of dance and song which does not appear in its entirety in the
film version, where Tony and Maria sing ‘Somewhere’ as a duet,
without dancing. The Sage production, in keeping with the stage
version, had the song performed by Rosalia from the window
above the stage, while the ensemble enacted the emotions through
dance. While the words of hope sounded – ‘somewhere we’ll find
a new way of living’ – members of both gangs in their colour-
coded outfits mingled and danced together, which was reinforced
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 186 25/02/2013 09:56

The Taming of the Shrew 187
by red and blue lights forming a harmonious rosette on the

backstage wall. When the music turned menacing, the ghosts of
Riff and Bernardo appeared to re-enact their deadly fight. With
that, the two gangs gradually separated and reformed in their
original, hostile configurations, culminating in a divided crowd,
carrying their fighting champions aloft and forming a human
base for the combat. Again, we were not witnessing a drama of
individuals who go against their society, but of a society itself
tragically divided and incapable of reconciliation.
This representation of a failing society made The Sage’s
West Side Story not only a brilliant show, but also a reminder
that – notwithstanding the Big Society – we are a long way from
abolishing social divisions and inequalities. In this respect it is
interesting that, despite the production being part of the RSC’s
Open Stages project, which works with regional and amateur
theatres, most of the cast trained at prestigious performance
schools and none of them, to my knowledge, lives in the North
East. The region was represented by the excellent Northern
Sinfonia orchestra, but it seems that when it comes to opportu-
nities to get your acting, dancing and singing talent recognized,
there is still a substantial North-South divide.
The Taming of the Shrew

Directed by Haissam Hussain for Theatre Wallay-Kashf (Lahore,
Pakistan) at Shakespeare’s Globe Thea Buckley
Discussion of Shakespeare’s Shrew inevitably centres on the final,
controversial scene, wherein Katherine (the ‘Shrew’) publicly
declares her wifely obedience to her spouse, Petruchio (the
‘Tamer’), in – according to the production – a sincere/rebellious/
submissive/insert adjective speech. But what happens to this love
story, if the protagonists’ names are instead Kiran and Rustum,
and the speech is made in the Urdu language?63 Would theirs be
a ‘modern’ love match, one wondered, or a ‘traditional’ family
arrangement? Would feminism or patriarchy triumph in this
Pakistani interpretation? Theatre Wallay’s vibrant, spring-like
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 187 25/02/2013 09:56

production soon answered these questions, weaving intercultural

threads into a magic carpet, upending and then soaring above
such polarized stereotypes.
Haissam Hussain’s and Navid Shahzad’s version followed
Shrew’s plot closely, the primary adaptation being the play’s
springtime-Pakistan setting, evoked through costume, music,
dance and Laila Rehman’s set. Before an expectant Globe
audience basking in appropriately warm temperatures, Anila
Rahim’s painted canvas of a Lahore street formed the stage
backdrop; draped from balcony to floor, this depicted a Basant
festival scene with stalls of coloured powders and a rainbow of
kites in a cloudless sky. A small star-and-crescent symbol among
these overtly indicated the production’s national origins, and
excitement at this subcontinental Shakespeare was palpable in
the audience, one of whom told me it was a rare production from
her homeland. Audience pride at being part of the world’s fourth-
largest linguistic population, with one million UK speakers, was
further evident when a loud cheer went up at the word ‘Urdu’,
spoken by Salman Shahid (later an uproariously funny Baptista
Minola/Mian Basheer). Welcoming us in English, he took centre
stage in a simple, long-sleeved, cream-and-grey kurta outfit,
and introduced the orchestra (featuring Mekaal Hasan Band
members, directed by Valerie Kaul). Wearing classic black, with
multicoloured scarves echoing the Basant theme, and mixing
the modern guitar with the native flute, sitar, dholak (drum)
and rubab (lute), the musicians opened with Pakistan’s national
anthem, before one band member started the action by crowing
comically like a rooster.
The subsequent stumbling entry of Sly/Ravi (Maria Khan)
through the delighted crowd also signalled a rare plot alter-
ation – instead of the usual drunken male bumpkin, we would
be led through the play by a female narrator, a shape-shifting
Scheherazade. Resplendent in a glittering, gold-coin headdress
and a mirrored, multicoloured garment, Ravi took on multiple
roles as she wove the thread of the story in and out of the framework
of the play: announcing the opening cast dance; dancing through
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 188 25/02/2013 09:56

The Taming of the Shrew 189
and involving the crowd; sliding around the stage during the
action, becoming alternately beggar/courtesan/clotheshorse/
vendor/clown/conspirator; and even transforming, with the help
of jacket, beard and boots, into Vincentio/Tajir. This plot device
of an omniscient shape-shifter nicely reflected the wider trans-
formation in identities and personalities; costume changes were
equally metamorphic, running the Lahore gamut from gorgeous
to grotesque: curled slippers to plastic sandals, floral shirts to
silken shawls. Ravi’s puppet-mastery was dramatically effective in
both inverting situations and subverting expectations – one never
knew when this submissive elf would become dominant, or when
she would use her power to make a chosen spectator the focus of
all eyes. In connecting and transforming the onstage and offstage,
foreign and familiar, Ravi functioned as Puck or Cupid, a playful
spring sprite. This directorial choice of female storyteller to drive
the narrative action echoed this Shrew’s rendering into Urdu
by female translators Maryam Pasha, Zaibun Pasha and Aamna
Kaul. It was arguably also rooted in producer Susannah Harris-
Wilson’s desire for the play to reflect Pakistani culture, especially
by giving women characters an equal, independent portrayal.64
This theme of transformative female independence was
nowhere more overt than in Kiran’s evolution, with Rustum’s
abettance, from bird in a gilded cage to free-flying falcon. This
was echoed through the flight theme, also visible in the kite
backdrop and clearly alluded to in the onstage décor – two ornate
birdcages, one with the bird atop it. Kiran’s transformation
was reflected in her increasingly free movement to music. She
entered sullen, silent and earthbound, casually popping peanuts
in the doorway while rolling her eyes at her sister’s suitors –
admirably played by Ahmed Ali (Tranio/Mir), Osman Khalid
Butt (Hortensio/Hasnat), Umer Naru (Lucentio/Qazim) and
Mukkarum Kaleem (Gremio/Ghazi). She later lamented over a
kite, torn by her spoilt sister Bina (the spitefully simpering Karen
David), before becoming the dancing, kite-flying Kiran that
Rustum fell in love with at first sight, and the twirling, newlywed
woman of the house. Hoisted onto Rustum’s lap during the
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 189 25/02/2013 09:56

courtship, his shoulders after the wedding and a pedestal during

her final speech, Kiran gradually rose higher in society and her
own estimation, accompanied, phoenix-like, by flame-gradient-
coloured changes of costume between each landmark scene.
When I bumped into lead actress Nadia Jamil afterwards
in the Globe foyer, I asked her what first attracted her to the
role of Kiran. She animatedly retorted, ‘Nothing – nothing! I
just wanted to kill her at first!’ Then her face softened, and she
laughed. ‘But then, she fell in love – when people fall in love,
you know, they do crazy, amazing things’. This Urdu Shrew’s
Rustum (a macho, sensitive portrayal by Omair Rana) was clearly
also in love. He threatened, but did not follow through on cuffing
Kiran back; a wink and a sigh accompanied and softened his
temporary mirroring of her mistreatment of others. In this final
scene, Kiran’s speech was a tender team act with Rustum; linking
hands, they mimed both the marital quarrels to be avoided and
the tenderness to be encouraged, taking equal turns atop a low
table-pedestal. Kiran was visibly transformed by her husband’s
love, from a woman who had once terrified her sister’s suitors, to
one who made her father shed tears of joy. As the cast reunited
in a closing dance, the Globe audience clapped along in unison.
Transcending linguistic distinctions, in its peaceful coexistence
and joint triumph of the sexes, Harris-Wilson’s intention was
thus successfully realized in performance, with partnerships
acting as catalysts and models for societal transformation or, as
she paraphrases Shakespeare, ‘What miracles love hath wrought’.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 190 25/02/2013 09:56

The Tempest 191
The Tempest
Directed by David Farr for the Royal Shakespeare Company

at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
Paul Edmondson
For a while I was worried that we were only going to hear
the storm and the ship splitting on Miranda’s radio. But the
shipwreck, when it happened, was instead contained in a cube
upstage left. This held about six people comfortably and could
be lit so as to be transparent from within, or with its mirror-like
doors reflecting the main-stage action back to the audience. The
opening storm was oddly cut off from the rest of the main playing
space. The effect of this was to make the opening tempest itself
small and understated. Although the lines were shouted from
within the cube, they were neither clear nor loud enough.
The stage around the outside of the cube, the set design for
Prospero’s island, evoked a ruinous civilization. Lines from Percy
Bysshe Shelley’s ‘Ozymandias’ sprang to mind:
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 191 25/02/2013 09:56

Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert … Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things (lines 2–7)
There was a headless sphinx upstage right, a colossal foot, part of

a body’s trunk and a crown downstage centre (or was it a tortoise?).
Were these the remnants of a statue of Sycorax (as Dame Janet
Suzman suggested to me afterwards)? The production did not
make it clear. Prospero and Miranda lived among these wrecks
and ruins; characters moved around them and took their rest on
them. Were we to feel any pity for this lost civilization, to suffer
with those who had suffered? The production did not make
it clear. The stage was broken up around its edges and there
were a few pot-holes in its flooring. The colour palette was an
all-pervading grey, both among the stones and in many of the
costumes. Why had such a monotone design been chosen for
this particular play? The production did not make it clear. What
country, friends, is this?
You need to read the designer Jon Bausor’s notes in the
programme to understand more. There he explains that the
stones are a broken statue of Setebos, ‘the female god that
celebrated womanhood and sexuality’ destroyed by Prospero, and
that the director ‘wanted a prison-camp-like feel to this island’.
Bausor would also be responsible for designing the Opening
Ceremony of the Paralympic Games.
Jonathan Slinger’s Prospero spoke with Ozymandias’s ‘wrinkled
lip, and sneer of cold command’. He was petulant, snappy, angry
and impatient, commanding and authoritative, quick to chide and
slow to bless. It was easy to imagine this Prospero being tyran-
nical and ruling with an ordinary iron rod, rather than a magical
staff. A staff he did wield, but it was not overtly magical, not even
roughly so. His line ‘Lie there my art’ (2.1.25) was spoken as he
tapped the door of the cube. The cube, not Prospero, was where
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 192 25/02/2013 09:56

The Tempest 193
magic emanated from, like a magician’s cupboard or a Pandora’s

box. The aggression Slinger brought to the role served to defamil-
iarize many of the lines. Certainly it made his need to tell Miranda
the story of her life deeply felt.
When Sandy Grierson’s Ariel entered he looked like
Prospero’s twin. They wore the same grey, shabby suits, as
did Amer Hlehel’s non-monstrous Caliban (only his was much
dirtier and more ragged). The director was clearly interested
in doubleness and twinning, perhaps part of the attempt to
evoke something of the RSC’s British Petroluem-sponsored
‘shipwreck trilogy’ across three plays from the early, mid and
late parts of Shakespeare’s career which share similar themes
(the other two being The Comedy of Errors and Twelfth Night).
But there are no twins in The Tempest. Ariel had changed
into another grey costume by his next appearance, a metallic-
shaded overall with a Renaissance-style ruff. He also multi-
plied. Several Ariels appeared from the cube to perform Adem
Ihlan’s haunting and dissonant setting of ‘Come unto these
yellow sands’. Towards the end of 1.2 three Calibans made
a predatory and threatening approach to the desk at which
Miranda was sitting.
As with Farr’s production of Twelfth Night (cross-cast and
in repertory with The Tempest), there was no attempt to distin-
guish between social rank. Alonso wore a tokenistic crown. In
his Neapolitan court he was surrounded by anonymous looking
men in suits and one corporately dressed woman, Kirsty Bushell,
as Sebastian (the reason why the role was turned into a woman
was not made clear). There was nothing remotely Ducal about
Prospero, nothing royal about ‘admired Miranda’, nothing
princely about Ferdinand. Not to depict social rank can obfuscate
power struggles and political aspirations, but understatement was
a watchword of this production.
Felix Hayes’s Trinculo and Bruce McKinnon’s Stephano
brought (and revelled in) welcome episodes of comedy. Hayes’s
wide-eyed naïvety (‘I can swim like a duck, I’ll be sworn’,
2.2.125–6) was accompanied by light, child-like gestures. There
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 193 25/02/2013 09:56

were not many moments when the actors addressed the audience
directly. Trinculo did, occasionally, and gave his lines about
England special resonance: ‘When they will not give a doit to
relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian’
(2.2.31–2). Although Stefano was wonderfully drunk, he was the
first Stefano I have known to ignore entirely Caliban’s splen-
didly lyrical lines and vision about the isle being full of noises
(3.2.135–43), the speech used at the Olympic Games’ Opening
Ceremony. Hlehel’s Caliban spoke English as a second language,
a constant reminder that his speech as well as his island had been
colonized by Prospero.
Two moments stood out as being magical, as belonging to the
realm of fairy-story: Ariel’s appearance as the harpy over the
banquet and the wedding masque in which Iris, Ceres and Juno
appeared wearing elaborate and decadent Jacobean costumes.
Ariel controlled their movements throughout. His gestures deter-
mined theirs, just as we had seen him similarly control Ferdinand
on his first appearance.
Slinger brought resentment rather than regret or tenderness
to Prospero’s famous lines about ‘our little life/Is rounded with a
sleep’ (4.1.157–8). There was certainly an emotional and psycho-
logical climax as Prospero set Ariel free and forgave those around
him, as well as himself.
While Farr’s production emphasized a clear-sighted narrative
and emotional trajectory, overall it rather robbed the rainbow of
its mystery. I wanted to wave Prospero’s magical staff and create
a much greater sense of wonder, emotion, variation and colour
instead of an all-pervasive, rational, understated greyness.
Directed by Nasir Uddin Yousuff for Dhaka Theatre Company

(Dhaka, Bangladesh) at Shakespeare’s Globe Sonia Massai
This production of The Tempest, performed in Bangla by the
Dhaka Theatre Company, was one of the most accomplished
and beautifully performed contributions to the Globe to Globe
Festival. Its unique combination of colour, movement and music
created a thickly textured theatrical language within which
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 194 25/02/2013 09:56

The Tempest 195
Rubayet Ahmed’s translation was lightly embedded. Words

blended seamlessly into traditional folk songs and the actors’
graceful, stylized movements were punctuated by the impressive
drumming and somersaulting of two Manipuri dancers. Colour
was also central to this production. Three large painted cloths
showing buoyant and brightly coloured ships hung over the
three doors that open onto the Globe stage. More boats, along
with seascapes, sea creatures and other fabulous animals, were
painted in bright colours on tin suitcases that were initially
stacked downstage and were then carried upstage by the actors,
who sat in a semi-circle and doubled as musicians throughout
the production. Other companies, including the Hindi Theatre
Company who performed Twelfth Night as part of the Festival,
made a similar use of this area of the Globe stage, thus creating
a fluid performance space from which the actors departed to
deliver their lines and to which they returned to play a range of
traditional musical instruments and to watch the action as an
onstage audience.
The style of this production is a distinctive trademark of the
Dhaka Theatre Company. Its founding director, Nasir Uddin
Yousuff, established it in 1973 as part of the new theatre movement
that first started in the 1950s and then gained artistic and political
resonance as Bangladesh achieved independence in 1971 from
Pakistan (Western Pakistan at the time). Since its inception, the
Dhaka Theatre Company has sought to revive traditional theatre
forms to address present-day issues and concerns shared by their
audiences in one of the fastest-growing capital cities in the world.
Accordingly, this production used Shakespeare’s play creatively
and freely, drawing on several, distinctive local traditions. The
overall result was a form of dramatic storytelling that turned The
Tempest into something genuinely ‘rich and strange’.
While the theatrical language deployed by this company
suggested the timelessness of ancient myths, Yousuff ’s directorial
approach was far from anodyne and his artistic and political take
on Shakespeare and on playing at the Globe far from straight-
forward and unproblematic. The Dhaka Theatre Company had
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 195 25/02/2013 09:56

already adapted Western canonical works, including Brecht’s The

Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui and Shakespeare’s The Merchant of
Venice, but signing up to perform Shakespeare at the Globe took
some persuading on the part of Imogen Butler-Cole, who acted
as Yousuff ’s producer in the UK. The result of Yousuff ’s guarded
engagement with the Globe to Globe Festival was a nuanced and
layered production, which had interesting, darker undertones and
made some radical departures from the Shakespearean text and
from how the play has traditionally been performed in the West.
A predominantly benevolent Prospero, for example,
occasionally became threatening and despotic and used the same
distinctive set of movements – a spinning somersault, followed by
loud stumping as he landed back on the stage – to inflict pain on
Ariel first and then on Caliban in order to reassert his control over
them. His authority over Miranda was also foregrounded. He did
not only cause her to fall asleep, as in 1.2 in Shakespeare, when
Ariel requires his attention, but he also oversaw the exchange
between Ferdinand and Miranda in 3.1 from the beginning, inter-
jecting lines of dialogue that were either newly added or borrowed
from other exchanges in the play. Yousuff, in other words, did not
shy away from exploring the politics of family relations, including
the role of arranged marriages and primogeniture, which play a
central role both in Shakespeare and in present-day Bangladesh
or in diasporic Bangladeshi communities living in the West.
Similarly political and current was Yousuff ’s most explicit
departure from how the play is traditionally staged. The ending
surprised those members of the audience who are familiar with
the play and expected to hear the epilogue spoken by Prospero,
which is often read and performed as Shakespeare’s own thinly
veiled farewell to the world of the theatre and dramatic illusion, as
he prepared to retire from working full-time as writer-in-resident
at the Globe and founding member of the King’s Men. Prospero’s
epilogue was replaced by the crowning of Caliban as the new
ruler over the island, his newly acquired power and authority
signified by the white conch that Prospero had blown right at
the beginning of this production. Caliban, whose hunched back
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 196 25/02/2013 09:56

The Tempest 197
and clenched fingers had suggested despondency and dejection

rather than monstrosity, stood upright for the first time, beaming
at the audience, his fingers finally spread over the conch, holding
it up in the air, thus mirroring Ariel’s own redemption from
slavery, which had been signalled by the same set of gestures, as
Prospero’s aerial attendant was finally released into thin air.
This beautiful, lush production entertained its Globe audience
by staging traditional theatrical forms while subtly hinting at the
very current challenges faced by Bangladesh following political
independence. The reception on the first night was rapturous, both
among the large Bangla-speaking communities, who had actively
been encouraged to attend by Butler-Cole and the marketing
department at the Globe, and among the other members of the
audience, who were made to feel like welcome guests, not only
by the beautiful if unfamiliar style of this production but also
by Bangla speakers who generously shared information about
the company, the props they used and the significance of specific
gestures and dance routines. Although the actors started by taking
a deep bow and by kneeling to touch the stage in what seemed
like an act of worship and homage to Shakespeare’s Globe as
Shakespeare’s ‘natural’, ‘original’ home, this production was
prepared with Bangladeshi audiences in mind and showcased
Bangladesh, its language, its regained political independence, its
cultural traditions and heritage rather than Shakespeare.
Y Storm, directed by Elen Bowman for Theatr Genedlaethol

Cymru at National Eisteddfod Maes, Llandow, Vale of Glamorgan,
Wales Alun Thomas
Y Storm immerses you from the first. Walking into the tent
from the muddy fields and lowering grey skies of the Eisteddfod
is like entering another world. The floor is covered in sand, as
is the stand where the audience sits on cushions placed on the
floor. The stage is bare except for a pile of wood and the whole
scene is bathed in a soft yellow light, creating the effect of being
on a tropical beach. Faint sounds of the sea can be heard in the
background, blending with the expectant chatter of the audience,
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 197 25/02/2013 09:56

slowly growing louder as the start time approaches and eventually

breaking into a storm as the play begins.
Gwyneth Lewis’s highly anticipated Welsh version of The
Tempest is an adaptation rather than a translation. Shakespeare’s
Jacobean verse is converted into modern Welsh, using stress,
onomatopoeia, alliteration and rhyme within a line to create new
rhythms. As a phonetic language Welsh is particularly suited to
poetry; each word can have manifold meanings and associations,
depending on their sound or place in a line. This offers a rich scope
for new understandings and interpretations of Shakespeare’s text.
For example, Miranda’s lament for the shipwrecked sailors which
opens Y Storm is translated from Shakespeare’s ‘Dashed all to
pieces’ (1.28) to ‘yn rhacs ar y creigiau’, meaning ‘in pieces on
the rocks’. In Welsh, the phrase is horribly transformed; in this
context ‘yn rhacs’ conjures up images of ripping and tearing, of
something damaged beyond repair. When used to describe the
flesh of sailors caught in a tempest the effect is ghastly.
The production starts with the sound of thunder in the darkness,
followed by the sudden entrance of Prospero’s spirits, led by Ariel.
They move gracefully and quickly across the stage then set upon
the sailors with gleeful savagery. There’s a real sense of terror as
they writhe and fight, desperate to escape the grasp of the spirits,
climbing ropes and gantries and screaming in their attempts to
survive. The absence of dialogue works extremely well here, the
terrified shouting being far more effective than words would be. The
viciousness of the spirits’ attack sets the tone for the production:
this is a dark, disturbing Tempest which focuses on cruelty and
power. Prospero’s relationship with Ariel appears sadomasochistic
at times; his response to Ariel questioning his plans is to hang him
from a noose and summon spirits to torture him as he dangles over
the stage, writhing in agony. This astonishing moment exposes the
troubling undercurrents inherent in the text.
Prospero, played by Llion Williams, makes an understated
entrance, appearing in the midst of the audience and strolling on
to the stage. His shabby dress and surprisingly humble demeanour
give no hint of his power until he speaks: his voice echoes around
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 198 25/02/2013 09:56

The Tempest 199
the tent, everywhere and nowhere at once. His only possession is

a whip which he uses to viciously punish Ariel at various points
throughout the play.
By contrast, Meilir Rhys Williams’s portrayal of Ariel is
nothing short of spectacular. A young, boyish spirit full of childish
exuberance, he projects a demented glee in the tasks he performs
for Prospero. His face painted to resemble a mime, he initially
appears to be full of fun but it does not take long for his dark
side to emerge. Williams plays him as the kind of psychopathic
child who enjoys pulling the wings off flies and tormenting
animals; in this case, the child has near-omnipotent powers and
the creatures he torments are human. The gloating joy with which
Ariel punishes Ferdinand, the fascinated cruelty he takes in the
suffering he causes, makes for uncomfortable but riveting viewing.
The relationship between Ariel and Prospero is similarly
captivating. The unhinged child Ariel appears to be in love with
the aged Prospero, often gazing at him with a disquieting mixture
of adoration, fear and lust. The love appears to be unrequited,
judging by the callous way he is treated by Prospero, who
shows no hesitation in ruthlessly punishing him for the slightest
infraction. Llion Williams plays Prospero as an embittered,
broken man waiting to die. The only delight he appears to feel
is the joy he takes in the suffering of others, whether it be Ariel,
the sailors, Caliban or Miranda, whom he treats coldly, with a
complete absence of love. He seems to view her more as a prop
than a human being, and his emotion upon betrothing her to
Ferdinand seems perfunctory and uncaring.
The masque held in celebration of their union is astounding
as Ariel, in full mime/ringmaster attire, leads the spirits in a
gleeful and terrifying circus act. Swinging from trapezes, juggling
fire, and dancing, the sumptuously dressed spirits project an
aura of unearthly power barely controlled. The pace of the
celebration speeds up as the song continues, creating a bizarre
sense of imminent collapse. This occurs with brutal swiftness
as the trapeze collapses and the dancers abandon their routines
mid-move, moving quickly offstage without a backward glance.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 199 25/02/2013 09:56

The sense of broken rhythm unsettles the audience, leaving them

visibly tense as the play continues to its final scenes.
For the most part a faithful adaptation of Shakespeare’s play, Y
Storm deviates from Shakespeare’s text significantly at the play’s
conclusion to jarring effect. Prospero’s line ‘Let your indulgence
set me free’ (Epilogue 20) becomes ‘rhowch fy rhyddid nawr i
mi’ in Welsh, meaning ‘give my freedom to me now’. Y Storm
concludes with a demand where The Tempest ends with a request,
completely changing the tone of the final speech and defying
audience expectations of how the play might end.
Tension is the leitmotif of this production; Y Storm seems
designed to unsettle, reversing many of the assumptions an
audience would have when watching The Tempest. Stunningly
acted and stunningly choreographed, the performance lingers
in the mind long after the play is over. A flawless production, Y
Storm is a complete and utter triumph.
Timon of Athens

reasons
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 200 25/02/2013 09:56

Timon of Athens 201
Directed by Sebastian Kautz for the Bremer Shakespeare Company

(Bremen, Germany) at Shakespeare’s Globe Emily Oliver
‘WARNING: THIS PRODUCTION CONTAINS MALE
NUDITY’. The sign, greeting visitors on their way into the
Globe, could only mean one thing: the Germans are in town. As
it turns out, Germans not only populated the stage, but also most
of the auditorium. Whether browsing in the shop, queuing for
food and drink or finding my seat, I was struck by how few people
were speaking English around me. London’s ex-pat community
had turned out in force to see the Bremer Shakespeare Company
(BSC) present Timon of Athens.
The BSC are no strangers to the Globe. In fact, they were
the first company ever to perform in the space, when it was still
a building site in 1993. The Globe suits their production style
well, since they seek a strong, direct relationship with their
audience. Thus, Timon (Michael Meyer), dressed in a coat and
tails, greeted us as guests to his feast, while his servant Flaminius
(Erika Spalke) anxiously shuffled around the pit, making sure
everyone had a programme.
One by one, Timon’s friends arrived, all dressed in identical
white tie outfits with flip-flops, and smoking cigars. The costumes
(designed by Ushi Leinhäuser) made them an odd, yet apt,
mixture of modern-day yuppies and 1920s industrialists. This
became particularly clear at the start of the mock banquet, when
Timon lined up his friends in a row and made them listen to
seemingly endless repeats of the Comedian Harmonist’s ‘Ein
Freund, ein guter Freund’. This hymn to friendship from the
days of the Weimar Republic recalled the era of the worst
economic crisis in modern history, which had sent Germany
spiralling towards social and political disaster.
Despite the bleak subject matter, the bsc opted for a rapid,
very funny treatment of the play. With only six actors playing 13
characters (often in the same scene), the cast switched person-
alities and costumes at breakneck speed. Most of the characters
were drawn with broad brush strokes, which accorded well with
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 201 25/02/2013 09:56

the satirical text, making Timon appear as the only sympathetic,

three-dimensional person, surrounded by caricatures. This was
truly an ensemble production: no role was too small to deserve
attention, there were no stars and the entire cast played off each
other with great energy.
Director Sebastian Kautz’s translation/adaptation presented
an irreverent approach to the text: with few speeches left intact,
most of the play was paraphrased, resulting in a very condensed
version (two hours including interval). For instance, the succession
of scenes in which Flavius (here conflated with Flaminius) asks
Timon’s friends for money was rendered as a montage to Gloria
Gaynor’s disco anthem ‘I Will Survive’: each character mimed
a hobby (golf, pole dancing, etc.) while their refusals played as
voice-overs. Although scenes proceeded quickly, often blending
into each other, the production struggled to build up tension
and a dramatic arc. Occasionally, the pacing of individual scenes
suffered, as gaps between different elements of the action were
only filled by improvised, muffled dialogue between the actors.
The cast were at their strongest when reacting comically to their
immediate surroundings (passing aeroplanes, crying children,
etc.) or engaging in banter with the audience. This reached a
climax when Timon urged the audience to help themselves to
his gold: one spectator responded so enthusiastically, it seemed
as though he might launch himself off the first gallery (much to
the dismay of the steward in charge). He was eventually contained
by a flamboyantly gay Ventidius (Gunnar Haberland) announcing
that he would use the gold to buy himself ‘that man there’.
Much of the production’s humour lay in improvised jokes.
Thus, the biggest laugh of the night came in response to Timon’s
angry comment about politicians who resign and still get paid – an
unsubtle allusion to German ex-President Christian Wulff, who
resigned over corruption claims in early 2012, yet still receives an
annual pension of €200,000. Although the audience responded
extremely well to this kind of intervention, non-German-speaking
spectators struggled to understand the stage action, since the
summarizing surtitles were of little help in these instances.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 202 25/02/2013 09:56

Timon of Athens 203
In addition to its comedy value, the production was striking for

its strong visual metaphors relating to key issues in the play. While
addressing his friends, Timon bounced up and down on a large
trampoline, providing an immediate and very engaging image of
the ups and downs of his fortunes. After Timon’s descent into
poverty and hunger, he repeatedly attempted to eat earth, causing
him to be violently sick into a bucket. It was here that he made
the discovery of gold (causing him to throw up yet again). The
use of the bucket throughout the rest of the scene made it seem as
though Timon was suddenly vomiting and defecating gold against
his will, literalizing both the irony of the situation and his disgust
with man’s greed.
One unusual choice concerned the foregrounding of the
Painter (Peter Lüchinger). In contrast to the money-grubbing
textual original, here he was the only artist on stage, dressed in
a transparent plastic coat, and creating an artwork for Timon
by applying paint from huge tubes to a plastic sheet. He later
performed a masked interpretive dance at Timon’s feast, leaving
Timon entirely entranced by the performance. Although derided
as pretentious by the other characters, the artist continued to make
speeches about art’s transformative power and individual creativity
as a way out of the crisis. This chimed with Timon’s repeated
statement, ‘we are born to do benefits’ (1.2.102–3; rendered in
modern German as ‘we are born to do good’). At Timon’s death,
Flaminius cradled his master’s head in his arms, and the butterfly,
which had featured in the artist’s dance, returned to settle on his
hand – a beautiful splash of colour in this bleak final tableau.
Directed by Nicholas Hytner for the National Theatre at the Olivier

Theatre, London Emily Linnemann
The connection between art and money, sponsor and sponsored
was writ large across this production. Timon was, first and
foremost, a patron of the arts. From its opening scene in the
‘Timon Room’ of the National Gallery to the Damien-Hirst-
style ‘Square Spot Painting’ adorning the wall of Ventidius’s club,
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 203 25/02/2013 09:56

the economic realities of cultural production in the twenty-first

century were constantly underlined.
At times overburdened with contemporary references,
Nicholas Hytner’s production encompassed within its surpris-
ingly snappy running time the Occupy movement, corruption at
Westminster, the London riots, the credit crunch and, of course,
those dastardly bankers. The production was unequivocal in
its insistence on Shakespeare’s (and Middleton’s) relevance to
contemporary issues and searing in its attack on money – those
who have it, those who desire it and the way in which it seeps
unavoidably into the social, cultural and political fabric of twenty-
first-century Britain.
Before the play proper began, the audience watched as
hooded figures gathered in a tent city, reminiscent of the Occupy
movement’s residence outside St Paul’s Cathedral. The tents
were then hidden by a piece of scenery flying in from above which
depicted the different scenes of Timon’s Athens.
Or perhaps that should be Timon’s London, since the
setting was so clearly contemporary Britain. Tom Robertson’s
Ventidius, straight from the set of Made in Chelsea, spent his
time in an exclusive Soho club. Lucullus (Paul Bentall) was the
owner-manager of a capital investment fund. A gender-switched
Sempronia (Lynette Edwards) was a slippery politician, complete
with sycophantic special advisors. The wall that descended at the
beginning of the play allowed us into this world of privilege and
power. The audience could not help but be aware, however, of the
tents that lay just behind this facade.
As the tent city vanished we found ourselves in an art gallery, at
the opening of the ‘Timon Room’. A huge version of El Greco’s
‘Christ Driving the Traders from the Temple’ – which hangs in
the National Gallery – loomed over a swanky drinks reception, at
which the great and the good of Athens had gathered to celebrate
Timon’s patronage.
Simon Russell Beale portrayed Timon as someone desperate
for approval, too easily convinced of the affection of others and
remarkably open with his own. His fall was one from naïvety to
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 204 25/02/2013 09:56

Timon of Athens 205
cynicism and the contrast between his two states was emphasized
in his changing physicality. In the first half of the play, Timon
moved easily across the Olivier’s huge stage, swept along by his
tide of followers. As the reality of his situation was made clear to
him, Timon became increasingly frantic and bitter. At the second
dinner party, Timon served covered plates to his fair-weather
friends. On lifting their cloches, they found these plates piled
high with excrement which Timon proceeded to smear on the
bald-headed Lucullus, shouting and raving at the disgusted and
confused guests. (It is not the first time this connection between
Timon and turds has been drawn by a theatre director – Lucy
Bailey’s 2008 production at the Globe provided a more shocking
example.65) Maddened by grief and unable to check his extreme
anger, Russell Beale delivered the soliloquy that followed as a
conjuration, full of bile, violently calling down curses upon the
city he once loved.
In the second half of the play, Timon became a shuffling
tramp, living on a deserted construction site and rummaging
through rubbish bags to find food. He was surrounded by the
waste products of excessive consumption but was unable to find
any nourishment. In desperation, he pulled open a drain cover
and found a hidden stash of gold. The yellow light exuding
from the drain illuminated Timon’s face eerily. It was clear that
this gold, found in a sewer, would not do Timon any good. But
Timon alone understood its uselessness: ‘Keep it, I cannot eat it’
(4.3.100).
It was with Alcibiades and his followers that the play began to
buckle under the weight of continual contemporary reference.
They were presented as the hooded occupants of the tent city
seen at the beginning of the play. But unlike the real Occupy
residents, these protesters aimed to be part of the capitalist
system from which they were disenfranchized. They ‘want’ gold
(4.3.91). But this ‘want’ was not only to be understood as lack
or need. They did not just want gold for what it could do for
them: they actively desired the possession of it for its own sake,
as an object in and of itself. The rebels thus had less to do with
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 205 25/02/2013 09:56

the Occupy movement and more to do with the rioters of August

2011, angry not because they wanted to eradicate consumerism
and corporate greed, but because they were unable to take part in
the consumption process. Their values remained the same as the
capitalist companions of Timon’s former life.
The final scene of the play became a coalition-style negotiation
between Alcibiades and the brokers of power who had previously
spurned Timon. With an agreement reached, Alcibiades sat at a
press conference table and delivered his final conciliatory speech
direct to camera. The final image of the production left no doubt
about who was really in charge of Athens/London. The lights
dimmed on the stage and behind Alcibiades and his new coalition
partners an image of Canary Wharf – that towering monument
to capitalism – became visible, suggesting that freedom from
the all-powerful influence of gold was harder to come by than
Alcibiades would have had his audience of journalists believe.
Under Hytner’s direction Timon became, as one woman sitting
next to me commented, ‘a morality tale’ for our time. That this
moral was hammered home so heavy-handedly and not left to
the audience to infer may be what led the online reviewers West
End Whingers to comment that it was like being ‘hit [ … ] over
the head with the First Folio’.66 A rarely performed play, and
one which I felt might not have been taken down from shelf and
dusted off had it not been for the fact that 2012 has been, as
Lucullus tells Flaminius, ‘no time to lend money’ (3.1.41–2).
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 206 25/02/2013 09:56

Titus Andronicus 207

reasons
Titus Andronicus
Directed by Tang Shu-wing for the Tang Shu-wing Theatre Studio
(Hong Kong) at Shakespeare’s Globe Adele Lee
Murder. Rape. Mutilation. Cannibalism. Titus Andronicus is the
most violent and arguably absurd play attributed to Shakespeare,
and critically acclaimed Hong Kong director, Tang Shu-wing,
seems to have successfully managed to convey both aspects
– the horrific and the comic – judging from the audience’s
mixed reaction. The problem with this otherwise powerful
and thought-provoking production was that it was primarily
the Cantonese-speaking audience members who picked up on
the comedic moments or, perhaps, topical allusions, of which
non-natives were unaware (even the harrowing rape of Lavinia
was met, quite disconcertingly, with laughter, as was the canni-
balism scene). Indeed, one suspects there was some significant
political commentary embedded in this performance on which
English-speaking spectators missed out (at the start of Tang’s
2009 version of the same play – Titus Andronicus 2.0 – the sound
of current local and international news filled the auditorium).
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 207 25/02/2013 09:56

The language barrier, therefore, was more apparent and insur-

mountable at this performance than at others I had the pleasure
of attending at the Globe to Globe Festival. Indeed, it was inter-
esting that there was not a single smattering of English in Tang
Shu-wing’s Theatre Studio’s stage adaptation, unlike most other
performances – not that this was a necessary or indeed always
desirable quality. But, given the Hong Kong Chinese propensity
to ‘code-switch’, it seemed particularly unusual. Given, too, the
claim on the Globe’s website that ‘the hybrid culture of Hong
Kong informs this production’, it appeared strange and deliberate
to omit overtly British influence on the company/former colony.
Perhaps this is indicative of Tang’s determination not to
conform to (Western) expectations in general. For instance, there
was nothing obviously ‘Oriental’ or exotic about this perfor-
mance, apart from the music – which used traditional percussion
and bowed strings – and Tang avoided providing a spectacle or
anything resembling a gore-fest, opting instead for a decidedly
understated and minimalistic production (it is not surprising that
he has previously directed three Brecht plays). In fact, the bare
stage, lack of mise-en-scène and plain costumes contributed a little
to the diminishing of a big, complex character like Titus (Andy
Ng Wai-shek). And while it was evident that the Andronici’s grey
attire was intended to symbolize their condition of being caught
in the middle of the divide between the Goths, clad in black, and
the Romans, clad in white, and that grey is bureaucratic/modern-
day militaristic, how much stature and authority can one really
exert while dressed in this colour?
The hybrid nature of the production – and the central
characters – manifested itself in more subtle and interesting
ways than through the language. The acting style, in particular,
oscillated between Western realism and Eastern stylization, and
the company was clearly inspired by a number of theatrical
conventions, old and new, European and Asian. The performance
started with the 12 members of the cast seated in a row at the
front of the stage, before donning their costumes and stepping
into their roles. In doing so, they mimicked the practice of
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 208 25/02/2013 09:56

ancient Chinese storytellers, but also suggested that as characters

they had been militarized, and trained to think in line with one
another. This fed nicely into the ‘original’ play’s central concern
with the relationship between the state and the individual (and
the stripping of the latter’s identity in the service of the former).
One is also tempted/encouraged to interpret this as a critique
of Communist China, for Hong Kong Chinese resistance to
being absorbed by the mainland, during and ever since the
1997 ‘handover’, is well documented. Incidentally, this innovative
theatre troupe, first called ‘No Man’s Land’ in reflection of the
liminal status of the Hong Kong Chinese (like the Andronici, they
are also caught between two worlds), was formed in the same year
as the transition. It is, therefore, almost to be expected that this
production would be a particularly political one, and one that
used Shakespeare to comment on the situation in contemporary
Hong Kong.
Yet while the company invited a political interpretation (the
wearing of the so-called ‘Mao suits’ was another example), it
simultaneously gave the impression of shying away from issues
pertaining to race – something I have found rather typical
of Chinese Shakespeares. The ‘Moor’, Aaron, played by Chu
Pak-hong, was not obviously racially ‘Other’: his ‘blackness’ was
internal, and he was demarcated as the outsider by a pierced
ear, ponytail, and tattoos on his arms and on both sides of his
face (there taking the form of massive sideburns), all of which
gave him the appearance of a kind of wolf-man. His perfor-
mance was outstanding, and the sexual chemistry between him
and Tamora (Ivy Pang Ngan-ling) sizzled. Pak-hong delivered
scriptwriter Rupert Chan’s version of the (in)famous ‘I have
done a thousand dreadful things’ speech (5.1) with delicious
glee, and stood majestically atop reform ladders, in keeping
with Shakespeare’s stage directions. This demonstrated one of
a few notable attempts to stay faithful to Elizabethan theatre
conventions; another was the playing of the nurse, whom Aaron
stabs, in drag. Although there is a long-standing association
with transvestism in East Asian theatre, its use here seemed like
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 209 25/02/2013 09:56

a self-reflexive allusion to the Globe. The effect was, alas, to

produce laughter at a rather inappropriate moment in the play,
which highlighted the production’s wider problem with tone –
although this is an accusation which has long been levelled at
the original play.
Overall, this was an interesting and certainly memorable
production: there were some excellent performances and the
cast and director did a praiseworthy job of communicating, in
a restrained, yet (for the most part) hard-hitting, manner, the
misery of the human condition and the alarming penchant for
violence and cruelty mankind can and has exhibited.
Troilus and Cressida

Directed by Rachel House for Ngaˉkau Toa (Auckland, New
Zealand) at Shakespeare’s Globe Stephen Purcell
A Toroihi raˉua ko Kaˉhira, Ngaˉkau Toa’s Maˉori adaptation of Troilus
and Cressida, was the second Globe to Globe production, and the
festival’s first presentation of a Shakespearean play (the opening
production having been an adaptation of Venus and Adonis). The
theatre was packed, and the atmosphere electric, resounding with
the buzz of excited conversation. When the company burst onto
the stage to perform a ferocious, trembling haka, the combined
energy of cast and audience was overwhelming.
The sense of aggressiveness and display in the opening haka
established masculinity and its performance as one of the produc-
tion’s key concerns. Nearly all the male characters carried a
wooden spear, or taiaha, which they employed both as a weapon
during the play’s battle sequences and as a mark of status at
other times. Clearly it was a macho symbol, and several of the
play’s more comic characters used it quite overtly for lewd
phallic gestures throughout; even Kimo Houltham’s Toroihi
(Troilus) used his to mime his anxiety about erectile dysfunction
in anticipation of his night with Kaˉhira (Cressida). It is perhaps
significant that it was Rangi Rangitukunoa’s hyper-effeminate
Patokihi (Patroclus), whose performance of masculinity had most
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 210 25/02/2013 09:56

Troilus and Cressida 211
evidently fallen short of his culture’s standards of machismo, who

was conspicuously penetrated by this phallic symbol at the end.
Patokihi and Panaˉtara (Pandarus) were the most obvious
outsiders in this masculine world. Both men were initially
camped up in the extreme, presenting themselves to the audience
as preening, pouting queens. Rawiri Paratene’s Panaˉtara gleefully
ogled Toroihi and Taioˉ mete (Diomedes), but started to hint at
the pain hidden behind the character’s mincing public persona as
the play took its darker turn. Rangitukunoa, meanwhile, played
Patokihi almost entirely for laughs, entering even his death
scene with camp comic cowardice. In his relationship with Aikiri
(Achilles), however, the production achieved a greater sense of
sincerity; Matu Ngaropo’s Aikiri was allowed to be both gay and
masculine, and his grief at the discovery of his lover’s death was
very moving.67
In many ways, Troilus and Cressida is about the unsuccessful
performance of masculinity: it is a play in which legendary heroes
fail to act like heroes, manipulating one another, equivocating,
retreating, ambushing, refusing to fight. The suggestion seems
to be that the masculine ideal is ultimately impossible to perform
consistently, a discourse which, under pressure, starts to fall
apart. One of director Rachel House’s most revelatory interven-
tions in the play was to cast a female actor, Juanita Hepi, as Teˉhiti
(Thersites). Hepi’s Teˉhiti carried the same taiaha as the men, but
treated it with satirical disdain; as a woman, she was able to mimic
and pastiche the other characters’ masculine behaviour without
relinquishing her own gender identity. Her parody of Aˉhaka’s
(Ajax’s) ultra-macho posturing was acutely observed.
Underlying the whole production was a sense of latent homoe-
roticism threatening constantly to undermine the warriors’
carefully constructed machismo. While the female characters
were costumed in flowing gowns, many of the male characters
wore only a skimpy breechcloth. Their exposed thighs and
buttocks were carefully painted, drawing attention to their bodies
as objects ‘to be looked at’; as Panaˉtara provided his lascivious
commentary on Toroi’s (Troy’s) warriors in 1.2, Whatanui
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 211 25/02/2013 09:56

Flavell’s good-looking Parihi (Paris) turned and clenched his

buttocks, to whoops of delight from the audience. The men’s
near-nudity added a sense of physical intimacy to their fights,
and especially to their reconciliations, which tended to be marked
by the touching of foreheads and noses. The fragility of these
performances of masculinity was beautifully symbolized in an
unplanned moment when Hiakita’s (Hector’s) taiaha snapped
during his fight with Āhaka, and Aikiri picked up the broken piece
to taunt him.
If I had been worried about being able to follow the play in a
language with which I am not at all familiar, I needn’t have been.
The storytelling was clear and physical, with live percussion used
very effectively throughout to indicate shifts in mood and tempo.
Surtitles at either side of the stage described the outline of each
scene, but that was all that was needed; the technology allowed,
in fact, for a double audience laugh when Awhina Rose Henare
Ashby’s Kaˉhira emerged onstage with dishevelled hair and a
blissful smile, before the surtitle popped up: ‘After their night
together … ’.
The production concluded with another haka, and this time, a
group of New Zealanders standing in the yard joined in. This was
a form of cultural exchange that was quite new to me: I found it
hard to tell whether the cast was performing a famous haka which
was already known to the yard participants, or whether they were
engaging in some kind of reciprocal call-and-response. Either
way, the meaning was clear – the playgoers were honouring the
performance, and celebrating their shared culture. As an assertion
of cultural identity, it was a powerful display, and the rest of the
audience – both Maˉori and non-Maˉori – seemed to be thrilled
by it.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 212 25/02/2013 09:56

Directed by Elizabeth LeCompte for the Wooster Group

(New York City, USA) and Mark Ravenhill for the Royal
Shakespeare Company at the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
Paul Prescott
Many will remember this, with a shudder, as the worst Troilus
they have ever seen. Only a few will remember it as the best.
RSC actors played the besieging Greeks as contemporary British
troops in e.g. Afghanistan. The Woosters played the Trojans
as Native Americans. The two companies rehearsed for five
weeks an ocean apart, then five weeks together in the UK. The
RSC-Greeks were not especially controversial: they ‘spoke the
verse’ and despite some self-consciously camp flourishes, largely
behaved like naturalistic actors going about their business. (For
many, Scott Handy’s Ulysses cut a Sisyphean figure, trying
in his long speeches to roll the rock of Lucidity up a steep
and undefeatable mountain of Confusion.) The Wooster-Trojans
consisted of mostly Caucasian actors sporting a collage of head-
feathers, black wigs and Styrofoam bodysuits. They emerged
from a shabby teepee, brandished lacrosse sticks and spoke
through head mikes in that gentle, sing-songy and slightly stoned
accent to be heard on reservations in the upper Midwest and the
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 213 25/02/2013 09:56

Canadian North. Their speech and gesture more or less imitated

and synchronized with the series of muted film and television
clips featuring First Nationers or Inuits or Warren Beatty that
played on several irritatingly small monitors. When the Greeks
and Trojans met the styles inevitably clashed.
There is no easy or quick way of dissecting the result of this
mash-up. Public enquiries into major train crashes can take
months to reach a full and considered verdict. No one listens
to Cassandra of course, but last night I inadvertently tuned in
just as she foresaw the death of Hector and imagined a spectacle
in which ‘distraction, frenzy and amazement,/Like witless
antics, one another meet’ (5.3.85–6). The phrase ‘witless antics’
had a peculiar force. Cassandra means something like ‘crazy
clowns’ and sees the fall of Troy as an hallucinogenic madhouse,
but in architectural terms an ‘antic’ is a representation that is
‘purposely monstrous, caricatured, or incongruous, of objects of
the animal or the vegetable kingdom’ (OED). By this definition,
the Wooster’s work – clearly bent on interrogating what we might
mean by authenticity, performance and acting – ‘antics’ ethnicity.
But how witty or witless were these antics?
Let us plunge down the postmodern rabbit hole of having
White-Actors-As-‘Trojans’-As-White-Actors-As-Ersatz-Native-
Americans. The most obvious explanation: when invited to
represent the United States in a transatlantic collaboration, the
Wooster Group scratched its head and thought: ‘Hmm, what
does it mean to be American?’ The Trojans are the victims of a
retaliatory foreign invasion, so how could an analogy possibly
be found in the recent imperial past of the long American
Century? In search of an American identity that might betoken
victimhood, and undeterred by the paucity of Native Americans
in the company, the Woosters decide that ‘Troy’ is a reservation.
(There may also be a suggestion here that White America has
certain fantasies and foundational myths, just as Shakespeare’s
audiences would have seen in, and projected onto, ‘Troy’ a
genesis story of sorts. But ‘just as’ is doing a lot of work there.)
To impersonate Native Americans naturalistically would reek
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 214 25/02/2013 09:56

either of exploitation, minstrelsy or old-fashioned ‘acting’, so

at every point the Woosters draw attention to the constructed
nature of the representation: wigs and other appendages are
obviously fake; the actors mimic cinematic depictions; unheard
by us, dialogue from the films plays in their earpieces and so on.
Thus the whole performance is placed within inverted commas
and we are ushered into a world of simulacra but no authentic
substance. (Indeed, Hollywood’s favourite French philosopher,
Jean Baudrillard, is name-checked in the programme.) This was
a long evening and there was plenty of time to think and by the
end of the show I was about 60% satisfied with this ‘explanation’
of the riddle the Woosters had apparently set us.
Then I stayed for a talkback event and learned the following:
1) The original invitation to collaborate on the play arrived when
the Wooster Group was already experimenting with the Upper-
Midwestern accent, so their interest in the sound preceded their
interest in the play; 2) The choice of the accent was clinched,
according to Scott Shepherd (Troilus), when the company first
worked on the long Trojan council scene (2.2). They were trying,
he related, to get beyond the difficulty of the speeches, to
something ‘more naïve’ and ‘simple’, less pretentious. Speaking
in the Amerindian idiom brought out words like ‘honour’, ‘sky’,
etc; 3) While the artificially amplified voices is standard Wooster
shtick and may carry all sorts of profound significance, Elizabeth
LeCompte revealed that the main reason why the Americans were
miked (while the British were not) is that her actors are not trained
to project their voices, even in an auditorium as intimate as the
Swan (if this was a joke, I commend her for keeping an utterly
straight face as she delivered it). All of which led to the strong
suspicion that the central interpretive choice of this production
was haphazard, whimsical, perhaps a little offensive (‘oh, those
charmingly naïve natives!’) and not especially profound or witty.
Then I read the programme and grew even more suspicious.
The notes informed us that costume, prop and teepee designer
Folkert De Jong’s medium of choice is Styrofoam, ‘a material that
is fragile, pliable, lightweight and modern and which will never
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 215 25/02/2013 09:56

decompose’. Elsewhere, we learned that Styrofoam is ‘a propri-

etary substance invented and owned by Dow Chemical Company,
made from a liquid hydrocarbon manufactured from petroleum.
[ … ] It is toxic to marine and land animals’. It is a melancholy
thought that burial by sea is not an ethical option for the disposal
of these costumes and that their ultimate fate will be to be burned
or buriéd. But why is the artist crowing about buying and using
materials that directly profit the company that is implicated in the
Bhopal disaster and whose sponsorship of the Olympic Stadium
‘wrap’ caused such controversy? And why do I have to fork out
another £4 to discover in the programme a point that would have
been impossible, without specialist prior knowledge, to deduce
from the performance? This is the kind of radical critique with
which multinational corporations can afford to be intensely
relaxed. In the light of this obscure posturing, the full back-page
programme advert for British Petroleum looked even more than
usually triumphalist.
But then again, once one had adjusted to the ostensible oddness
of the Woosters, there was not anything here that surprised or
shocked. The Trojans were noble and doomed; the Greeks were
devious and/or narcissistic – it is a crude reading of the play,
but not an unfamiliar one. It was surprising to hear the Wooster
actors recall recent workshops on verse-speaking with the Globe’s
Tim Carroll and piously relate their own dedication to getting the
stresses right. Revealing too was Mark Ravenhill’s insistence that
by producing something ‘inconsistent in tone, unreliable in infor-
mation and driven by contradiction then maybe we can create the
realistic theatre that Shakespeare was looking for’. So, far from
being avant-garde, everything is actually as Shakespeare wrote
and wanted it after all! This (highly covert) deference might also
explain why so much of the text was retained when it was clearly
of so little interest. Why not cut much more radically and then
really exploit what is left as a springboard for the kind of theatre
you actually want to make?
After the first preview on 3 August, Mark Ravenhill tweeted:
‘Only 76 walk outs [ … ] Are we being radical enough?’ This is
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 216 25/02/2013 09:56

Twelfth Night 217
facetious, but it is worth pointing out that: 1) 76 is one person

in six in a Swan-capacity audience; 2) not all those people left
because their tiny bourgeois minds were blown by ‘radical’
theatre. Sure, some may have spluttered, unthinkingly disgusted,
back to Tunbridge Wells or Aston Cantlow. But a majority left,
I suspect, because they were merely bored by a production that
was to their eyes and ears – and it may be cathartic for some
to read the following words slowly and emphatically – half-
baked, pointlessly baffling, ill-conceived and sophomoric. My
own feeling is that while I bear the actors no ill will and while
I recognize the intelligent points made in the production’s
defence by Andrew Cowie on Blogging Shakespeare,68 this was
a disappointing experience. Troilus is a play that systematically
punctures expectations and perhaps I had hoped for too much.
The post-show talkback was stuffed with cosy platitudes about the
unquestionable virtue of international experimentation and the
sovereignty of subjective response. But if the point was to give us
not a production but rather a work-in-progress, then ticket prices
should have been cut, expectations managed and the contract
between artists and spectators redrawn. While this production
languished in the Swan, in the Royal Shakespeare Theatre the
Chekhov International Theatre Festival company amazed and
delighted with its adaptation of Dream, an experimental piece that
arrived fully fledged and masterly choreographed. Comparisons
are odorous, but here was a virtuoso display of technical brilliance,
serious play and, if you like, witful anticking.
Twelfth Night
Directed by David Farr for the Royal Shakespeare Company at the
Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon Peter J. Smith
How cynical that a season of maritime plays (entitled ‘The
Shipwreck Plays’: The Comedy of Errors, Twelfth Night and The
Tempest) should be sponsored by British Petroleum, the company
whose Deepwater Horizon disaster in 2010 caused 11 deaths and
the spilling of 4.9 million barrels of oil into the Gulf of Mexico,
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 217 25/02/2013 09:56

trashing its vulnerable ecosystem. How refreshing then that two

protestors jumped up onto the stage before anyone could stop
them and sang a (rather cacophonous, it must be admitted) song
about ‘the BP story’, ‘deepwater despair’ and the ‘green and
yellow melancholy’ (the colour of BP’s ironically budding flower)
brought about by the industrialized rape of the Earth’s natural
resources. While the theatre ushers looked nervously on, the
protesters finished their song to the harrumphing and cries of
‘Shameful!’ from Mr Angry of Tunbridge Wells and the tinkling
laughter of embarrassed schoolchildren. More fool me to expect
anything more enlightened from the Stratford demographic but
the episode served to remind one that theatre can be (should
be?) a place of protest as well as complacency. The maritime
theme and the resonance with Viola’s ‘green and yellow melan-
choly’ (2.4.113) demonstrated the thoughtful intelligence of the
protesters’ song and one cannot be blamed for wishing that the
production had shared some of their insight.
Instead, what we received was a perfectly straightforward,
competent and lucid production but one which failed (since
we are in the geological vein) to drill down to the play’s
subtexts of frustrated (homo)sexuality or the devastation of
fraternal grief or the embarrassed frailties of human love.
There was nothing seriously wrong with this Twelfth Night
but it will not be a production remembered in ten or even
two years’ time. Perhaps, and most distractingly, it will be
remembered for being ‘that production with the swimming
pool on-stage’.
Illyria, in answer to Viola’s opening question, was a trashed
beach resort from the 1960s. Jon Bausor’s busy set was the
reception of a hotel that had seen better days. Stage-centre was
a stained upholstered bench that wrapped around what would
have been a classical column but the stone cladding was gone
to reveal rusty reinforcing wires. Upstage left was a reception
desk complete with battered pigeon-holes for residents’ keys
and messages as well as a computer and an intercom system.
Upstage right was an old metallic lift with concertina doors and
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 218 25/02/2013 09:56

Twelfth Night 219
an illuminated floor-indicator – which allowed us to see that

Malvolio’s mad-cell was merely the darkened basement of the
hotel foyer. Upstage of all of this was Olivia’s bed chamber, set at a
vertiginous tilt with a bucket to catch the rain drops that plopped
through the ceiling of cracked plaster and exposed laths. Perched
beyond her bed was a roll-top bathtub at an unfeasible angle.
Next to the reception, stage-left, was a filthy revolving glass-
door (which provided Malvolio with an answer to the enigmatic
instruction in the letter, ‘If this fall into thy hand, revolve’, 2.5.137
– he did a full 360 degree cycle) over which an illuminated exit
sign hung crookedly by one fixing. Downstage right was a diving
board which protruded over a large, glass-sided tank about chest-
deep in water. From this both Viola and Sebastian appeared
suddenly, gasping their panicked release from the never-surfeited
sea.
The Orsino/Olivia/Cesario love triangle was missing a side.
While Kirsty Bushell’s feisty Olivia cajoled, knelt before and
eventually subdued Cesario (Viola was played by Emily Taaffe),
the scenes between Jonathan McGuinness’s Orsino and his page
lacked the delicacy, desperation or self-deception of their flirta-
tious courtship (the job of which is to prepare them – and us
– for their eventual and opportunistic union). McGuinness’s
Duke displayed hardly any interest or empathy as he asked
Cesario about her melancholy sister. Similarly his enquiries about
Cesario’s older girlfriend were merely bar-room banter, hidden
under a rapid bluster before he was able to turn the conversation
back to his own wooing (by proxy). Of course, Orsino’s self-
importance can reasonably eclipse his interest in his page but it
meant that Viola’s desperate hints – ‘What kind of woman is’t?’,
‘Of your complexion’ (2.4.26) – went for very little.
Most of the investment of this production was in the tensions
between the understairs revellers and the puritanical steward.
Jonathan Slinger’s Malvolio wore a blonde comb-over toupee and
a pencil moustache. His expression was fixed into a disdainful
glower, his very stare enough to push the quivering Andrew
off the end of the diving board and into the pool. His yellow
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 219 25/02/2013 09:56

stockings were made of skin-tight rubber, some sort of bizarre

fetish accessory, while his black and yellow codpiece was worn on
a thong so that the prospect of him working his way up a steel
ladder like a lurching Richard III left plenty of naked wobbling
arse on display to arouse audience groans. It was an easy option,
but no less appallingly funny for that!
Ranged against him were Nicholas Day’s Toby and Bruce
Mackinnon’s Andrew, the former in Hawaiian shirt and scruffy
shorts and the latter in a blazer topped off with a yellow cravat
– ‘a colour she [Olivia] abhors’ (2.5.193). Toby was too drunk to
be calculated in his exploitation of Andrew and the real force of
the malevolent box-tree scene was Felix Hayes’s sonorously bassy
Fabian. Andrew’s top-knot survived the imposition of a crash
helmet and, amusingly, stood to attention when he removed it
(his ‘horse, grey Capulet’, 3.4.279, became ‘my Kawasaki 750’,
though would not the timid Andrew be more likely to be riding
a moped?).
The casting off of the setting’s oppression came in an instant
of enlightenment. As Olivia exits to marry Sebastian accom-
panied by the priest, she remarks, ‘Lead the way, good father,
and heavens so shine/That they may fairly note this act of
mine’ (4.3.34–5). At ‘heavens so shine’ she tugged on a rope
next to the staircase and light suddenly shone in through the
gaps in the roof. It was as though the spider-webbed wedding
chamber of Miss Havisham had been suddenly illuminated.
The moment symbolized the production’s assured optimism so
that even Malvolio’s dark and timely promise to be revenged on
the whole pack of you or Feste’s closing melancholy song did
not threaten the production’s feel-good ending. As Feste, to the
accompaniment of a cheesy portable keyboard, sang of the play’s
being done, the four lovers took their place on the bed upstage,
emparadised in one another’s arms. For all the pain inflicted on
the play’s losers (Malvolio, Antonio, Andrew), the final sequence
was harmlessly and rather disappointingly benevolent.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 220 25/02/2013 09:56

Twelfth Night 221
Directed by directed by Atul Kumar for Company Theatre

(Mumbai, India) at Shakespeare’s Globe Peter J. Smith
I was on tenterhooks for Andrew’s idiotic self-diagnosis: ‘but
I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my
wit’ (1.3.82–4). Would the line, which used to generate so much
awkward laughter during the BSE crisis of the Major years, cause a
diplomatic incident in front of an audience whose religion forbids
the eating of beef ? Would the much-vaunted global dimension of
Shakespeare’s works hit an impasse of cultural difference which
would demonstrate, finally, his Anglo-insularity? Might a play
from the period of Elizabeth Tudor be less than ‘kaleidoscopic’ in
the period of Elizabeth Windsor? Well, he seems to have got away
with it; indeed, this production, travelling at near the speed of
light, if it used the line at all, skimmed rapidly on. (I could not be
sure if the line occurred since the surtitles were synoptic, vague
and often referred to previous scenes rather than translating what
the actors were saying.)
This was populist Shakespeare, in a populist space, for an
audience who whooped, cheered, jeered, clapped and waved
their arms at the tiniest invitation. There was a pantomime
excess, a cartoon-like explicitness about the performances which
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 221 25/02/2013 09:56

transformed Shakespeare’s painful play about grief and the

embarrassment of love to a carefree romp, punctuated throughout
with musical numbers and a comedic obviousness which would
make The Benny Hill Show look subtle. For instance, as the twins
stood opposite each other, the rest of the company looked from
one to the other, their heads turning in unison like a Wimbledon
crowd in time to a percussive ‘tick-tock’. Elsewhere as Olivia
(Mansi Multani) declared her love for Cesario with long operatic
notes, her head flung back, Sebastian (Amitosh Nagpal) struggled
clumsily to undo her dress, tugging at the fastenings at her throat
and, with increasing desperation, trying to gnaw his way through
them. There was no room in this light-hearted production for
the cruel taunting in Malvolio’s mad-cell (which was cut) or the
emotional devastation of Antonio (who did not appear at all).
So much the better. I was assured by the Hindi-speaking woman
sitting next to me that the translation ‘is a modern prose version
which is accessible for people who wouldn’t normally come to
the theatre’. Shakespeare, thankfully, is not the gentlemen’s club
he used to be, nor am I pining for the confident pronounce-
ments of The Elizabethan World Picture – anything that makes my
profession less recondite is fine with me. The thing is that there
are parts of Twelfth Night that cause the emotions to well up; the
delicacy of Viola’s ‘Patience on a monument’ (2.4.114) or Olivia’s
pathetic self-abasement as she offers herself to the ungrateful boy
(3.4.196–200) illustrate the painful dimensions of Shakespeare’s
sympathy as well as the bewildering incision of his imagination.
We got none of that here.
At the centre of this burlesque reading was Geetanjali
Kulkarni’s impish Viola. During the play’s opening sequence she
was surrounded by the rest of the company who bound up her
chest, bunched up her long hair and transformed her into a boy.
Cesario emerged from the melee, flexing his arms to show off
his biceps and affecting an illustrious swagger. As Olivia stood
behind the page and caressed him, Cesario deftly folded his arms
over Viola’s breasts to prevent her identity being discovered – this
with a knowing look of alarm at the audience who were eager
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 222 25/02/2013 09:56

The Two Gentlemen of Verona 223
conspirators in the deception. The unsubtle playing style neces-

sitated the full transformation of Cesario back to Viola in order
to express her love for Orsino. Having accepted the jewel that
he was to deliver to Olivia, Cesario/Viola wiped off his make-up
moustache and undid her long hair, kneeling to sing a lament and
finally fall asleep across the downstage edge of the stage. When it
came, the passion required conspicuous underlining.
The pantomimic style was at its height during the below-
stairs scenes. Maria, Andrew and Toby (Trupti Khamkar, Mantra
Mugdha and Gagan Riar) sang and danced their way through
their drinking scenes, Toby, at every opportunity, delving his
hands into Andrew’s pockets. At one point each knight danced
across the stage to steal Maria from the other so that she was
jostled from side to side like a ping-pong ball.
Saurabh Nayyar’s tall and dignified Malvolio wore skin-tight
and dangerously diaphanous yellow tights. While the couples
swapped garlands of marriage flowers, he offered his with a
smile to one of the groundlings before placing it round his own
neck. Feste’s lonely melancholy song was here a choral piece
for the entire company – a gesture which demonstrated once
and for all the generosity and inclusiveness of the production.
This was a Twelfth Night full of holiday optimism rather than
January blues.
The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Directed by Arne Pohlmeier for the Two Gents Theatre Company
(Harare, Zimbabwe and London, UK) at Shakespeare’s Globe
Penelope Woods
With a thud the trapdoor on the Globe stage was flung open
and a head appeared. Denton Chikura gazed in Miranda-esque
wonder at the strange theatrical shore he had washed-up on and
its diverse and colourful population returned his gaze expectantly.
The other half of the Two Gents, Tonderai Munyevu, appeared
moments later to help manoeuvre a large, blue, well-travelled
trunk up onto the stage.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 223 25/02/2013 09:56

This visiting production blown temporarily onto the Thames

Bankside for two performances had a playful and peripatetic
ethos. Chikura and Munyevu unpacked bits of costume from the
trunk and hung these on a rope tied between the pillars flanking
the Globe’s central ‘discovery space’. The stripped-back practice
and aesthetic of this prop-lite production, comprising just these
two performers, had hallmarks of touring South African township
theatre. Directed by Arne Pohlmeier, Two Gents was established
in 2007 with an English-language production of this Shakespeare
play. The Globe to Globe production was a new translation for the
festival by Zimbabwean playwright Noel Marerwa. Chikura and
Munyevu, talented and, as they boast, ‘elastic’ performers took on
the roles of the eponymous gentlemen Valentine and Proteus; their
lovers, Silvia and Julia; their servants, Speed, Launce and Lucetta; a
father, a landlady, the Duke of Milan, two rival lovers, some outlaws
and a dog; each indicated by a different piece of fabric or costume.
A feature of this early play, put down to ‘immature’ writing, is its
bias towards scenes in which only two characters are required to
speak; in this production, then, other non-speaking characters were
handily, if not always explicitly, represented by the dangling scraps
of costume. A few notable exceptions saw members of the audience
co-opted to stand in. This inclusivity and sense of shared endeavour
was very much at home on the wooden open-air stage of the Globe.
Munyevu introduced himself as Proteus, his friend as Valentine,
about to embark on a journey. Discussing Proteus’ love for Julia,
Munyevu took a patterned shawl and draped it around the neck
of a lady standing in the yard. Audience members’ heads moved
from the two friends on stage back to ‘Julia’, the love interest,
in the yard. Valentine was off to Milan. He listed names of
great cities: Harare, Buenos Aires, London, Paris. Proteus, on
the other hand, stays behind to woo Julia in Verona. This was a
performance about being caught between the horizon-expanding
education offered by travel and multiculturalism and the tensions
of local identity and love. These issues may not be unfamiliar to
Chikura and Munyevu, Zimbabwean-born and currently based in
London, or their international audience at the Globe.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 224 25/02/2013 09:56

The Two Gentlemen of Verona 225
There is much that is gloriously funny in the production,

in what can sometimes seem a fairly arbitrary and loosely held
together play. Chikura announces we are ‘now in Milan’ with a
playful functionalism (elaborate set changes in other productions
can overdo these lightning displacements). Silvia and Eglamour,
on the other hand, arrive at the forest to find Valentine by ‘taxi’
(the opened blue trunk). The production had a genuinely amusing
‘dog’ scene in which Munyevu, himself, played Launce’s dog
‘Crab’. His dumb/sweet panting, while Launce castigates him for
being surly and unfeeling by comparison with his parents’ fond
farewells, was hilarious in its sheer ‘dogginess’. In an otherwise
music-free production the love duets of Proteus and Julia and
Valentine and Silvia were notably jubilant and tender.
Arriving in the forest Silvia and Eglamour are ambushed
by outlaws. This scene required a few more audience members
to work who were selected by Munyevu from amongst the
groundlings and then effectively deployed as puppets on stage.
The plot and function of these ‘outlaws’ is so thin that this
performance strategy served successfully as a humorous and
indulgent celebration of both audience and performer imagi-
native endeavour.
The controversial attempted rape of Silvia by Proteus in Act
5 in the same forest, observed by Julia-as-Sebastian, and inter-
rupted by Valentine, also required more than two people on
stage. Initially Chikura played Silvia while Munyevu was Proteus.
Silvia was characterized by a white glove (a rich signifying device
in the play since gloves ‘act’ as amorous tokens, go-betweens
and the source of mishap and amorous confusion). As Proteus
seized Silvia, in the person of Chikura, Chikura wriggled out
of the glove to return as Valentine startling his friend in this
moment of aggression and Munyevu was left assaulting the
glove. Silvia’s sudden de-physicalization, in an instant becoming
a limp and helpless shred of fabric, was poignant but potentially
evasive or too neat to deal sufficiently with this uncomfortable
moment. However, the bathos of the play and this particular
production, where friendship is miraculously restored and
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 225 25/02/2013 09:56

everyone improbably ends up with the right partner, was rather

beautifully served by this tactic of suddenly deflated aggression.
As with other production choices, it demonstrated a lightness of
touch that was simultaneously thoughtful and moving.
Interculturalism, the Globe to Globe Festival perhaps proposes,
is a good thing. But it is the displacement of the two friends to
Milan, their separation from friend and lover in Verona and
encountering of other societies and eligible women that threatens
this friendship. Betrayed by Proteus, Valentine declares, ‘I must
never trust thee more,/But count the world a stranger for thy
sake./The private wound is deepest’ (5.4.69–71). This reflection
on the nature and ties of the local was provocative in the midst
of this celebration of the global. The last line, concluding the
improbable and bathetic ending of the play, asserts, ‘One feast,
one house, one mutual happiness’ (5.4.171). This production
offered a simultaneously jubilant and astute reflection on the
possibilities and desirability of unity and mutuality in the Globe
house during this remarkable festival.
Venus and Adonis
Directed by Mark Dornford-May for the Isango Ensemble (Cape

Town, South Africa) at Shakespeare’s Globe Peter Kirwan
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 226 25/02/2013 09:56

Venus and Adonis 227
The tagline for the Globe to Globe Festival reads ‘37 Plays, 37
Languages’; a tagline which excludes the Isango Ensemble’s
U-Venas no Adonisi, the thirty-eighth ‘play’ (a dramatized version
of Shakespeare’s poem) spoken in not one but six different
languages: IsiZulu, IsiXhosa, SeSotho, Setswana, Afrikaans and
South African English. This launch production, then, functioned
as a kind of prologue to the Festival, breaking in the primarily
English-speaking audience with a story that retained a substantial
proportion of Shakespeare’s text and embraced a range of musical
traditions, making this both recognizably South African and
unmistakably global.
The Isango Ensemble is primarily an opera company, and this
take on Venus and Adonis was a palimpsest in both its spoken and
musical languages, representing the cultural diversity of Cape
Town. The influence of the western operatic tradition was keenly
felt in the vocal work of the company’s formidable ‘diva’, Pauline
Malefane (also one of the production’s two musical directors),
whose extraordinary range and force immediately established the
power dynamic that would drive her interactions as Venus with
Mhlekazi Whawha Mosiea’s Adonis.
Innovatively, though, Malefane was only the first in a series
of seven Venuses, all dressed identically except for individualized
hairstyles and facial decorations. After an opening choral piece,
the company wound an enormous bedsheet around Malefane,
which was then passed from actor to actor during the wooing of
Adonis that occupied the play’s first half. In this way, Venus was
kept constantly fresh, wearing down the increasingly embattled
Adonis. The change in physical identity was accompanied by
continual variety in musical stylings, taking in street rap, showtime
(with a comically smiling troupe of chorus girls), jazz (with the
male cast members donning shades and clicking fingers), tribal
chanting, folk laments and rounds.
The effect was one of a melting pot of traditions, aware of
the future but celebrating an African heritage. Venus and Adonis
became a continental myth, the lover against the hunter. The
soft melodies of Venus were countered by the raucous screaming
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 227 25/02/2013 09:56

of huntsmen, at which the usually sullen Adonis came to life,

brandishing a spear and grinning wickedly in anticipation of the
hunt. At these moments, the visual traditions of South African
carnival came to the fore. Venus entered on a horse made up of
the bodies of actors, with a horse’s head on a pole held above.
This horse was distracted first by Venus herself, pulling hard
on his reins and scattering actors’ bodies; and later by the mare,
another puppet horse operated by Venus’ counterparts. Simphiwe
Mayeki, as the actor brandishing the horse’s head, comically
snorted and neighed in disdain of his master’s complaints, before
prancing offstage. Luvo Rasemeni’s Boar was a more hideous
presence: covered in blood and screaming, he ran about the stage,
snarling and stabbing at huntsmen, enacting a mythical version
of the unkillable foe.
The tone of the first half was largely comic, a mood set by the
hysterical appearance of a grinning Cupid in fatsuit and ‘Cupid’
blazoned across his chest, who brattishly embraced his mother
and accidentally pricked her with one of his arrows. Aside from
the Boar’s intrusions, the comic mood continued throughout the
first half as the succession of Venuses threw themselves at the
petulant and helpless Adonis, wrapping their sheet around him
in various modes of entrapment and coercion. Adonis was largely
passive, unable to resist and reduced to silence. In one especially
beautiful moment, as Venus feigned death, he and she became
wrapped in the tendrils of the sheet, allowing him to gently lower
her to the ground then raise her for a kiss, at which she awoke and
winked deliciously at the audience. After promising her a kiss, the
chorus of Venuses entrapped him in a sheet, forcing him into an
intimidatingly oppressive intimacy with the goddess. The sense
of a female rape enacted on the young man introduced a note of
discomfort into proceedings, pointing up his helplessness and
the reversal of the hunter’s role; yet the sympathy given to the
distressed young man added pathos to his ultimate fate.
The second half, focusing on Venus waiting for and then
lamenting Adonis, was much darker, owing largely to the intro-
duction of Katlego Mmusi’s Death. Made up from head to foot
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 228 25/02/2013 09:56

The Winter’s Tale 229
as a grinning skeleton, with long blood-red tongue slithering

out, Death paced the stage, clashing together two sickles to ‘kill’
Adonis’ wounded dogs, played by yelping Chorus members. The
second half became a literal dance between Love and Death;
played by Malefane for the entire second half, Venus was once
more a powerful but frustrated presence, throwing the invul-
nerable skeleton around the stage but unable to do anything more
as he skulked in the shadows, staved off but never beaten. Finally,
the male chorus gathered, all concealed under blankets. Venus ran
around revealing the men until she arrived at Adonis: on looking
into his face, Death clashed his sickles one final time. Adonis
collapsed, and Death stalked off, tongue still rasping, as Venus
sang her final laments.
U-Venas no Adonisi was the perfect opening to the Festival,
representative of its South African visitors while speaking to
a broad and accessible multicultural audience. In this sense it
offered a modern idea of Africa, globally aware but celebratory of
its diverse heritages. Shakespeare’s poem became a tribal story,
a myth of essential human practices, and a full standing ovation
welcomed this newly timeless tale back to London.
The Winter’s Tale

Directed by Olúwo˛lé Ogúntókun for Renegade Theatre (Lagos,
Nigeria) at Shakespeare’s Globe Sarah Olive
A few weeks before seeing a matinee of Globe to Globe’s The
Winter’s Tale, I had watched the Kenyan theatre company Bitter
Pill’s afternoon performance of The Merry Wives of Windsor: two
very different plays linked only tenuously by their concern with
marital fidelity. At the Globe, their innate dissimilarities were
emphasized by the very distinctive audiences and atmospheres
that attended them. For Merry Wives, the audience was small.
Perhaps word had not got around about the Festival yet? Or
perhaps it was just the wrong time of day to expect a crowd made
up of anything other than local retirees, Shakespeare academics
on a mission to ‘bag’ as many of the plays as possible, and tourists,
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 229 25/02/2013 09:56

who would watch for half an hour before moseying out to other
sights on their ‘to do’ list. For The Winter’s Tale, school groups
from the Globe’s surrounding boroughs were there in force.
Whether this was because the ‘host’ liaising between the theatre
and Yoruban communities in London was a particularly effective
incumbent of the role; because it was getting on for the end of
the school year (a time when ‘outings’ are traditionally taken);
or because the Globe had been on a marketing drive to counter
low numbers at matinees, I cannot say. There was definitely more
of a buzz in the air. Many students, teachers and accompanying
parents had decided to don bright and busy Yoruban dress for the
occasion, which interestingly blurred the boundaries between the
actors (also wearing traditional costume) and the audience. Who
was dressing up for whom? Who was there to see and who to be
seen?
I sat in front of a school group whose general enthusiasm
for their excursion and, perhaps, ‘lack’ of knowledge of the text
of Shakespeare’s play freed them to enjoy the production as it
came. In contrast, the play’s readers and those familiar with
more textually faithful productions seem to have had their appre-
ciation of the production hampered by an all too ready tendency
to cry (inwardly, or outwardly on discussion threads) ‘that’s not
Shakespeare’. You could feel this sector of the audience’s hackles
rise right from the beginning, when it quickly became apparent that
the plot had been chopped about. Instead of following the usual
chronologically linear sequence of the narrative, the opening scene
plunged us straight into the journey of Antigonus and his ward,
Perdita (Olúo˛lá), banished from her father Leontes’s (S˛àngó’s)
court, to Bohemia. Shortly thereafter Antigonus’s assailant, the
bear, was cut and replaced by ‘muggers’. In fact, the mugging was
not even staged – despite being a rather easier feat for directors.
Instead, it was somewhat underwhelmingly reported to us. No
wonder some members of the audience (myself included) were
feeling short changed! Time (Ìgbà) raced ahead 16 years from
the Old Shepherd’s (Darandaran’s) discovery of the baby to her
courtship by Florizel (Fo˛láwe˛wó). The unkindest cut of all – but
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 230 25/02/2013 09:56

simultaneously, I felt the best and most profound one – was that
of Hermione’s (Ova’s) restoration from ‘death’/living death as a
statue to life. True to its name, Renegade had Hermione descend
from her pedestal, reuniting fleetingly and teasingly with her
daughter and husband, before retracting from them once more.
This staging of the scene immediately raised interesting questions
around Hermione’s agency. Had she decided not to return to the
husband-ruler that had refused to believe her testimony, opting
instead to punish herself and her children (indirectly, perhaps,
where Mamillius is concerned)? Or had some intangible agent
of justice or fate or feminist interpretation intervened to deny
Leontes the restoration of a wife he arguably never deserved to
‘possess’ in the first place?
Looking back at these production decisions, they were unified
by the way in which they removed features that modern audiences
might find unbelievable, which they might deride as demanding
a measure too much of their capacity for the suspension of
disbelief. However, the pre-show discussion with director Olúwo˛lé
Ogúntókun and synopses during the performance flagged up the
way in which these deletions were to some extent balanced by the
addition of Yoruban myths and legends, gods and goddesses. The
alterations also eliminated some of the play’s inbuilt comic relief,
yet I only noticed this on reflection as there was much extra-
textual matter that the company brought to their version of the
play which made it feel, in retrospect, oddly jubilant. According
to those in the know, the company’s translation used formal rather
than popular language. Yet the music, dance and drumming used
gleefully and effectively in the production seemed – from the
speedy, receptive reaction of the Yoruban speakers in the audience
– to be rooted to a greater extent in popular culture. In terms of
a takeaway message, the integration of these elements into the
production had the effect on me of highlighting the importance
of joyousness (for both the actors and audience) over preciousness
(regarding tradition, text, etc.) in creating successful stagings of
Shakespeare. Of course, joyousness is not the right mood for all
scenes in all plays – who would have thought it would work in
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 231 25/02/2013 09:56

The Winter’s Tale without a happy ending? Yet the exuberance

generated through much of this production, paired with the
heightened desolation of other moments, helped to create a
suitable emotional rollercoaster which was certainly appreciated
by my neighbours. If Renegade’s production were a radio game
show it would most likely be incarnated with the (only just mock)
confrontational title ‘Whose Shakespeare is it anyway’? With
their blatant rejection of convention and defiant attitude towards
(at least some) audience expectations, the answer, even in the hot
and hazy, post-lunch slump of this midweek performance, was
resoundingly ‘Renegade’s’.
In a Pickle, written and directed by Tim Webb for Oily Cart at

Northern Stage, Newcastle Adam Hansen
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 232 25/02/2013 09:56

This production did many things. It told an edited version of The

Winter’s Tale, as a way of introducing Shakespeare to very young
(two- to four-year-old) theatregoers, set to a score of original
songs, amidst bright, colourful scenery. But it also introduced
theatre itself to young people as a vital, engaging and fun activity
that is – or should be, at its best – continuous with the world
and our lives beyond the stage. This introduction and continuity
began before the performance. Even the ushers guiding us down
a staircase were decked in suitably pastoral straw hats decorated
like cast-offs from a harvest festival. The presence of something
strange in the upstairs, ‘normal’ world was a gentle prologue to
what came after we had descended (into what was still ‘not’ the
performance space, though such definitions were clearly blurred).
There, in the sheeps’ ‘dressing room’, the children (and adults!)
could try and put on sheepy ears or shepherdy straw hats, and see
the results in lit-up mirrors. This was a behind-the-scenes look
at the making of a particular pastoral fiction, and was entirely
appropriate for a version of play explicit about the imaginative
leaps audiences must make to accept fantastical shifts in time and
place. But this was also a behind-the-scenes look at the making of
theatrical fictions in general, a making that involved the audience.
So, through understated but artfully contrived activities, we
were invited to participate in what seemed like a drama workshop
warm-up, making sheep noises, holding our hands like sheep’s
hooves and generally stretching our mouths, bodies and minds
a little, before we entered the fantasy world proper. When in
that world, the cast worked hard to engage every child, and
every child’s senses. Hearing a tune called ‘Flowers for You’, we
were given lavender to crush and smell, and basil to chew. The
children were seated at covered benches (with adults a safe but
not inhibiting distance behind them), and these benches worked
as brilliantly textured and flexible props throughout. Overlain
with fake grass, they conjured a bucolic, tactile scene; later,
damask-like material was draped to evoke the court of Sicilia. En
route there, from Bohemia, the benches’ covers were removed to
reveal a water-filled trough, with shells (‘from South East Goa’
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 233 25/02/2013 09:56

according to the ‘List of things used’ provided to adults) and

‘Aquarium Gravel’, for hands to splash in, or to hold ‘Bubble
Pies’. At another point, rolls of wool were unfurled, to be worn
as beards or scarves, and then set down as a covering for the
children to sit on, as they came from behind these benches.
Moving like this re-energized and re-focused any small minds
and bodies that might have been becoming inattentive. This
was furthered by the ways in which the transplanted audience
was invited to draw upon its own capacity to fantasize. As the
psychologist Alison Gopnik notes in The Philosophical Baby:
‘it’s not that two-year-olds pretend because we give them dolls;
instead we give them dolls because they love to pretend’.69 So
no attempt was made to downplay that ‘Perdita’ was a fake baby:
Oily Cart knew children’s imaginations would readily better
reality. Similarly, children were invited to find pretend dummies
and milk in their pockets, and pass these on to placate the baby.
Everyone had a part to play in making the story work as a story,
and a collective paracosm.
As a story, The Winter’s Tale might seem an odd choice for two-
to four-year-olds. Current television favourites like In the Night
Garden and Baby Jake do not feature distress like Mamillius’s
fate. Perdita appears as an infant in the play, of course, but then
is seen again as a teenager, a quasi-adult entity which hardly
fascinates pre-schoolers. Suitably, then, in an online question
and answer session for the RSC, Tim Webb, writer and director,
described In a Pickle like this: ‘It’s more like a dream about The
Winter’s Tale [ … ] We’ve decided we want to concentrate on
characters that have been curiously neglected by Shakespeare –
I mean the sheep!’ Fittingly, Shakespeare’s text was present in
material form during the production, but folded into a paper
boat in the ‘dressing room’. As the production progressed, verbal
fragments long and short from the play started to appear more
frequently (and were often used to describe or effect some great,
magical change, as when Hermione was revived).
Audience reactions would suggest the production worked its
own magic. A mother-of-two, whose younger son had joined in
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 234 25/02/2013 09:56

Events and Adaptations 235
loudly with any singing, and who had gasped with others at the
‘princess’ frozen as a statue, said she and her children had ‘really
enjoyed’ it. The parents of twins taken there to celebrate their
second birthdays remarked that the production was significantly
more ‘interactive’ than other theatrical or artistic events they had
been to with their children. They perceived it was to the credit
of the company that their own children were fully engaged for
just under an hour, since they normally lasted ‘never more than
twenty minutes’. Though they were apprehensive that including
the Shakespearean text might slow things down, they applauded
the show’s ‘subtle’ use of the play’s words.
Joe, one three-year-old, said ‘I wanted [there] to be loads of
it’; the best bits were the ‘sheep noises’, and though the storm
during the passage to Leontes’s court was ‘scary’, it was all ‘a
bit good’. The production’s arrangement of space, with rows of
children facing each other, and the cast moving in traverse, allowed
Joe to reflect on how the production affected others: ‘the babies
enjoyed it’. For children, as for adults, this awareness of others’
reactions inspires and sanctions one’s own responses, especially if
the experience or situation is strange or new. As Gopnik affirms,
‘imitation’ affects ‘emotion’: ‘I see someone smile, so I smile
myself ’.70 There was plenty of smiling during and after In a Pickle.
Events and adaptations inspired by multiple plays or

themes
The Hollow Crown: Richard II, directed for the BBC by Rupert
Goold Peter Orford
It comes as quite a shock, after the bounty of international
Shakespeares this year, to come across a production that is (a) in
English, and (b) relatively straightforward in its approach. No
reimagining or recontextualizing here – quite the opposite. The
histories are often entrenched in the time in which they are set,
and the temptation when producing them for TV is to follow in
the footsteps of Charles Kean and the pictorialists, interjecting
scenes of historical pomp and grandeur to plump up and pad out
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 235 25/02/2013 09:56

the story. Thus, in this Richard II, there were numerous invented
scenes without dialogue – Bolingbroke and Mowbray training
for battle, the Queen sailing away – while key textual points,
most noticeably Richard’s involvement in his uncle Thomas of
Woodstock’s death, were cut.
But while Kean was pursuing historical accuracy, I suspect
the aim here was clarity: get rid of the historical baggage, the
long-wrangled political ties and genealogy that can overwhelm
the plays, and focus on the here-and-now (or rather, the here
and then). Past and future were dismissed, hence the lack
of Woodstock and, surprisingly, young Hotspur. Cuts can be
expected when condensing the plays for television; what was
interesting was then seeing which other elements were expanded
or emphasized as a consequence. For one thing, there was
Richard’s pet monkey, who sat on a perch next to Richard while
the monarch banished Bolingbroke and Mowbray, the seriousness
of the moment for these two countered with the frivolity of the
King, though I still feel the time (and money) could have been
better spent in more immediate and relevant ways. But there was
also an increased presence of the Queen (Clémence Poésy), who
stood looking on silently both in the first scene and at the joust
in 1.3. She does not feature in these scenes in the text, but her
presence here served to establish her relationship with the King
in preparation for their dramatic farewell. There was also the
continued presence of Exton (Finbar Lynch), who usually pops
up just in the last act, but here was seen first as Lord Marshal and
then lingering throughout and giving many a meaningful glance
as though to say ‘I will be significant later on’. (In the end, he was
not: in this production it was Aumerle who killed Richard, with
Exton merely being the one who egged him on).
All of this turned the attention of the drama in on itself, making
it feel self-sufficient; I would have welcomed more of a sense that
this was the beginning of a cycle, only the opening installment
of The Hollow Crown. The crown itself, fabulously bejewelled,
featured prominently throughout, with lingering shots upon
it as though it were a supercharged, Tolkienesque ‘one ring to
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 236 25/02/2013 09:56

rule us all’. And there were certainly many jewels in the crown
of this production: Ben Whishaw managed to convey the power,
hypocrisy and frailty of the king; Rory Kinnear’s Bolingbroke was
suitably solemn and noble; David Morrissey’s Northumberland
gruff and angry; and the uncles York and Gaunt (David Suchet
and Patrick Stewart) generally peeved with the many failings of
the next generation.
Designed for an HD and widescreen generation, the look of
the production was rich in visuals and panoramas. But the gloss
of this production was also its downfall, because as fabulous as
everything looked, and as great as the acting was, the production
felt a little sparse and, ahem, hollow. When we see a crowd of eight
people on the stage we willingly accept it to be representative of a
multitude, but on television, especially when it is shot as this was
on real location with high quality film, then it tends to looks like,
well, a crowd of eight people. By trying to be epic in aesthetic
and style, the lack of extras and props at various moments only
became the more conspicuous: Bolingbroke and Richard returned
to England on a row boat; Bolingbroke was met by three noble
lords who approached without a train, and Bolingbroke’s army
had barely men enough for a game of five-a-side.
This production was at its best when it focused on the
immediate interaction between one or two characters, and
Whishaw, for my money, was at his best when giving up the
crown, stripped of his title yet endowed with a newfound depth
of character. In contrast, the attempts to liken the deposed king
to Christ felt rather laboured. Richard starts as king and becomes
a man; his tragedy is also his triumph. To invert that fall from
grace by promoting him to the Son of God at the play’s close felt
like a misjudgment. It could also be argued that the epic approach
was doomed anyway as it jars with the text: Richard II is not epic,
it is confined, claustrophobic and anti-climactic, with battles or
physical conflict always averted, in stark contrast to Henry IV
Part 1 or Henry V, both of which, I’m sure, will fare better from
this production’s approach.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 237 25/02/2013 09:56

The Hollow Crown: Henry IV Part 1, directed by Richard Eyre

for the BBC Will Sharpe
Some two weeks before The Hollow Crown was broadcast,
Simon Schama’s Shakespeare, also in the BBC’s Shakespeare
Unlocked season, proffered this play as England’s original: from
the lowliest ostler under Charles’s Wain to the burdened King
under the canopies of costly state, Shakespeare gave all a local
habitation, a name, and, more importantly, a voice. It was curious
then to see in Richard Eyre’s Henry IV Part 1 a distinctly more
Brueghelian than Shakespearean figuration of England in a
production that seemed primarily visual in its storytelling aims.
The surrealism was absent, but the warm tones of Brueghel’s
alehouse interiors, straight out of ‘The Peasant Wedding’, in
which life is celebrated, and, in the latter half, the white lonely
expanses of ‘Hunters in the Snow’, in which it is tested, were
powerfully evoked. There was also a touch of Beerbohm Tree
in the nostalgic kitsch of the Eastcheap scenes, which is where
we begin, with a remarkably clean-cut Hal looking fondly at
a snoring Falstaff (Simon Russell Beale) with his Doll. All
around are the filmic tropes of yeasty Shakespearean low-life:
black toothy grins; thirsty quaffing from earthenware goblets,
with the overspill soaking into thick whiskers; buttocks slapped
in ribald jest; shirts and smocks loosely, post-coitally thrown
on; every available hanging adorned with drying linen or dead
rabbits. This is all in sharp contrast to the slate-grey chastity of
the lifeless court, a world of covering up under furred gowns,
fingerless gloves and sheaves of parchment. We intercut between
both at a remarkably brisk clip until Hal’s ‘I know you all’
(1.2.190), rendered as a voice-over as he picks his way through
the teeming tavern, brings phase one to a close before we have
really stretched our legs.
The unfortunate effect of such haste is that much of the rich
linguistic texture that this play takes unusual leisure to wallow in
is emptied out like piss from latticed windows. Of course it is only
a two-and-a-half hour film so cuts are unavoidable, yet England
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 238 25/02/2013 09:56

as seen in the play’s great variety does not have a pictorial life; it
is found, rather, woven into the infinite magnanimities of speech.
Falstaff surely suffers the most in this textually stripped-back
environment, the Gadshill robbery being an excellent case in
point: instead of his corpulently unimprovable musings on how
to get his thick rotundity off the earth once down to listen for
horses we get a long shot of a flustered fatso amidst a dusky wood,
intercut with close-ups of the dashing Prince and Poins laughing
wordlessly.
Falstaff ’s constant, mercurial soliloquizing is one of the more
insistent reminders that this play, however we might try to purge
it of non-naturalistic features in order to serve it up as a screen
narrative, is incorrigibly stage-bound. Not for Eyre though. This
is first and foremost a film, and one that insists you lock yourself
squarely into the taut emotional patterns dictated by the lens’s
roving eye. The eye is a lot less roving than that of Rupert Goold’s
Richard II, in which the camera frequently came down with the
documentary shakes, but that was in keeping with the private
struggles of an individual in continual invasive close-up. Here our
subject is a nation, and the camerawork is staid and magisterial,
the mood sober and cold. Falstaff ’s honour speech (5.1.127–41)
comes as a mournful voice-over as he troops, Henry V-like,
around a wintry camp preparing for battle, and it is the battle,
indeed the artful filming of the battle, to which the whole thing
ultimately aspires, borrowing heavily from Branagh’s muddy
clashes in his film of Henry V, the snowy wastes lending an extra
gravitas, though again pictures take precedence over words.
Russell Beale, in the performance he is allowed to give, makes,
as always, bold and coherent decisions. His is a thoughtful,
morose Falstaff, defying almost every textual cue for bombastic
confidence, the lines suffused with fatigued acceptance. At Hal’s
‘I do, I will’ (2.4.475) we see a close-up of glassy-eyed bewil-
derment, a sad foreshadowing of the rejection to come. The
infinite resources of personality in the role are dramatically pared
back, yet it is a daring, intelligently restrained performance. The
rest of the cast is strong, albeit unnecessarily famous. Michelle
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 239 25/02/2013 09:56

Dockery has managed to transcend her existence as Michelle

Dockery in the British public’s imagination, and is now Lady
Mary from Downton Abbey, a television series that has become,
against all reasonable expectations, insanely popular. It is unusual,
therefore, to find her cast in what is here a minor role as Lady
Percy, one that could have been less distractingly filled by an
actress who needed the work. But it is consistent with the project
as a whole, where no role goes unfilled by the usual suspects of
big-budget British costume drama. Julie Walters gives her best
Mrs Overall as Mistress Quickly, and Alun Armstrong, mainstay
of all BBC Dickens adaptations, skirts the margins as a broad
Geordie Northumberland, while his real-life son, Joe Armstrong,
plays Hotspur with compelling force.
The most cavernous, lonely halls are chosen as resonating
chambers – the crown is, after all, hollow – for the oaky tones of
Jeremy Irons’s voice as Henry (the capital of which is not lost,
with Tom Hiddleston’s solid Hal having a ‘Being Jeremy Irons’
moment in the play-within-the-play). Irons also embodies the
film’s concern with having the two plays meet somewhere in the
middle. He throws up at one point prior to the battle (in which
he takes no part), and clutches his ear at another, having worn an
invalid’s beanie hat throughout, importing some of the sickness
that will, and should, come later. The overarching desire to
impose atmospheric continuity is a shame, as its absence is one
of the great triumphs of the stage originals. Part 1 must remain
unsullied by such steeping in disease just as surely as Part 2 needs
to leave behind the promises of health and purpose if we are to
avoid sidestepping the shock of its darker moods. A sadder and
less prolix Part 1 than is probably necessary, but one with much
to recommend it.
The Hollow Crown: Henry IV Part 2, directed by Richard Eyre

for the BBC Will Sharpe
We begin, again, in the tavern – this production’s spiritual home
– following a urine sample up the stairs to Falstaff ’s room. After
Part 1’s somatic creakings I more than expected to find within a
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 240 25/02/2013 09:56

wart-nosed cane wielder grimly awaiting the lowered thumb, but

instead we get a spruce knight in red velvet, gloved hands either
hugging the seat of benevolence or darting eagerly at the air.
Russell Beale’s Falstaff, finally off the leash, purrs the lines with
quick invention and mischief, making it harder to fathom why
the chance was so sniffed at in the more yielding Part 1 – humour
exists in this play, but Shakespeare makes us grub in the dirt
for its filthy lessons. In fact, the whole world has got the colour
back in its cheeks. Jeremy Irons’s Henry, last seen reaching for
the handle of death’s door, looks as though there is nothing that
half a Valium and an unbroken nine hours’ sleep wouldn’t cure.
While not his fault – throughout we get the sense of a dignified,
powerful performer at the mercy of a series of directorial whims –
it must be observed that he, indeed everyone, seems better. Maybe
it was inversion by design, or maybe a realization that signs of
life would have to be put back if the entire cast was not to expire
before Act 2.
Eyre has made resolute provision for the defence of the fourth
wall in his adaptation as a whole, and there are still no soliloquies
here – even Henry’s insomnia and Hal’s bedside grapplings with
crown and destiny move from private to public. In practice this
requires a good deal of strained reworking, some of the more
evasive tactics (using voice-over or cutting outright) having been
discussed in my review of Part 1, into which Falstaff ’s great solo
set-piece from Part 2 about sherry drinking was crow-barred
to mollify an unusually morose ‘do I not dwindle’ episode. In
hindsight this may have been to ensure that the much-loved lines
were at least retained, realizing there was no way for Part 2 to
support them unless Russell Beale – horror of horrors – talked
to the camera. Throughout, there is a sense of helpless surrender
to the ennobling grammar of celluloid, though why the fear of
direct eye-contact? One senses a conviction that it would wound
the essential dignity of the project as a whole – we are here, first
and foremost, to tell sad stories of the death of kings – yet such
po-facedness strips proceedings of the very wits Shakespeare took
such care to season them with.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 241 25/02/2013 09:56

Henry IV Part 2 is a play in which, fundamentally, nothing

happens, and it is useless to try to thrash it into service as a pulse
raiser. We must bed down in its mulchy topsoil, plug in to the
circadian rhythms of Shallow’s orchard and slowly photosyn-
thesize, like one of his apple trees, in a zen-like acceptance of
inertia. These are not shortcomings. There is something frankly
haunting about the burden of memory allied to the generosity
with which quotidian experience is handled – delicate, complex
layers of regret and understanding that seem, at their most
closely observed, beyond this production’s grasp. The ‘chimes
at midnight’ scene is horribly rushed, the line itself knowingly
portentous (Falstaff eyes the abyss and David Bamber’s Shallow
whines tearfully). It is a moment of unnecessary panic, lunging
clumsily at pathos, more so as it goes unchecked by Falstaff ’s –
soliloquized – account of the old man’s simian lechery.
Gloucestershire – inexplicably wintry in this production –
is all well and good, but the film really wants to get back to
London, to the lonely watches of Irons’s palace and the Turkish
baths in which Hiddleston’s Hal and David Dawson’s Poins
now fritter away the time. The principal debt to the interior
designs goes to Caravaggio, with lots of bodies in dark rooms lit
from the side, though he never painted flesh without making it
suffer. Here the director turns travel agent, offering us poolside
vanities – Poins artfully flexing his pectoral muscles into optimal
relief – in a scene that ought to demand squalid impatience,
frustration, thwarted ambition. The levelling of complexity
hinted at earlier is probably as true of the darknesses as the
delicacies. After a tearful embrace at which Irons rears up for
an open-mouthed, frog-eyed fatal seizure, we see him laid out
in state, Hal crowned, Falstaff duly rejected and a final lingering
shot of Russell Beale’s face. Yet there is no bird that sings of
the wars to come, no steely realpolitik advice from father to son
about busying giddy minds with foreign quarrels, no admitting
that he will die having failed to make his penitential pilgrimage
to the Holy Land. The whole thing has the uncomfortable
air of censorship about it; the cynicism of motive that is so
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 242 25/02/2013 09:56

artfully concealed in Henry V is here, for the only time, allowed

unambiguous voice, and its suppression is miscalculated.
That I actually rather enjoyed this film as a whole might
seem like a bizarre parting shot. It is certainly the play that
best serves the overall moodiness of The Hollow Crown series,
and, to end where this review began, if the tavern is where we
are most at home, it is where this production’s greatest glories
are to be found. I take back what I said about Julie Walters’s
Mistress Quickly. She is magnificent in Part 2, an unsentimental
life-raft for the souls not waving but drowning around her, and
Maxine Peake’s Doll Tearsheet is, and may continue to be, the
best reading of the role I have seen. In a moment that at first
had me rolling my eyes, she straddles Falstaff and tries to stir
him manually into life; yet we see, with honest poignancy, desire
outliving performance in his apologetic admission ‘I am old,
Doll’ (2.4.268). She dismounts unceremoniously and lies near
him in patient forgiveness, in bounteous understanding and in
love. The sense of fragility conveyed, that a breath might wither
all, renders it worthy of entry into the pantheon of great inter-
pretations of this play.
The Hollow Crown: Henry V, directed by Thea Sharrock for the
BBC Peter Orford
Rounding off the BBC’s 2012 history play cycle, this Henry V
offered something of an acid test. While all the plays in this series
have been previously adapted for television, Henry V has the
double whammy of Olivier and Branagh’s on-screen precedents
setting two very different benchmarks for all subsequent adapta-
tions to try to match. The director can either meet the challenge
head-on or change the rules and present a completely different
beast altogether. So, choosing the second option, The Hollow
Crown came to a close with what might have been re-titled ‘The
Tragedy of Henry V’. The surprisingly downbeat ending of the
text, wherein the chorus alerts us of Henry’s early death was
projected back to the very beginning of this production, which
opens with Henry’s funeral and makes it clear to us all that
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 243 25/02/2013 09:56

everything we are about to see is going to prove futile: from the

offset, Tom Hiddleston’s Henry is living on borrowed time.
There were bold cuts and changes. In particular, the cutting of
the traitors’ scene (2.2) raised my eyebrows; the scene is commonly
leapt upon in postwar productions to show the murky side of war
and to demonstrate perfidious behaviour, but this production did
not seem in a hurry to point out any particular villain of the piece.
Instead, just about everyone was subdued, even tragic in their
own way. The battle at Harfleur was reminiscent of Branagh’s film
in looks – the murky night scenes, the Eastcheap crew huddled on
the floor – but here, as elsewhere, Henry’s speeches, masterpieces
of rhetoric as they are, were transformed from rabble rousing
crescendos to fragmentary individual addresses with an almost
pleading nature (a shift of tone that appears to overlook Henry’s
own mantra that humility is best adopted in peace, not war.) Both
here and in the Crispin’s Day speech, Hiddleston almost made
himself giddy spinning around after each line to address the next
to a different face in the crowd, trying to secure each potential vote
from the multitude. Anton Lesser’s Exeter was rather resigned
and melancholic and Paterson Joseph, swapping his recent RSC
Brutus (see p. 91) for York, regularly appeared to be holding
back the tears in a production where we were constantly having
the message reinforced (sometimes subtly, sometimes less so) of
how sad everything was. The misery kept on coming: the human
cost of Harfleur was shown in the downcast faces of the French
citizens; the English forces invariably waded through mud and
between battles were seen burying the bodies of those killed by
the gruelling environment rather than the enemy; a doleful Celtic
melody played throughout (an interesting choice given Henry’s
precautions – cut in this production – to ‘lay down our propor-
tions to defend/Against the Scot’ [1.2.37–8]); and, as a climax,
the production’s final shot, where, after once more showing
Henry’s funeral, and hearing the words of the chorus, we had the
death of Henry reiterated to us again (in case we missed it) with
a text summary. By this point I was thoroughly depressed, and
in no doubt that this was the director Thea Sharrock’s intention,
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 244 25/02/2013 09:56

though the constant emphasis upon the tragedy of events did

threaten the pace of the production at several points.
Given the cutting of Rumour and the epilogue from the
Hollow Crown’s Henry IV Part 2, I wondered how this series
would cope with the highly theatrical and artificial device of
the Chorus and whether it would be cut altogether. Instead, any
references to the stage were cut, and the lines read as a voice-over,
which did render a bit of a docu-drama feel to the proceedings,
but this was redeemed with the interesting innovation of the
doubling of the Boy and the Chorus. This in turn mean an awful
lot of weighty, meaningful looks were given either by the Boy or
to the Boy at several points, which only really made sense after
you had seen the whole thing. It also meant – another contro-
versial cut – that the killing of ‘the poys [boys] and the luggage’
[4.7.1] was missing, making Henry’s retaliation of killing the
French prisoners an unwarranted act of aggression. Still, the
grand reveal – that the Boy had grown up and as an old man was
now the Chorus – did offer some positiveness in showing that a
generation later, Henry, as he predicted, would be remembered
(with four syllables of course).
I think this is destined to be a controversial production. I was
more impressed by its all-round delivery, its looks and quality
than I was with Richard II. Certain innovations – the dialogue-
free scenes added to illustrate what was otherwise simply talked
about; the sight of Bardolph stealing holy relics; the English
forces preparing and signing up for war – these felt neither
intrusive nor patronizing, but rather used the medium to enrich
the story. So what it did, it did well, but the question which I
think will divide viewers is whether what it did was any good
in the first place. Should Henry V really be so tragic? Was the
suppression of so many of the comic scenes a justified loss or a
cut too far? Should there be any glory in Henry’s campaign? It
was definitely an experiment worth trying, but – forgive me – I’m
sticking to Branagh for now.
Finally, a word on this series and lack of continuity, building
on the discussion so far on the previous three parts. Yes, Simon
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 245 25/02/2013 09:56

Russell Beale’s Falstaff popped up briefly here, and Bardolph,

Pistol and Henry were all played by the same actors again as
before, but the Boy was not. Elsewhere, the York who volunteers
to lead the army in Henry V was once that traitorous Aumerle
who planned to murder Henry’s father in Richard II – a perfect
opportunity to draw the plays together and show the success of
Henry V’s reign in conquering the civil broils that caused havoc
during the rule of his predecessors, and one that was missed.
I have always been an advocate for embracing the histories as
individual dramas, but if you are going to present them as a series,
then at least go all the way: link them together and make them
into one story.
The Dark Side of Love, directed by Renato Rocha and co-directed

by Keziah Serreau for the Roundhouse at the Roundhouse’s
Dorfman Hub, London Sonia Massai
At the beginning of this 45-minute promenade production, the
audience was ushered into the Dorfman Hub, the network of
corridors and vaulted chambers located directly beneath the main
auditorium at the Roundhouse. At first the audience could only
walk along the main circular corridor that wraps around this
haunting venue and observe the 15 young performers stationed
in it. A few of them spoke or paraphrased lines from Hamlet’s
‘to be or not to be’ soliloquy in different languages and delivered
them with great emotional intensity. Others, each seemingly
trapped in the cell-like passageways that can be accessed from
this main corridor, engaged in secretive or obsessive-compulsive
behaviours. One performer mixed poisonous-looking potions
(possibly referring to the potion drunk by Juliet to fake her own
death in Romeo and Juliet) while a young girl kept attempting to
swallow blood-red, petal-like balloons strewn all over the floor of
her small brick chamber. All the performers were covered in dry
blood, their bodies and minds already marred by the unforgiving
and deadly power of dark love.
While wandering around the main corridor where the first
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 246 25/02/2013 09:56

part of this production took place, I felt that there was something
slightly pornographic about the level of exposure produced by the
close physical proximity between the audience and these young
performers, who returned the gaze of those who had the nerve
to watch them bare their heart and soul. This sense of invited
voyeurism was heightened by the use of large pieces of light fabric
that had been slashed and pinned over several of the passage-
ways opening onto this main corridor. And yet the confident,
self-assured quality of these young performers’ acting and their
progressively active, almost regimented use of the performance
space turned the tables on the audience, who were repeatedly
pushed rather briskly and unceremoniously out of the way. I
remember feeling positively uncomfortable as the performers
started to shepherd the audience from the main circular corridor
through one of the narrow passage-ways that led into a small
area surrounded by screens. The near-complete darkness in this
confined space was only intermittently interrupted by projected
images showing a beating heart, a metronome and a pair of young
people, a boy and a girl, as they were drowning, helplessly, with
an air of resigned acceptance about them, clearly committing
suicide. The screens were then suddenly pulled down and low
lighting showed that we were standing in the middle of the main
inner chamber at the heart of the Dorfman Hub, where the rest
of the production took place. But before the performers resumed,
the audience was left to linger awkwardly in the middle of the
room, wondering what was going to happen next in an empty
space that felt quite large by comparison to the narrow corridors
where this production had started.
When the performers rejoined the audience, they used song,
dance and dramatic dialogue that were mostly original but were
also clearly inspired by Shakespearean themes and motives drawn
from Othello, Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet. Quite interesting
and effective was the prominence granted to Hamlet’s unfeeling
rejection of Ophelia, while several performers took turns reading
from copies of the letters and poems that Hamlet had sent her
and that she was now returning to him. Also quite moving was
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 247 25/02/2013 09:56

a short sequence where a female performer suddenly became

Desdemona, as she pleads for her life in the bedroom scene at
the end of Othello. I particularly enjoyed the fact that while the
two pairs of performers personating Hamlet and Ophelia and
Othello and Desdemona confronted each other in the middle of
the chamber, their actions were visually echoed by all the other
performers. First all the female performers stood in a circle around
Hamlet and Ophelia and fell simultaneously, copying Ophelia’s
fall as Hamlet repeatedly pushed her away. Similarly, all male
performers surrounded Othello and Desdemona and mimicked
Othello as he, like Hamlet, tried to fend off Desdemona’s impas-
sioned plea by shoving her out of his way. One of the high points
in this production was the unexpected and eloquent outburst
of indignation that came pouring out of the diminutive young
performer who played Desdemona in this part of the show.
Interesting as this production was, I felt more often alienated
and uncomfortable than sympathetic and emotionally involved
with the plight of these young, forlorn lovers. But alienation and
discomfort may well have been what this production was striving
to achieve. The baring of the performers’ emotions was ultimately
represented as a literal flaying, a progressive stripping of the
bodies of the lovers down to their bleeding hearts. Tellingly, in
the closing sequence, the actor who had played Hamlet earlier
walked to the middle of the chamber holding a heart in his hand.
This arresting stage action may have been a direct reference to
John Ford’s ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore, where Giovanni, having
killed his sister and lover, Annabella, enters with her heart upon
his dagger. In Ford’s tragedy, Giovanni’s gesture is symptomatic
of his possessive desire to reclaim Annabella, who has been forced
to marry another man, while in this production, the actor playing
Hamlet crouched down to drop the heart into a small tank of
water held by Ophelia, clearly re-enacting his earlier rejection,
but this time in a more literal, visceral way.
When I left the Roundhouse after watching Two Roses
for Richard III a few weeks ago, which included Dark Side
director Renato Rocha in the cast, I remember feeling slightly
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 248 25/02/2013 09:56

overwhelmed by a production that tried too hard to impress. On

the contrary, after watching The Dark Side of Love, I felt under-
whelmed. I now wondered whether my state of mind stemmed
from the fact that I had been semi-consciously concerned about
the ethical viability of enlisting the Roundhouse’s outstanding
commitment to reaching out to communities of young people
from different backgrounds by including this production in the
current World Shakespeare Festival. How could a production,
that at times felt as raw and gritty as an improvised workshop,
withstand the formidable combination of its prominent patrons
(the Royal Shakespeare Company as chief organizers; LIFT [the
London International Festival of Theatre] as co-producers; and
the British Council as cultural partner)? But the more I thought
about the confidence with which the performers appropriated
snatches of Shakespeare’s lines to rework them into their own
words, songs or dance sequences, the more I started to realize
that this production was less about Shakespeare and more about
what these young performers decided to present about themselves
through Shakespeare.
Forests, adapted by Marc Rosich and Calixto Bieito, directed by

Calixto Bieito for the Barcelona Internacional Teatre in association
with the Royal Shakespeare Company at the Old Rep Theatre,
Birmingham Kathleen E. McLuskie
On a damp, ‘last day of summer’ evening, the historic Birmingham
Rep, home to Barry Jackson’s pioneering modernism, was dwarfed
by the towering, never-to-be-completed project of Birmingham’s
new and dystopian city centre. The desire for the forest, the
heath, the open-land where humans might face unaccommodated
nature made complete sense. But Nature, for us, is always out
of reach, always at once obscured and re-lit by other people’s
writing: William Golding, Tennyson, Sam Beckett and, of course,
Shakespeare.
The opening impressions made by Rebecca Ringst’s set under-
scored the contrast: a brightly lit but hazy, white-walled art
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 249 25/02/2013 09:56

gallery housed a single tree, high on a wicker box plinth; a long

man in a deep fur-collared coat slumped against it. Asleep?
Dead? Certainly channelling Waiting for Godot. Elegantly dressed
visitors drifted in, contemplating the art work. A tall young
woman with a guitar, a Joni Mitchell figure, began to sing the
lyrical Orpheus song from Henry VIII that slid into a triumphant
anthem: ‘To liberty and not to banishment!’ The visitors, who
had made the glancing eye-contact and tentative smiles of gallery
behaviour, began to play, first with a ball and a bucket, thrown to
the audience and exchanged for sweets. They then discarded their
street clothes to reveal the children’s dresses and open shirts that
would enable and encourage free movement and close contact.
Nature was a festival: Glastonbury or Shambala. There was,
to begin with, no rain and mud; but the lighting changes for
each speech, and the wind that brought down a forest of white
paper strips, drew us through the contradictions of even the
most benign of Shakespeare’s forest speeches, spoken and sung in
English or Catalan backed by the fantastic eclectic styles of Maika
Makovsky’s music: ‘Sweet are the uses of adversity’; ‘There is a
willow grows aslant a brook’; ‘He hath my lord, of late made many
tenders/Of his affection to me’.
In the first section the forest was a place of love: joyfully
consummated on stage, cross-dressed, lost and heartbreaking,
the impulse for wild, funny and terrifying madness. A Jaques
figure (George Costigan) – sometimes Orsino or Touchstone or
Polonius – gave the fragmentary scenes some anchorage. He spoke
the Seven Ages of Man speech to console the sobbing, abandoned
woman (Phoebe?) as her erstwhile lovers made out next to them.
He watched while ‘Rosalind’ and ‘Orlando’ swapped clothes on
stage; he marvelled at meeting ‘a fool in the forest’ and acted as
the grown-up to the crazy children. The man in the fur coat, the
Catalan actor, Josep Maria Pou, was a more elusive and possibly
more sinister presence. He ended the ‘love’ sequence with Jaques’s
lament for the deer; no longer a familiar set speech, but an enraged
denunciation of nature’s destruction by careless humans.
Pou’s fury signalled the end of the party: the children cleared
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 250 25/02/2013 09:56

up and the theme song turned to Sonnet 30: ‘When to the

sessions of sweet silent thought’. The box that had contained the
gallery tree was destroyed and its dark earth strewn by the actors
across the stage as one spoke Macbeth’s line, ‘I ’gin to be aweary
of the sun’ (5.5.49). The forest scene was now from Titus with all
its Ovidian ambiguity: its bacchic wildness ended when the prey
became the old man’s little dog, pinned to the wall by a dagger.
The rape of Lavinia was executed by the cross-dressed Rosalind
(Katy Stephens). She fixed Lavinia (Roser Cami) to the wall with
the chilling thump of a staple gun; she rolled up her little-girl
frock, pulled her knickers to her ankles and force-fed her the
neck-tie she had secured round her waist in the first, innocent,
cross-dressing exchange with Orlando (Christopher Simpson)
This was the forest of Timon, Lear and Henry VI Part 3. It
rehearsed the vision from Troilus and Cressida of a world un-tuned
by any kind of order: King Henry counting his flock did nothing
to soften the horror of the son who loots his father’s body or
the father who searches his son’s body for the gold that might
recompense his ‘hundred blows’ (2.5.81). The visceral violence
– some of it from Shakespeare, some from Tarantino – was often
unmitigated by speech. The music became a single drum-beat
and a scraping of a single violin string. Even the music maker was
stifled in a sado-masochistic game underscored by Claudio’s call
to ‘be absolute for death’ as a woman was buried by the mound of
earth, like Beckett’s Winnie from Happy Days.
And then it was over. The lights came up and the bloody
mass pulled from one woman’s body became a double handful
of red balloons, blown up and tied to the tree as the sound-track
played Handel’s most orderly and counterpointed music. Only the
death-marked theme of the spoken sonnets’ longing for death and
oblivion pulled the ironies back into view.
The whole effect was of Shakespeare our Contemporary:
the Shakespeare of Jan Kott and Peter Brook, of the theatre of
cruelty and the absurd where performers were forced to expose
themselves ‘to feel what wretches [and lovers] feel’ (3.4.34) and
then communicate it with complete focus and control. The actors
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 251 25/02/2013 09:56

were unprotected by consistent character with an imagined back

story: they turned in an instant from excitement to grief and
horror. There was no consoling story of tragedy or comedy or
political analogy to tell. It was Shakespeare without his narrative;
Shakespeare as experience without meaning and a Shakespeare
whose unfamiliar familiarity needs to be returned to again and
again.
A Soldier in Every Son – The Rise of the Aztecs, by Luis

Mario Moncada, translated by Gary Owen, directed by Roxana
Silbert for Compañía Nacional de Teatro de México and the Royal
Shakespeare Company at the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
Christie Carson
If a horse created by a committee is a camel then what is a national
history created by a cross-cultural collaborative process? Theatre
has been used by many nations to build their identity, to construct
their national character. What happens therefore when that
construction process (or deconstruction/reconstruction process)
is put in the hands of people who are not from that culture?
Inevitably a hybrid emerges which has hints of both cultures but
does not really do justice to either of them; this is, I am afraid,
what happened in the The Rise of the Aztecs, which owed as much
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 252 25/02/2013 09:56

to The Tudors and Eastenders as it did to Shakespeare’s history

plays. While it was an entertaining evening in the theatre I feel
none the wiser about the formation of the nation of Mexico.
This production combined an established RSC director, Roxana
Silbert, with a cast that brought together British and Mexican
actors. In contrast to the other productions I have reviewed for
www.yearofshakespeare.com this combination seems to muddy
the water most of all. The Comedy of Errors was a production
by the RSC in English using Shakespeare’s text but it allowed a
visiting director to inspire the cast to imbue the story with some
of his non-British experience. Romeo and Juliet in Bagdad brought
a production created entirely outside of Britain with a cast that
lived the life they were describing on stage. The first production
was linguistically accessible but at times awkward for its audience
and actors because of its unfamiliar references to terrorism and
torture. The second production was entirely comfortable for the
actors on stage but a barrier of experience, as well as language,
was created for a non-Arabic audience. A Solider in Every Son
tries valiantly to draw these two types of theatrical experience
together but I would suggest does not manage to please anyone as
a result. It is a production that can best be described as Mexish,
or perhaps Britican.
The story began with Ixtlixochitl (Son of Techotlala, Prince
and later King of Texcoco, played by Alex Waldmann) drawing
a map of the region on the body of a young slave girl, while
describing the home territories of the three warring nations that
would form the centre of the play’s action. It did not take long to
distinguish between the members of the three tribal nations as they
were helpfully colour-coded, in brilliant turquoise textiles for the
peaceful Acolhuas, brown fur and feathers for the violent warriors
the Tepanecas and black-leather street gear with red body paint
and plumage for the Aztec nation, who were depicted as pragmatic
mercenaries. It was also made quite clear from the outset that
Ixtlixochitl is the boyish Prince Hal waiting for his moment to
reign by hanging out in unsuitable company having an extremely
good time. There was a scene which leapt directly out of Henry IV
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 253 25/02/2013 09:56

Part 1 in which Ixtlixochitl (Hal) and Tochitzin (Falstaff, played

by Joshua Jenkins) rehearsed Hal’s visit to his father the King.
However, this Hal was married off before the battle of Agincourt
began and was deeply attached to his lovely young slave girl
whom he hoped to impregnate with a son before the nuptials were
enforced. The spurning of the tempestuous daughter of the Great
King of the Tepanecas and her magical revenge seemed to evoke
The Taming of the Shrew and Macbeth in equal measure. The fact
that her father had a strong Glaswegian accent confused matters
further. Was he meant to be the parallel to the King of France but
in the guise of the enemy within the nation? This confusion was
compounded when the sons of the King (Tezozomoc, played by
John Stahl), one legitimate and one not, ended up in a battle to the
death. Suddenly we seemed to be in King Lear and yet it was the
bastard son that won, so I was thoroughly confused.
This rather freewheeling approach to the canon was reminiscent
of what was taking place during the Globe to Globe Festival.
Given just one shot at presenting the Shakespeare tradition
of their nation to an English audience many of the companies
made an effort to illustrate how well versed they were in all of
Shakespeare’s stories and characters. For example there were
three witches in the National Theatre of China’s production of
Richard III and it was in the story of Richard III that the Mexican
National Theatre seemed to have found a true kindred spirit.
Ixtlixochitl (Hal) successfully marries Mayahuel (sister of
the Aztec King and granddaughter of Tezozomoc the King of
the Tepanecas, played by Mariana Giménez) and has a son. You
would think that this union would successfully unite the three
warring tribes but the peace attained is short lived and the three
tribes are soon at war again but with the guiding hand of Itzcoatl
(son of the Aztec King and a slave woman) steering a steady
path of destruction through his own family towards the throne.
After Ixtlixochitl’s (Henry V) death Itzcoatl (Richard, played by
Brian Ferguson) hides the dead Acolhuas’s King’s son and heir
(not quite in the Tower of London but you get the idea) and
arranges for the death of his trusting brother the new king of the
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 254 25/02/2013 09:56

Aztecs. The other scene which provided a direct parallel with

Shakespeare’s plays was the one in which – echoing Richard III –
a servant girl (played in drag) encouraged two peasants to call for
Itzocatl to be crowned king. They called again and again for his
coronation until he finally relented, telling them he had no desire
to rule and was just a simple soldier.
The Machiavellian Itzocatl spoke directly to the audience to
indicate to us that he finds it hard to be anything but the man he
is when he was surrounded by so many trusting fools. The fact
that Ferguson (another Scot) is the same actor who played the
wily Malcolm in David Greig’s sequel to Macbeth, Dunsinane,
on the same stage with the same director charged his words with
another layer of complexity. The play ends with an unsettling
truce between the three nations under Itzocatl’s reign. Seeing
Moctezuma, Richmond’s obvious parallel, standing at the side
of this scene of peaceful reconciliation made an audience who
knows the history plays very much aware that this story was ‘to be
continued … ’. While the colloquial language and modern street
dress attempted to make this retelling of an ancient story relevant
to its present audience, it was actually the quiet authority of the
Mexican actors in the company that highlighted the fact that a
British audience was only able to scratch the surface of this rich
and deeply complex, culturally specific story.
Shakespeare: Staging the World, exhibition curated by Jonathan

Bate and Dora Thornton for the British Museum, London, 19 July
to 25 November 2012 Kate Rumbold
The exhibition Shakespeare: Staging the World focused on
Shakespeare’s ‘world rather than his life’. Granted Droeshout’s
famous image of Shakespeare loomed over the ticket booking
process, the programme, and the entrance to the spiralling
exhibition at the centre of the British Museum, and originated in
the first object that visitors encountered: the 1623 First Folio. Yet
Staging the World quickly, and deliberately, expanded beyond him.
Jonathan Bate and Dora Thornton’s exhibition set out to establish
a ‘dialogue’ between the ‘imaginary worlds of Shakespeare’s
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 255 25/02/2013 09:56

Map of Warwickshire and Leicestershire by Christopher Saxton, 1576
plays and objects from the real worlds in which he and his
audiences lived’; and the way in which this immense collection
of objects was entwined with Shakespeare’s words, written and
performed, secured an equal conversation. The exhibition was
neither a source study for Shakespeare’s plays, nor an attempt to
prove Shakespeare’s global influence. Rather, it was a marvellous
evocation of a cultural moment that had Shakespeare in its midst,
responding to events and shaping how others saw them.
It began in familiar territory, leading the visitor from the
Folio to Wenceslas Hollar’s famous panoramic view of London,
with Bankside’s theatres jostling in the foreground. Surprises
followed: a delicate painting of a Thames boat crossing, taken
from the friendship book of a European visitor, offered a glimpse
of how others vividly remembered their experience of theatre-
going. Simon Forman’s handwritten eyewitness account of seeing
The Winter’s Tale performed, and even a page of Shakespeare’s
own hand in Sir Thomas More, were magical moments, too. Items
often cited and imagined by scholars were here taking on real,
physical form.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 256 25/02/2013 09:56

Drainage spade used for gardening, 1700s
Some objects, at first, could appear an exercise in tenuousness.

Near to the entrance hung a golden ‘musical chamber clock’,
dating from 1598. On the adjacent wall was printed a short
quotation from Romeo and Juliet: ‘The clock struck nine when I
did send the nurse’; the description below suggested that clocks
were used to make dramatic points in Shakespeare’s plays. On
paper, this clock had little to do with the play. It did not claim to
be the precise kind of timepiece to which a character like Juliet
might have referred, nor to offer a new insight into her words. Yet
the very presence and beauty of such objects encouraged viewers
to shed such a limited, footnoting approach: this is what a ‘clock’
might have meant to Shakespeare and his audiences, and thus, now,
to us. Sometimes the most glancing connections could be the most
illuminating. Similarly loosely related objects – from the painting
of the Judgment of Solomon that Shakespeare may have seen
on performing Twelfth Night or The Comedy of Errors at Middle
Temple Hall and Gray’s Inn, to the beautiful bracelet given by
Elizabeth I to his patron, Lord Hunsdon – ably, and cumulatively,
hinted that Shakespeare was part of larger cultures and commu-
nities in which he was not always centre stage. Nowhere was this
point more beautifully made than in the collection of objects
unearthed from The Rose Theatre: the turned oak baluster, the
tiny die, the fork and even the ingeniously combined tooth- and
ear-pick, suggested an audience for all kinds of theatrical enter-
tainment that was often, but not always, supplied by Shakespeare.
The exhibition thus added a fascinating dimension to the
World Shakespeare Festival, upholding Shakespeare not as the
centre of the known theatrical universe, but as an astute writer
who lived and worked at the major junction of trade, news, travel
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 257 25/02/2013 09:56

and ideas that was London. With references to ‘expanding global

contacts’, ‘human traffic’ and even ‘race riots’, the descriptions
gave to the objects and images associated with Elizabethan foreign
policy a sense of contemporary relevance, effectively blurring
the boundaries between a rapidly growing early modern capital,
and ‘London 2012’, the busy twenty-first-century city on which,
when the exhibition first opened, international visitors were
converging to compete in the Olympics. Shakespeare’s London,
as presented here, shared with the World Shakespeare Festival,
and the Olympics more broadly, a common language of energy,
internationalism, identity and pride.
From the material delights – bedsteads and maps among
them – of Warwickshire and the ‘Forest of Arden’ (Shakespeare
‘remained proud of his regional roots’), worlds continued to
unfold: the medieval past, the classical world, the sumptuous
beauty of Venice and the expansiveness of the new world of the
Americas, among others, occupied successive rooms. Along the
way, objects were interwoven with performance: Forbes Masson
(Jaques) and Katy Stephens (Rosalind) reprised their dialogue
about melancholy from Michael Boyd’s RSC As You Like It,
in unlikely conversation with John Donne’s portrait. Geoffrey
Streatfeild roused his troops on a big screen behind the sword,
helm and seal-die thought to be associated with Henry V, and
displayed in Westminster Abbey in Shakespeare’s lifetime. Jonjo
O’Neill twisted in silent torment across three television screens
while Richard III’s words appeared on the surrounding walls,
near where a processional cross with the badge of the House of
York was displayed (accompanied by the briefest quotation: ‘son
of York’).
The RSC collaboration challenged the division between
the ‘imaginary’ and the ‘real’, and questioned which had the
greater auratic hold over visitors. Objects that might have been
associated with an historical king met the ‘live’-seeming speech
and movement of contemporary actors. At the same time, phrases
once attached to particular characters and plots were released
from their plays and attached to abstract ideas; while for listeners
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 258 25/02/2013 09:56

to Neil McGregor’s BBC Radio 4 series Shakespeare’s Restless

World, objects conjured in the mind’s eye, via the ear, now took
on ‘real’, visible shape.
The exhibition’s much-vaunted final object – the ‘Robben
Island Bible’ – could not but stir the imagination. Opened at a
page in Julius Caesar, this modern edition of Shakespeare had
been movingly inscribed by African National Congress (ANC)
prisoners. Next to the words ‘Cowards die many times before
their deaths’ (2.2.32) was the signature of an incarcerated Nelson
Mandela – a signature that made instantly palpable Shakespeare’s
global significance. Launching its visitors back out into the world
with the words ‘somehow Shakespeare always has something to
say to us’, this dazzling exhibition must surely have tempted them
back for more.
A Tender Thing, adapted by Ben Power and directed by Helena

Kaut-Howson for the Royal Shakespeare Company at the Swan
Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon Peter Kirwan
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 259 25/02/2013 09:56

Unlike the Olympics, the World Shakespeare Festival does not

have a Closing Ceremony. There is no grand climax, no image
of Prospero/Shakespeare drowning his books and asking for our
applause, not even a celebrity-studded event production. Instead,
the last officially badged World Shakespeare Festival production to
open was this: a two-hander played (on this occasion) to a half-full
Swan Theatre; a free rearrangement of the text of an early tragedy;
a revival of a play first performed three years ago; and an evening
centred around a subject matter that is inherently more downbeat.
Yet Ben Power’s A Tender Thing was also one of the Festival’s
triumphs, a delicate and profound tale that gave us Shakespeare’s
Romeo and Juliet turned inside out and upside down, yet also opened
up the musicality and thematics of the play in an enlightening way.
The headline of A Tender Thing is the play replayed between
lovers at the end of long lives rather than in the flush of youth.
Almost all of the words were taken from Shakespeare’s play,
with the obvious insertion of ‘What is love?’ from Twelfth
Nightand the occasional other external quotation. Words were,
however, divorced from character and context and distributed
freely between two pensioners reminiscing on a life and preparing
for the next phase. Language and quotation juxtaposed to create
an experience dissonantly familiar, the audience invited to simul-
taneously recognize and relearn meanings.
The plot that emerged was unavoidably and emotionally (to
this reviewer) resonant of Richard Eyre’s remarkable film Iris.
After a too-brief glimpse of an elderly couple dancing and playing
like children as if in the first flushes of romance, we saw Kathryn
Hunter’s Juliet’s leg buckle, and she stumbled and fell into her
dancing partner’s arms. Debilitated – by a stroke or some more
wasting disease – the audience was then privy to a sequence of
intensely private scenes as the couple attempted to deal with her
increasing physical helplessness, moving from a gammy arm that
struggled to pick up a dropped photo album to an inability to lift,
wash or feed herself. Audible sniffs could be heard around the
auditorium from ten minutes in, only growing over the subse-
quent hour.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 260 25/02/2013 09:56

unter was outstanding in a physically and emotionally

H
demanding role. From the moment of her first collapse, she was
required to manually adjust her arm, which defaulted to a painfully
strained and useless position at her side. Her voice became increas-
ingly low and measured as she struggled to articulate consonants,
and her leg dragged behind her. While still able to walk, she moved
in limping, disjointed steps that could take her only a few metres
before another collapse, as in one early scene where she threw down
her stick, strode out and fell almost immediately onto her face. Yet
this was no mere facsimile of disability. Hunter’s triumph was to
maintain communication and expression even while appearing
to be partially paralyzed. Her eyes were wide and imploring, her
stuttering mouth clear in its intent if not in its words. As the food
Romeo carefully spooned to her fell out of her mouth, she looked
up at him in desperation, shame and love.
One of the most extraordinary moments saw her, at a key
point, suddenly leap out of her wheelchair. The lights changed
to a spotlight and a figure that had become increasingly frail over
the previous half hour danced for her life. Her legs flew out, her
balance was precise, her body supple and flexible as she flung
herself across the wheelchair, leaned back, stretched and reached
for the heavens, before meekly returning to her chair, resuming
her state and gazing in pain up at her husband. This short
moment, capturing the spiritual and mental freedom that Juliet
felt while trapped within her body, was beautiful in itself but also
spoke to Shakespeare’s heroine’s own entrapment, Power’s play
preserving the striving for release.
Richard McCabe’s affable Romeo was heartbreaking in a
performance again reminiscent of Jim Broadbent’s in Iris. He
was lovably daft in his early scenes as he donned a suit, danced
privately, sneaked up on his fabulously dressed date and cheekily
tried to put his hands on her breasts. Later, he gathered plants,
then removed his kneepads and sat in a comfortable armchair to
sift through a photo album. His character, unlike Shakespeare’s
Romeo, was a paragon of stability, the kindly man living entirely
for his love. In McCabe’s voice, Romeo was the bumbling
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 261 25/02/2013 09:57

romantic, rarely forgetting the dated transistor radio playing

Ruiz’s ‘Sway’ and a red rose, a series of gestures that, in one of
Juliet’s final mobile moments, she attempted to recreate.
It was Romeo’s patience that shone through. Over a sequence
of detailed, precise scenes he picked her up, held her, washed her
carefully, swung her gently, laid her down and, most often, danced
with her in his arms. The same dance that they shared together
early in the play became the motif of their love, returned to even
in the midst of their ablutions, becoming a shared memory that
broke through during her washing where the two caught each
other’s eye and shared a tender kiss, their affection undimin-
ished. Yet we also saw the strain that he felt himself under, at one
moment snapping and shouting at her as she babbled, and then at
other moments sitting and quietly weeping.
Helena Kaut-Howson’s production was set against Jacques
Collin’s remarkable videos and Mike Compton’s evocative music
design (punctuated with John Woolf ’s music). Around the edges of
the stage were glimpses of sand and shells (revealing, towards the
play’s end, the small purple vial of poison). The repeated three-
dimensional motif was of waves crashing against a shore, the epic
backdrop running onto the edges of waves lapping around the
feet of the actors, and at one point becoming a whirlpool threat-
ening to engulf them. The obvious symbolism of time eroding
lives was made local by images of a young couple at the seashore.
Juliet’s early appearance dancing for Romeo in a bathing costume
evoked a nostalgia for carefree times that extended the sense of
slippage of time backwards as well as forwards, their entire lives
captured in these final moments.
While some may have been tempted to play the game of
spotting the transpositions of famous lines (perhaps most evoca-
tively, Juliet moaning that her illness ‘’twill serve’), there was
little self-consciousness in Power’s arrangement. Instead, lines
and situations fell naturally into place, upsettingly as Juliet took
over the Nurse’s lines about her lost daughter. A picture of a
beautiful young girl faded in and out on the screen, leaving us
with fragments of a story half told, a montage of memories and
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 262 25/02/2013 09:57

loose ends that Juliet physically thrashed to hold onto even as she
lost control of her body. The reliving of immediate memories saw
Romeo use his umbrella to pull Juliet around in her wheelchair to
their song, dancing as long as they could until her choking forced
a premature end.
As the production moved towards its close, the pathos moved
towards, while staying on the right side of, melodrama. The
two shared a bed, and as Juliet awoke and prepared to take her
‘medicine’ it was Romeo who asked if she would be gone, the line
becoming a play for a few more final moments. As she slipped
away, Romeo followed in anguish, curling up with her and taking
the last of the poison. We were treated to a dreamlike coda, the
two awaking in turn and the video screen changing to a golden
field. The two met again, sharing the play’s famous sonnet as they
encountered one another as if in a dream. Without resolving their
sense of the reality of their encounter, they instead took hands
and walked away together towards the fields. It was a sombre but
fittingly cyclical close to both play and festival, a return to the
beginning and a reliving of meetings rather than an iteration of
farewells.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 263 25/02/2013 09:57

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 264 25/02/2013 09:57
PART THREE: Endings
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 265 25/02/2013 09:57

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 266 25/02/2013 09:57
Epilogue
Paul Edmondson
Shakespeare was intermittently conscious of prologues and

epilogues throughout his career. There is the longed-for ‘muse of
fire’ in Henry V (Prologue, line 1); Rumour creates history when
introducing Henry IV Part 2; there is the apparently scholarly,
yet in the end indifferent ‘prologue armed, but not in confidence’
in Troilus and Cressida (Prologue, line 23); and ‘ancient Gower’
springs from Chaucerian ashes in Pericles (Chorus, line 2, with the
help of Shakespeare’s co-author George Wilkins). Peter Quince
introduces his players to the Athenian court in A Midsummer
Night’s Dream but Duke Theseus later refuses to hear an epilogue
– their ‘play needs no excuse’ (5.1.342–3) – and he settles for a
bergamask dance instead. Among Shakespeare’s epilogues, are
the enigmatic songs of Spring and Winter in Love’s Labour’s Lost,
followed immediately by the play’s equally enigmatic final lines
‘the words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You that
way, we this way’ (5.2.919). There an entire community renders
hymns of wit, wooing and winter after a pageant has been inter-
rupted by the death of a head of state. Robin Goodfellow seeks
our friendship as well as our applause at the end of A Midsummer
Night’s Dream; Rosalind steps forward to flirt with the audience at
the close of As You Like It. Her epilogue is not necessary but, she
reminds us, our feelings of sexual attraction are. And Prospero in
The Tempest wants to be relieved by prayer and set free at the end
of his highly and perhaps overwrought epilogue, hammered out
in couplets of iambic tetrameter. In all these instances, we open
our ears and eyes and render our applause, in part, because we
are asked to do so.
London 2012 was as much about the Opening and Closing
Ceremonies as it was about the Games themselves. Beginnings
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 267 25/02/2013 09:57

and endings played an important part and, some have liked to say,
set a new tone for the Olympic Games of the future. The Cultural
Olympiad actually started four years ago and was supposed to
culminate with the start of the Games themselves. Although
Shakespeare’s words featured prominently in the Opening and
Closing Ceremonies, the many millions around the world who
heard them would have had no notion that a World Shakespeare
Festival was currently flourishing in Great Britain, or indeed
that it had started on 8 March (with Twelfth Night in Stratford-
upon-Avon) and would continue until 3 November (with King
Lear in London). Or indeed that it coincided not only with the
Olympic year, but with the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II
(who after her damp flotilla on the Thames memorably appeared
to be jumping out of a plane with James Bond during the first
Opening Ceremony). Yet those who wanted to recognize and
underline the Festival’s cultural value said that it was the greatest
and largest Shakespeare Festival the world had ever seen.
Our project, co-led by the Universities of Birmingham,
Warwick and The Shakespeare Birthplace Trust, attempted to be
both a prologue and an epilogue to the ‘swelling scene’ (Henry V,
Prologue, line 4). In making sure that the band of Shakespeareans
we assembled watched and reviewed all the productions that were
officially part of the World Shakespeare Festival, we sought to
open those productions up to readers around the world via www.
bloggingshakespeare.com and www.yearofshakespeare.com, two
digital platforms of The Shakespeare Birthplace Trust, produced
and designed by Misfit, inc. (www.misfit-inc.com).
All festivals (whether great or small) are in part self-conscious
attempts by a culture to establish what Fortinbras at the end
of Hamlet calls ‘some rights of memory’ (5.2.373), to etch
something into the cultural consciousness. As far as our sense of
an Epilogue was concerned, we imagined how valuable it would
be if, for example, we could know more about David Garrick’s
Stratford Jubilee of 1769, or the Festival of Britain in 1951. What
was it like actually to be there and to see these events as they
unfolded? Our project, we decided, would capture the reactions
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 268 25/02/2013 09:57

Epilogue 269
of audiences to the World Shakespeare Festival productions

and, as it were, put them into a bottle, like messages to future
generations. Our bottle, though, was to be made up of reviews
posted as blogs, of blog comments posted beneath the reviews
(via www.bloggingshakespeare.com) and of messages on Twitter
using the hashtags #G2G (for the ‘Globe to Globe’ Festival) and
#WSF2012 (for everything else). We uploaded videos and sound
posts onto YouTube, Audioboo and Soundcloud. These included
immediate responses to the show, conversations which took place
shortly afterwards and later more reflective discussions among
students and audience members. This project did not begin with
a book. It began with blogs and social media. The book began to
take shape about a third of the way into the project.
Until 23 April 2014 (the 450th anniversary of Shakespeare’s
birth) the digital and paper archives remain open for you to
add your comments to the online versions of the reviews in
this book. It does not matter whether you managed to see a
particular production; you can still respond to the reviews and
the sense they give of a cultural, festival moment, as well as what
they tell us about the interpretative choices these productions
brought to bear on the plays themselves. You might like to choose
from among your favourite Shakespeare plays, find the reviews
and comments via www.yearofshakespeare.com and add your
comments to the blogs, or send a Tweet, or post an Audioboo or a
message via Soundcloud (using #WSF2012).
At the end of the project the online versions of the reviews in
this book and other articles published as part of www.yearofthe
shakepeare.com, the Tweets, comments, video and sound posts will
be preserved by The Shakespeare Birthplace Trust and sit within
a ‘Trusted Digital Repository’ as part of the collections, publicly
accessible at The Shakespeare Centre on Henley Street, Stratford-
upon-Avon, CV37 6QW (www.shakespeare.org.uk and scla@
shakespeare.org.uk). Alongside these will be the Festival theatre
programmes and the project’s administrative archive, including the
recordings of the two day-long symposia held in June and September
2012. If you have any items you would like to donate such as written
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 269 25/02/2013 09:57

accounts of productions, press-clippings of reviews and related

articles, and photographs taken during the World Shakespeare
Festival, please be in touch with the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust
Collections Department by 23 April 2014. While the digital archive
will then officially close, the prologues and epilogues it contains will
remain open to be consulted for generations to come.
By reading this book you are, in a sense, taking part in the
World Shakespeare Festival, possibly even re-living it, and this
is your opportunity to add your voice to the cultural echoes that
people of the future will be able to read and, we hope, hear.
Isles will always be full of noises: sweet, delightful, unhurtful,
twangling, humming, dreamlike, even festive.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 270 25/02/2013 09:57

Appendix 1
Productions by Country and Language

Note: Production information contained in the appendices comes
from the official promotional materials and websites of the World
Shakespeare Festival, Globe to Globe and Shakespeare Unlocked.
In some cases production details – including companies involved,
dates of performances, and languages or dialects used – changed
as the year unfolded. We have tried to reflect these changes as
much as possible in the reviews themselves, which contain more
detailed and comprehensive information than what can be listed
here.
AFRICA
Cymbeline (South Sudan Theatre Company) in Juba Arabic, from South Sudan
Macbeth: Leïla and Ben – A Bloody History (Artistes Producteurs Associés) in
Arabic, from Tunisia
The Merry Wives of Windsor (Bitter Pill and The Theatre of Kenya) in Swahili,
from Nairobi, Kenya
The Two Gentlemen of Verona (Two Gents Productions) in Shona, from London
and Harare, Zimbabwe
Venus and Adonis (Isango Ensemble) in IsiZulu, IsiXhosa, SeSotho, Setswana,
Afrikaans and South African English, from Cape Town, South Africa
The Winter’s Tale (Renegade Theatre) in Yoruba, from Lagos, Nigeria
ASIA
All’s Well That Ends Well (Arpana) in Gujarati, from Mumbai, India
Antony and Cleopatra (Oyun Atölyesi) in Turkish, from Istanbul, Turkey
The Comedy of Errors (Roy-e-Sabs) in Dari, from Kabul, Afghanistan
Coriolanus (Chiten) in Japanese, from Kyoto, Japan
Cymbeline (Ninagawa Company) in Japanese, from Tokyo, Japan
The Merchant of Venice (Habima National Theatre) in Hebrew, from Tel Aviv,
Israel
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 271 25/02/2013 09:57

A Midsummer Night’s Dream (Yohangza Theatre Company) in Korean, from

Seoul, South Korea
Richard II (Ashtar Theatre) in Palestinian Arabic, from Ramallah, Palestine
Richard III (National Theatre of China) in Mandarin, from Beijing, China
Romeo and Juliet in Baghdad (Iraqi Theatre Company) in Arabic, from Baghdad, Iraq
The Taming of the Shrew (Theatre Wallay-Kashf) in Urdu, from Islamabad,
Pakistan
The Tempest (Dhaka Theatre) in Bangla, from Dhaka, Bangladesh
Titus Andronicus (Tang Shu-wing Theatre Studio) in Cantonese, from Hong
Kong
Twelfth Night (The Company Theatre) in Hindi, from Mumbai, India
Europe
2008: Macbeth (TR Warszawa) in Polish, from Warsaw, Poland
As You Like It (Marjanishvili State Drama Theatre) in Georgian, from Tbilisi,
Georgia
The Comedy of Errors (RSC) in English, from Stratford-upon-Avon, England
Coriolan/us (National Theatre Wales and RSC) in English, from Cardiff,
Wales
The Dark Side of Love (Roundhouse, LIFT and RSC) in English, from London,
England
Falstaff (Royal Opera House) in Italian, from London, England
Forests (Birmingham Repertory Theatre, Barcelona Internacional Teatre and
RSC) in Catalan and English, from Birmingham, England and Barcelona,
Spain
Hamlet (Meno Fortas) in Lithuanian, from Vilnius, Lithuania
Henry IV Part 1 (BBC) in English, from London, England
Henry IV Part 2 (BBC) in English, from London, England
Henry V (BBC) in English, from London, England
Henry V (Shakespeare’s Globe) in English, from London, England
Henry VI Part 1 (National Theatre Belgrade and Laza Kostic Fund) in Serbian,
from Belgrade, Serbia
Henry VI Part 2 (National Theatre of Albania) in Albanian, from Tirana,
Albania
Henry VI Part 3 (National Theatre of Bitola) in Macedonian, from Bitola,
Macedonia
Henry VIII (Rakatá) in Castilian Spanish, from Madrid, Spain
I, Cinna (The Poet) (RSC) in English, from Stratford-upon-Avon, England
In a Pickle (Oily Cart and RSC) in English, from London, England
Julius Caesar (I Termini and Teatro di Roma) in Italian, from Rome, Italy
Julius Caesar (RSC) in English, from Stratford-upon-Avon, England
King John (Gabriel Sundukyan National Academic Theatre) in Armenian, from
Yerevan, Armenia
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 272 25/02/2013 09:57

King John (RSC) in English, from Stratford-upon-Avon, England

King Lear (Almeida) in English, from London, England
King Lear (Belarus Free Theatre) in Belarusian, from Minsk, Belarus
Love’s Labour’s Lost (Deafinitely Theatre) in British Sign Language, from
London, England
Macbeth (Teatr im. Kochanowskiego) in Polish, from Opole, Poland
Measure for Measure (Vakhtangov Theatre) in Russian, from Moscow, Russia
A Midsummer Night’s Dream (As You Like It) (Chekhov International Theatre
Festival, Dmitry Krymov’s Laboratory and School of Dramatic Art Theatre)
in Russian, from Russia
Much Ado About Nothing (Compagnie Hypermobile) in French, from Paris, France
Much Ado About Nothing (RSC) in English, from Stratford-upon-Avon, England
Otello (Royal Opera House) in Italian, from London, England
Pericles (National Theatre of Greece) in Greek, from Athens, Greece
Pericles (RSC Open Stages) in English, from Stratford-upon-Avon, England
The Rape of Lucrece (RSC) in English, from Stratford-upon-Avon, England
The Rest is Silence (dreamthinkspeak) in English, from Brighton, England
Richard II (BBC) in English, from London, England
Richard III (RSC) in English, from Stratford-upon-Avon, England
Shakespeare: Staging the World (British Museum and RSC) in English, from
London, England
The Tempest (RSC) in English, from Stratford-upon-Avon, England
A Tender Thing (RSC) in English, from Stratford-upon-Avon, England
Timon of Athens (Bremer Shakespeare Company) in German, from Bremen,
Germany
Timon of Athens (National Theatre) in English, from London, England
Twelfth Night (RSC) in English, from Stratford-upon-Avon, England
West Side Story (Sage Gateshead and RSC Open Stages) in English, from
Gateshead, England
Y Storm (The Tempest) (Theatr Genedlaethol Cymru, Wales Millenium Centre,
National Eisteddfod of Wales and Pontio & Citrus Arts) in Welsh, from Vale
of Glamorgan, Wales
North America
Desdemona (Barbican) in English and Bambara, from USA and Mali
Henry IV Part 1 (Compañía Nacional de Teatro) in Mexican Spanish, from
Mexico City, Mexico
Othello (Q Brothers, Chicago Shakespeare Theater and Richard Jordan
Productions) in Hip Hop, from Chicago, USA
A Soldier in Every Son – An Aztec Trilogy (National Theatre of Mexico and RSC)
in English, from Mexico City, Mexico and Stratford-upon-Avon, England
Troilus and Cressida (Wooster Group and RSC) in English, from New York, USA
and Stratford-upon-Avon, England
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 273 25/02/2013 09:57

Oceania
Troilus and Cressida (Ngaˉkau Toa) in Maˉori, from New Zealand
SOUTH AMERICA
Henry IV: Part 2 (Elkafka Espacio Teatral) in Argentine Spanish, from Buenos
Aires, Argentina
Romeo and Juliet (Grupo Galpão) in Brazilian Portuguese, from Belo Horizonte,
Brazil
Two Roses for Richard III (Companhia Bufomecânica and RSC) in Brazilian
Portuguese, from Brazil
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 274 25/02/2013 09:57

Appendix 2
Productions by Date of Opening Performance
MARCH
8 – Twelfth Night (RSC), Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
16 – The Comedy of Errors (RSC), Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
22 – Richard III (RSC), Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
30 – The Tempest (RSC), Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
APRIL
6 – King John (RSC), Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
21 – Venus and Adonis (Isango Ensemble), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
23 – Troilus and Cressida (Ngaˉkau Toa), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
24 – Measure for Measure (Vakhtangov Theatre), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
25 – The Merry Wives of Windsor (Bitter Pill), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
26 – Pericles (National Theatre of Greece), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
26 – Romeo and Juliet in Baghdad (Iraqi Theatre Company), Swan Theatre,
Stratford-upon-Avon
27 – Twelfth Night (The Company Theatre), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
28 – Richard III (National Theatre of China), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
30 – A Midsummer Night’s Dream (Yohangza Theatre Company), Shakespeare’s
Globe, London
May
1 – Julius Caesar (I Termini and Teatro di Roma), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
2 – Cymbeline (South Sudan Theatre Company), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
3 – Titus Andronicus (Tang Shu-wing Theatre Studio), Shakespeare’s Globe,
London
4 – Richard II (Ashtar Theatre), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
5 – Othello: The Remix (Q Brothers, Chicago Shakespeare Theater and Richard
Jordan Productions), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
5 – The Rest is Silence (dreamthinkspeak), Unit 3 Malthouse Estate, Brighton
Festival, Brighton
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 275 25/02/2013 09:57

7 – The Tempest (Dhaka Theatre), Shakespeare’s Globe, London

7 – Two Roses for Richard III (Companhia Bufomecânica and RSC), Courtyard
Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
8 – Macbeth (Teatr im. Kochanowskiego), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
9 – The Two Gentlemen of Verona (Two Gents Productions), Shakespeare’s Globe,
London
11 – Henry VI Part 1 (National Theatre Belgrade and Laza Kostic Fund),
Shakespeare’s Globe, London
12 – Henry VI Part 2 (National Theatre of Albania), Shakespeare’s Globe,
London
12 – Henry VI Part 3 (National Theatre of Bitola), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
14 – Henry IV Part 1 (Compañía Nacional de Teatro), Shakespeare’s Globe,
London
15 – Falstaff (Royal Opera House), Royal Opera House, London
15 – Henry IV Part 2 (Elkafka Espacio Teatral), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
16 – King John (Gabriel Sundukyan National Academic Theatre), Shakespeare’s
Globe, London
17 – King Lear (Belarus Free Theatre), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
18 – As You Like It (Marjanishvili State Drama Theatre), Shakespeare’s Globe,
London
18 – Two Roses for Richard III (Companhia Bufomecânica and RSC), Roundhouse
Main Space, London
19 – Romeo and Juliet (Grupo Galpão), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
21 – Coriolanus (Chiten), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
22 – Love’s Labour’s Lost (Deafinitely Theatre), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
23 – All’s Well That Ends Well (Arpana), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
23 – In a Pickle (Oily Cart and RSC), Swan Room, Stratford-upon-Avon
24 – The Winter’s Tale (Renegade Theatre), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
25 – The Taming of the Shrew (Theatre Wallay-Kashf), Shakespeare’s Globe,
London
26 – Antony and Cleopatra (Oyun Atölyesi), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
28 – Julius Caesar (RSC), Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
28 – The Merchant of Venice (Habima National Theatre), Shakespeare’s Globe,
London
29 – Cymbeline (Ninagawa Company), Barbican Theatre, London
29 – Henry VIII (Rakatá), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
30 – The Comedy of Errors (Roy-e-Sabs), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
31 – Timon of Athens (Bremer Shakespeare Company), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
June
1 – The Comedy of Errors (RSC), Roundhouse Main Space, London
1 – Much Ado About Nothing (Compagnie Hypermobile), Shakespeare’s Globe,
London
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 276 25/02/2013 09:57

2 – Hamlet (Meno Fortas), Shakespeare’s Globe, London

5 – Twelfth Night (RSC), Roundhouse Main Space, London
7 – Henry V (Shakespeare’s Globe), Shakespeare’s Globe, London
9 – The Tempest (RSC), Roundhouse Main Space, London
12 – Otello (Royal Opera House), Royal Opera House, London
12 – The Rest is Silence (dreamthinkspeak), Riverside Studios, London
International Festival (LIFT), London
13 – I, Cinna (The Poet) (RSC), Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
19 – In a Pickle (Oily Cart and RSC), Stratford Circus, London
26 – The Dark Side of Love (Roundhouse, LIFT and RSC), Roundhouse
Dorfman Hub, London International Festival (LIFT), London
26 – The Rest is Silence (dreamthinkspeak), Northern Stage, Newcastle
28 – Romeo and Juliet in Baghdad (Iraqi Theatre Company), Riverside Studios,
London International Festival (LIFT), London
29 – A Soldier in Every Son – An Aztec Trilogy (National Theatre of Mexico and
RSC), Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
30 – The Hollow Crown: Richard II (BBC), BBC2
JULY
4 – Macbeth: Leïla and Ben – A Bloody History (Artistes Producteurs Associés),
Riverside Studios, London International Festival (LIFT), London
4 – West Side Story (Sage Gateshead and RSC Open Stages), The Sage, Gateshead
7 – The Hollow Crown: Henry IV Part 1 (BBC), BBC2
10 – Timon of Athens (National Theatre), Olivier Theatre, London
12 – Macbeth: Leïla and Ben – A Bloody History (Artistes Producteurs Associés),
Northern Stage, Newcastle
14 – The Hollow Crown: Henry IV Part 2 (BBC), BBC2
19 – Desdemona (Barbican), Barbican Hall, London
19 – Julius Caesar (RSC), Theatre Royal, Newcastle
19 – Shakespeare: Staging the World (British Museum and RSC), British
Museum, London
21 – The Hollow Crown: Henry V (BBC), BBC2
26 – Much Ado About Nothing (RSC), Courtyard Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
August
3 – Troilus and Cressida (Wooster Group and RSC), Swan Theatre,
Stratford-upon-Avon
7 – Y Storm (The Tempest) (Theatr Genedlaethol Cymru, Wales Millenium
Centre, National Eisteddfod of Wales and Pontio & Citrus Arts), National
Eisteddfod of Wales, Llandow, Vale of Glamorgan
8 – Coriolan/us (National Theatre Wales and RSC), Hangar 858 Picketson, RAF
St Athan, Vale of Glamorgan
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 277 25/02/2013 09:57

10 – A Midsummer Night’s Dream (As You Like It) (Chekhov International

Theatre Festival, Dmitry Krymov’s Laboratory and School of Dramatic Art
Theatre), Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
11 – 2008: Macbeth (TR Warszawa), Royal Highland Centre, Edinburgh
International Festival, Edinburgh
18 – Julius Caesar (RSC), Noël Coward, London
22 – The Rape of Lucrece (RSC), Royal Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh International
Festival, Edinburgh
24 – A Midsummer Night’s Dream (As You Like It) (Chekhov International
Theatre Festival, Dmitry Krymov’s Laboratory and School of Dramatic Art
Theatre), King’s Theatre, Edinburgh International Festival, Edinburgh
24 – Troilus and Cressida (Wooster Group and RSC), Riverside Studios, London
31 – Forests (Birmingham Repertory Theatre, Barcelona Internacional Teatre and
RSC), Old Rep Theatre, Birmingham
31 – King Lear (Almeida), Almeida Theatre, London
SEPTEMBER
Centre, National Eisteddfod of Wales and Pontio & Citrus Arts), United
Counties Showground, Carmarthen
22 – Much Ado About Nothing (RSC), Noël Coward, London
27 – A Tender Thing (RSC), Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
OCTOBER
Centre, National Eisteddfod of Wales and Pontio & Citrus Arts), The Vaynol
Estate, Bangor
5 – Pericles (RSC Open Stages), Courtyard Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 278 25/02/2013 09:57

Notes
1 Exact viewing figures for the ceremony have yet to be confirmed by statisti-
cians. One billion is a number that has been widely reported by major news
sources (BBC News, USA Today, The Telegraph), but others have queried it
(Los Angeles Times); it is also the figure typically ascribed to the size of the
2008 Beijing Opening Ceremony’s viewing audience.
2 Melanie Phillips, ‘Oscars all round for a spectacular feelgood fantasy of
modern Britain’, Mail Online, 30 July 2012, http://www.dailymail.co.uk/
debate/article-2180786/Olympics-2012-opening-ceremony-Oscars-round-
spectacular-feelgood-fantasy-modern-Britain.html/
3 @ellecollins, quoted in ‘Year of Shakespeare: The Olympics Opening
Ceremony’, Year of Shakespeare, 28 July 2012, http://bloggingshakespeare.
com/year-of-shakespeare-the-olympic-opening-ceremony/, markyk1970
commenting on ‘Edward William Elgar – Nimrod (London 2012 Olympics
Opening Ceremony)’, YouTube, 28 July 2012, http://www.youtube.com/
watch?v=BnbcqB1fGy4/
4 Nicholas Watt, ‘Olympics opening ceremony was “multicultural crap”,
Tory MP tweets’, The Guardian, 28 July 2012, http://www.guardian.co.uk/
politics/2012/jul/28/olympics-opening-ceremony-multicultural-crap-
tory-mp/
5 The four-year Cultural Olympiad model began in 1988, with Barcelona
developing an extended programme of cultural events running up to its 1992
Games. Since then the four-year model has been in operation (whether or
not people realize it), with each summer Olympic city beginning its Cultural
Olympiad at the close of its predecessor’s Games. Scholars of the Olympics
widely regard the Barcelona cultural celebrations as the most successful (in
terms of visibility and attendance), with the Sydney 2000 Games as runners
up (how London fared has yet to be decided). Still, commentators have
frequently observed that budgets for the cultural side of the Olympics are the
first to shrink when a host city’s Olympic project (almost inevitably) starts
to become more expensive than expected, reducing the scale and visibility
of the resulting cultural events. See Beatriz Garcia, ‘One Hundred Years
of Cultural Planning within the Olympic Games (1912–2012): Origins,
Evolution and Projections’. International Journal of Cultural Policy 14.4
(2008), pp. 361–76. The confusion and unfamiliarity surrounding the
Cultural Olympiad in Britain was parodied in Season 1, Episode 5 of Twenty
Twelve, a mockumentary about the London 2012 Olympics planning team
aired in the lead-up to the 2012 Games; see Jem Bloomfield, ‘Twenty Twelve
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 279 25/02/2013 09:57

Notes
Recap – Season 1, Episode 5’, California Literary Review, 1 July 2012

http://calitreview.com/28014/
6 ‘Arctic Monkeys’ Olympic cover of The Beatles’ “Come Together” climbs
download charts’, NME, 30 July 2012, http://www.nme.com/news/
arctic-monkeys/65210/
7 Kayte Rath, ‘Big Ben’s tower renamed Elizabeth Tower in honour of
Queen’, BBC News, 26 June 2012, http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/
uk-politics-18592966/
8 Michael Coveney, ‘Theatre critic’s view: Sir Ian McKellen improvises
as Miranda floats past during the Paralympics opening ceremony’, The
Independent, 30 August 2012, http://www.independent.co.uk/sport/
olympics/paralympics/theatre-critics-view-sir-ian-mckellen-improvises-as-
miranda-floats-past-during-the-paralympics-opening-ceremony-8092895.
html/
9 ‘London 2012 Paralympic Opening Ceremony Media Guide’, London
2012 Media Centre, 29 August 2010, http://www.london2012.com/mm/
Document/Documents/General/01/42/41/37/ParalympicOpeningCere
monymediaguideEnglish_Neutral.pdf/
10 This was the official slogan of the 2012 Games, and it was supplemented
by an added ‘Inspire’ programme; see ‘Inspire’, London 2012 About Us,
http://www.london2012.com/about-us/inspire/
11 Simon Tait, ‘Drama on display’, The Stage, 7 June 2012, pp. 18–19. This
special issue on the London 2012 Festival featured four prominent articles
on the Festival’s Shakespearean offerings. Over the course of the Olympic
planning, the London 2012 Festival (which, somewhat confusingly, stretched
beyond London to the rest of the country) became the chief manifestation of
the UK’s Cultural Olympiad.
12 Sergei Lobanov-Rostovsky, ‘London Struts on the World Stage’, The
New York Times, 26 July 2012, http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/27/
opinion/with-olympic-pageantry-britain-struts-again-on-the-world-stage.
html?_r=0/
13 Emer O’Toole, ‘Shakespeare, universal? No, it’s cultural imperialism’, The
Guardian, 21 May 2012, http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/
may/21/shakespeare-universal-cultural-imperialism/
14 Michael Dobson, The Making of the National Poet: Shakespeare, Adaptation
and Authorship, 1660–1769. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992.
15 For the opening critical bids in the debate, see Sarah Crompton, ‘Culture inspires
as much as athletics’, The Telegraph, 5 September 2012, http://www.telegraph.
co.uk/culture/theatre/9522909/Culture-inspires-as-much-as-athletics.
html/, Tim Masters, ‘London 2012 Festival: Were the arts as inspiring as the
athletics?’, BBC News, 12 September 2012, http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/
entertainment-arts-19524557/, ‘Cultural Olympiad Celebrates Success With
20 Million Visitors’, ArtLyst, 14 September 2012, http://www.artlyst.com/
articles/cultural-olympiad-celebrates-success-with-20-million-visitors/,
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 280 25/02/2013 09:57

Notes
Mark Brown, ‘The Cultural Olympiad: so now what?’, The Guardian,

17 September 2012, http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2012/sep/17/
the-cultural-olympiad-what-have-we-learned/
16 William Hazlitt, Complete Works of William Hazlitt in Twenty-One Volumes,
ed. P. P. Howe. London: J. M. Dent and Sons, 1933, vol. 5, p. 173.
17 Cary Mazer, ‘Shakespeare, the Reviewer, and the Theatre Historian’.
Shakespeare Quarterly 36 (1985), pp. 648–61 at p. 653.
18 Jeremy Lopez, ‘Spreading the Shakespeare Gospel: A Rhetorical History
of the Academic Theater Review’, in New Directions in Renaissance Drama
and Performance Studies, ed. Sarah Werner. Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2010,
p. 111.
19 Alan Armstrong, ‘Romeo and Juliet Academic Theatre Review Kit’.
Shakespeare Bulletin 26:1 (2008), pp. 109–23 at p. 118.
20 See for example the articles and position pieces in collections such as:
‘Nothing if not critical’: International Perspectives on Shakespearean Theatre
Reviewing (eds Paul Prescott, Peter J. Smith and Janice Valls-Russell),
Cahiers Élisabéthains 40th Anniversary Special Issue (2012); Reviewing
Shakespearean Theatre: The State of the Art (eds Paul Edmondson, Paul
Prescott and Peter J. Smith), Shakespeare 6.3 (2010); Watching Ourselves,
Watching Shakespeare I and II (eds Barbara Hodgdon and Peter Holland),
Shakespeare Bulletin, 25:3 and 25:4 (2007).
21 Lichtenberg’s Visits to England: As Described in His Letters and Diaries, ed. and
trans. Margaret L. Mare and W. H. Quarrell. New York: Benjamin Blom,
1969 [1938], p. 21.
22 Cyril Connolly, Enemies of Promise. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1979 [1938],
p. 30.
23 Stanley Wells, ‘Reviewing Shakespearean Theatre: The State of the Art – A
panel discussion with Michael Coveney, Andrew Dickson, Carol Rutter,
Janet Suzman and Tim Supple’, in Reviewing Shakespearean Theatre: The
State of the Art, eds Paul Edmondson, Paul Prescott and Peter J. Smith.
Shakespeare 6:3 (2010), pp. 304–22, at p. 314.
24 Kenneth Tynan, ‘West End Apathy’, in Tynan on Theatre. Harmondsworth:
Penguin, 1964, p. 32.
25 Rónán McDonald, The Death of the Critic. London: Continuum, 2007, p. ix.
26 Curtis White, The Middle Mind: why Americans don’t think for themselves.
London: Allen Lane, 2004, p. 5.
27 See Stanley Wells, ‘Reviewing Shakespearean Theatre: The State of the Art
– A panel discussion’, p. 313.
28 E. B. White, ‘The Critic’, 17 October 1925, The New Yorker.
29 Keir Elam, The Semiotics of Theatre and Drama. London: Methuen, 1980,
pp. 38–9.
30 See Joshua Sylvester, Bartas: his deuine weekes and workes translated: & dedicated
to the Kings most excellent Maiestie, by Joshua Sylvester. London: 1605.
31 Jeremy Lopez, ‘Academic theatre reviewing and the imperfect present’, in
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 281 25/02/2013 09:57

Notes
Reviewing Shakespearean Theatre: The State of the Art, eds Paul Edmondson,
Paul Prescott and Peter J. Smith. Shakespeare 6:3 (2010), pp. 349–55 at
p. 355.
32 James C. Bulman, ‘Introduction: Shakespeare and Performance Theory’, in
Shakespeare, Theory, and Performance. London: Routledge, 1996, pp. 1–12 at
p. 8.
33 A. B. Walkley, Playhouse Impressions. London: Fisher Unwin, 1892, p. 52.
34 Roland Barthes, S/Z. London: Jonathan Cape, 1975, p. 11.
35 A. B. Walkley, Dramatic Criticism. London: John Murray, 1903, p. 52.
36 George Bernard Shaw, Shaw’s Music: the Complete Musical Criticism in
Three Volumes, ed. Dan H. Laurence. London: Max Reinhardt, 1981, vol.
2, p.168.
37 Cary Mazer, ‘Shakespeare, the Reviewer, and the Theatre Historian’.
Shakespeare Quarterly 36 (1985), pp. 648–61 at p. 660.
38 See, for example, www.shakespeare-revue.com; http://internetshakespeare.
uvic.ca/; and Peter Kirwan’s excellent ‘Bardathon’ blog: http://blogs.
nottingham.ac.uk/bardathon/
39 G. H. Lewes, On Actors and the Art of Acting. London: Smith, Elder & Co.,
1875, p. 49.
40 George Bernard Shaw, Caesar and Cleopatra: Antony and Cleopatra. New
York: Herbert S. Stone & Co., 1900, p. x.
41 Dominic Dromgoole and Tom Bird, ‘O For a Muse of Fire …’, Globe to
Globe, http://globetoglobe.shakespearesglobe.com/
42 ‘As You Like It Interview’, Globe Education Department Soundcloud
Channel, http://soundcloud.com/globe-education1/as-you-like-it/
43 Accounts of Mushtahel’s harrowing experiences can be found in Stephen
Landrigan and Qais Akbar Omar, Shakespeare in Kabul. London: Haus
Publishing, 2012, pp. 132–4, 227–9, and ‘Terrifying plight of Afghan
actress’, BBC News, 25 March 2009, http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/
south_asia/7940527.stm/
44 Motoi Miura, interview by Akihiko Senda, Performing Arts Network Japan,
http://performingarts.jp/E/art_interview/1002/1.html/
45 ‘Media Coverage’, South Sudan Theatre Company, http://www.
southsudantheatre.com/media-coverage/
46 South Sudan Theatre Company Vimeo Channel, http://vimeo.com/
channels/southsudantheatre/
47 Rosie Goldsmith, ‘South Sudan adopts the language of Shakespeare’, BBC
News, 8 October 2011, http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-15216524/
48 Marvin A. Carlson, ‘Performance Review: Hamletas’. Theatre Journal 50.2
(1998), p. 234.
49 Oscar Wilde, ‘The Critic as Artist’, in The Norton Anthology of Theory and
Criticism, ed. Vincent B. Leitch. New York and London: Norton, 2001,
pp. 900–12 at p. 911.
50 King John video recording, The Space, http://thespace.org/items/
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 282 25/02/2013 09:57

Notes
e0000c28?t=hvx/. At the time of going to print, The Space (‘a free digital,
pop-up arts service’ from Arts Council England and the BBC) was still
in service, although it was scheduled to complete in October 2012. The
fate of the archived videos located there had yet to be decided. See ‘The
Space’, Arts Council England, http://www.artscouncil.org.uk/funding/
apply-for-funding/strategic-funding/thespace/
51 Deborah Shaw, interviewed by Michael Dobson for the 2012 British Graduate
Shakespeare Conference, 15 July 2012, http://backdoorbroadcasting.
net/2012/06/the-2012-british-graduate-shakespeare-conference/
52 ‘The Hub 2: Programme 3’, BSL Zone, April 2012, http://www.bslzone.
co.uk/bsl-zone/the-hub-2-programme-3/
53 ‘Macbeth \ Makbet – Teatr Kochanowskiego w Opolu’, YouTube, 5 March
2012, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2Oun9gXIYc/
54 Michael Billington, ‘Macbeth – review’, The Guardian, 9 May 2012, http://www.
guardian.co.uk/stage/2012/may/09/macbeth-shakespeares-globe-review/
55 My research has been funded by the European commission under the
Marie Curie Intra-European Fellowship Programme (FP7). I gratefully
acknowledge this support.
56 Ted Hughes, ‘Note’, in A Choice of Shakespeare’s Verse, ed. Ted Hughes.
London: Faber and Faber, 1991, pp. 165–203 at p. 184.
57 Bertolt Brecht, ‘Motto’, in Poems 1913–1956, ed. John Willett and Ralph
Manheim. London: Minerva, 1994, p. 320.
58 Jyotsna Singh, RSC programme, Much Ado About Nothing.
59 Gintanjali Shahani, RSC programme, Much Ado About Nothing.
60 Kevin Quarmby, ‘Much Ado About Nothing’, British Theatre Guide, http://
www.britishtheatreguide.info/reviews/much-ado-about-rsc-courtyard-
t-7732/
61 Toni Morrison, Beloved. Vintage, 2004 ebook, pp. 11–13.
62 Robin Denselow, ‘Desdemona – review’, The Guardian, 20 July 2012, http://
www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2012/jul/20/desdemona-review/
63 Character and actor names are likely to be translated or transliterated differ-
ently, and were not always consistent across the Globe programme and the
performance subtitles. For the sake of internal consistency, names have been
taken from the official Globe programme.
64 ‘Taming of the Shrew in Urdu’, Talking Cranes, http://www.talkingcranes.
com/arts/taming-of-the-shrew-in-urdu/
65 Paul Taylor, ‘Timon Of Athens, Shakespeare’s Globe, London’, The
Independent, 13 August 2008, http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-
entertainment/theatre-dance/reviews/timon-of-athens-shakespeares-
globe-london-892697.html/
66 ‘Review – Timon of Athens, National Theatre’, West End Whingers, 16
July 2012, http://westendwhingers.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/review-
timon-of-athens-national-theatre/
67 Stella Duffy’s blog post about the production makes the useful observation
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 283 25/02/2013 09:57

Notes
that Maˉori culture possessed a concept of, and term for, a same-sex
lover – takataˉpui – before colonisation; see Duffy, Not Writing But
Blogging, 23 April 2012, http://stelladuffy.wordpress.com/2012/04/23/
maori-troilus-and-cressida-at-the-globea-toroihi-raua-ko-kahira/
68 Andrew Cowie, ‘Is Troilus and Cressida as Bad as Everyone Says It Is?’
Blogging Shakespeare, 16 August 2012, http://bloggingshakespeare.com/
is-troilus-and-cressida-as-bad-as-everyone-says/
69 Alison Gopnik, The Philosophical Baby: What Children’s Minds Tell Us about
Truth, Love and The Meaning of Life. London: Bodley Head, 2009: pp. 27–8.
70 Ibid., p. 206.
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 284 25/02/2013 09:57

Index
World Shakespeare Festival theatre companies, organizations, authors of
adaptations, actors, theatre practitioners and artists, venues and directors are
not listed in the index as this information is retrievable from elsewhere in the
volume. Languages, nationalities, countries and Shakespeare’s works are only
indexed when they are mentioned outside of the appropriate reviews.
accents/dialects 92–3, 111, 113, 114, Bailey, Lucy 205

122, 153, 160, 175, 213, 215, 254 ‘Balkan Trilogy’, The 79
acrobatics 139, 142, 174, 178, 181–2 Bangla 153
adaptation and appropriation bardolatry 100
xxiv–xxv, 6, 7, 24, 39, 66, 86, Barthes, Roland 26
88, 89, 93, 95–6, 99, 107, 112, Barton, John 151
113, 119, 120, 121, 151, 156, Baudrillard, Jean 215
164, 249 Beckett, Samuel 48, 249, 251
Ali, Ben 92, 122, 123, 124 Beerbohm Tree, Sir Herbert 157, 238
amateurism 14, 30, 163–5, 187 Bennett, Alan 75
anniversaries 8, 72, 269 Berry, Cicely 96
Arab Spring 124 Billington, Michael 117
Armstrong, Alan 17, 18 Bird, Tom 55
Attenborough, Michael xxiv Bond, Edward 50
audience Bourguiba, Habib 123–4
demographics 3, 35, 73–4, 110, Boyd, Sir Michael 258
125, 134, 155, 168, 184, 188, Branagh, Sir Kenneth 3–4, 6, 8, 179,
207, 224, 227, 229, 229–30, 239, 243, 244, 245
231, 255 Brecht, Bertolt 40, 51, 93, 124, 162,
expectation 36, 42, 44, 56, 74, 110, 196, 208
112, 172, 181, 196, 200, 232 British Broadcasting Corporation
interaction/involvement 45, 51–4, (BBC) 6, 7, 10, 259
64, 68–9, 75, 106, 114, 134, British Council, The 45, 249
135, 141, 147, 150, 162–3, British Museum 7
171, 188, 190, 197, 202, 225, British Petroleum (BP) 24, 216, 217,
233, 250 219
reaction 11, 23, 42, 46–7, 57, 58, Britten, Sir Benjamin (Lord Britten)
84, 98–9, 125–6, 148, 153–4, 137, 156
161–2, 172, 174–5, 181–2, Broadbent, Jim 261
184, 207, 212, 216–17, 220, Brook, Peter 45, 46, 61, 251
221, 230, 234–5, 247 Brueghel, Pieter (the elder) 238
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 285 25/02/2013 09:57

Index
Brunel, Isambard Kingdom 3 Richard III (1996) 117

Bulman, James C. 25–6 Slumdog Millionare 150
Burbage, Richard 13 Colonialism/Postcolonialism/Empire
Burley, Aidan (MP) 5 4–5, 9, 92, 94, 151–2, 208–9,
Bush, George W. 102 214–15
commedia dell’arte 46
Cameron, David 102 computer games 118–21
capitalism 206 Coveney, Michael 6, 19
Caravaggio, Michelangelo Merisi da de Coubertin, Pierre 5 see also
242 Cultural Olympiad
Carlson, Marvin 61 cross-dressing 40, 41, 146, 250, 251
Carroll, Tim 216 cross-gender casting 101–4, 106, 139,
Chase, David 104 154, 204, 211
children 3, 23, 96–8, 100, 104, 118, cultural identity/representation 7, 92,
125, 202, 218, 233–5, 250, 260 94, 130, 151, 155, 212
China 209, 254 cultural imperialism 7, 93
Churchill, Sir Winston 6 Cultural Olympiad/London 2012
cinema Festival 5–8, 11, 102
aesthetics 35, 150 curtain-calls 47, 88, 102, 138, 141,
Bollywood 89, 117, 119–20 148, 163, 172 see also audience
directors reaction
Almodóvar, Pedro 116
Bergman, Ingmar 61 dance 30, 35, 38, 45, 46, 56, 57, 67,
Eyre, Sir Richard 260 68, 80, 84, 88, 103, 112, 117,
Kelly, Richard 121 126, 128, 134, 135, 139, 140,
Kurosawa, Akira 78 145, 146, 150, 151, 166, 173,
Loncraine, Richard 177 174, 180, 181, 182, 186–7, 188,
Lucas, George 78 190, 195, 197, 199, 203, 223,
Lynch, David 116, 121 229, 231, 247, 249, 261, 262, 267
Moodysson, Lukas 116 Derrida, Jacques 66
Tarantino, Quentin 116, 251 Dickens, Charles 8, 240
films digital technology 28, 29, 98, 150,
10 Things I Hate about You, 153 268–70
Bend it Like Beckham 35 Dobson, Michael 9
Brick Lane 35 Donne, John 258
Dirty Dancing 103 doubling 75, 147–8, 245
Donnie Darko 121 Dromgoole, Dominic 173
East is East 35 Droeshout, Martin 255
Henry V (1989) 4, 179
Hole in My Heart 116 Edmondson, Paul 22
The Hours 89 education/schools 19, 95–8, 136,
Iris 260, 261 224
Much Ado About Nothing 180 Egypt 92
Requiem for a Dream 117 Eliot, T. S. 95
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 286 25/02/2013 09:57

Index
Elizabeth I, Queen/Elizabethan 6, 8, India 45

88, 134, 178, 181, 209, 221, 222 International Monetary Fund (IMF)
Elizabeth II, Queen 6, 74, 221, 268 123
EuroShakespearean 116–18 Iraq war/conflict 118, 119
Irving, Sir Henry 157
Falkland Islands 72 Italy 33, 157
Farr, David 48
feminism/feminist aesthetic 33, 139, Jackson, Sir Barry 249
176–8, 231 James I, King/Jacobean 8, 194, 198
Fiennes, Ralph 48 James, Henry 26, 29
Flying Karamazov Brothers, The 46 Jonson, Ben 13
Ford, John 248
France 19, 33 Kennedy, Dennis 152
Kott, Jan 119, 251
Garrick, David 6, 18, 19, 29, 268
Gibson, Rex 96 Landrigan, Stephen 45
globalism 134, 152 language 10, 39, 40, 57, 72, 80, 85, 93,
Globe Theatre 13, 196 96, 121–2, 123, 153
Globe to Globe Festival 6, 7, 8–9, 10, Arabic 172, 184, 253
23, 25, 57, 85, 88, 99–101, 109, Belarusian 108
119, 128, 152, 153, 155, 171, British Sign Language 112–15
194, 196, 208, 210, 224, 226, Cantonese 153
227, 229, 254, 269 English 57, 78, 80, 85–6, 99, 109,
Golding, Sir William 249 113, 123, 139, 152, 156, 161,
Goold, Rupert 118, 239 162, 179, 180, 182, 188, 194,
Greek chorus/chorus 104, 122–4, 201, 207, 208, 224, 227, 235,
165, 166, 228, 229 253
Esperanto 116
Habima National Theatre (Tel Aviv, French 18, 19, 29, 102, 180, 215
Israel) 24 Gujarati 151
Handel, George Frideric 251 Hindi 151, 195, 222
Hansen, Adam 23 Italian 156
Hazlitt, William 14 Juba Arabic 57, 153
Hirst, Damien 203 Maori 80
Hollar, Wenceslas 256 musicality of 148, 160, 227, 260
Howard, Tony 117 Polish 153
Hughes, Ted 121, 124 Russian 108
humour 34, 42, 56, 69, 76, 90, 94, 113, Spanish 68, 69, 72
133, 134, 139–40, 144, 147, 148, Swahili 125
150, 162, 167, 175, 177, 180, 181, Urdu 151
188, 201, 202, 220, 225, 241, 250 Welsh 69
Lewes, G. H. 28
Ibsen, Henrik 26 Libya 92
incest 106, 110–11 Lichtenberg, Georg 18, 19, 29
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 287 25/02/2013 09:57

Index
Lopez, Jeremy 17, 18, 25 Minchin, Tim 98

Lukashenko, Alexander 107, 108 Mitchell, Joni 250
Montez, Chris 67
McDonald, Rónán 20, 21 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus 137
McGregor, Neil 259 Ortiz, Diego 87
McKellen, Sir Ian 6 Presley, Elvis 120
Machiavelli, Niccolò 48, 174, 177, 255 Prokofiev, Sergei 117
Macmillan, Sir Kenneth 117 Radiohead 167
Mahabarata 45 Rolling Stones 71
Major, Sir John 221 Rogers, Richard 168
Mandela, Nelson 259 Simone, Nina 160
Marlowe, Christopher 123 Tchaikovsky, Pyotr Illyich 145
Martini, Fulvio 123 Valli, Frankie 104
Mazer, Carey 15, 25, 27–8 Verdi, Giuseppe xxiv
Mexico 71, 217 Wagner, Richard 136, 137
Meyerhold, Vsevolod 125 Warnes, Jennifer 103
Michelangelo, di Lodovico Bunarroti Warren, Harry 67
Simoni 157 Warwick, Dionne 103
Middle East 122–4, 128, 172, 183 Wye Oak 104
Middleton, Thomas 204 live 35, 41, 45–6, 49, 56, 73, 78, 83,
Miles-Wilden, Nicola 6 86, 91, 92, 99, 102, 112, 114–15,
mime 46, 78, 79, 89, 111, 113, 114, 116, 120, 122, 139, 144–5, 150,
115, 139, 146–7, 162, 163, 190, 160–1, 162–3, 167–9, 177, 181,
199, 202, 210 187, 188, 194, 195, 222, 227,
Misfit, inc. 268 231, 250, 251, 262
misogyny 111, 118, 139–40, 176 recorded 51, 89, 104, 109, 116, 117,
Mulligan, Carey 126 120, 124, 126, 127, 150
music 4, 30, 68, 116, 127, 135–8, 151,
153–4, 155, 156–7, 158, 225, 257 National Gallery, The 203, 204
Britpop 5 National Health Service, The (UK) 5
common 155 national identity 40, 74, 121, 124,
composers/singers 134, 151, 220, 245
The Beatles 5 Afghan 30, 213
Brel, Jaques 167, 168 African 91–4, 159, 227, 228, 229
Britten, Sir Benjamin (Lord Australian 85
Britten) 137, 156–7 Balkans 76, 79
Coleman, Cy 168 British 3–7, 8, 9, 19, 20, 57, 71, 72,
Elgar, Sir Edward 4, 102 74, 85, 92, 93, 134, 151, 185,
Gaynor, Gloria 118, 145, 202 208, 213, 240, 253, 255
Glass, Philip 89 English 19, 24, 68, 72, 76–7, 157,
Gordon, Mack 67 254
Harvey, P. J. 102 Egyptian 37
Kings of Leon 102 French 19
Medley, Bill 103 Irish 74, 163
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 288 25/02/2013 09:57

Index
Italian 128 Prescott, Paul xxiii, 152

Jamaican 85 protests 102, 128, 131–2, 205, 218
Latvian 158 public funding 86, 92
Mexican 253 puppetry 122, 124, 143–4
Palestinian 172 Purcell, Stephen 24
Russian 108
Scottish 74, 254 race 4, 92, 155, 158–9, 209, 258
Spanish 113–14 rape 118
Thai 35 Rose Theatre 13
Turkish 38 Royal Shakespeare Company, The
United Kingdom 3, 72, 163 (RSC) xxiii, 5, 7
Welsh 74 Rutter, Carol 22
Ninagawa, Yukio 48 Rylance, Mark 171
Nesbø, Jo 66
Northern Sinfonia Orchestra 187 Samurai 47–8
nudity 64, 106, 116, 120, 201, 212, Sartre, Jean-Paul 66
220 Schama, Simon 238
sex, sexuality 106, 110–11, 116, 118,
Obama, Barack 102, 123 126–7, 146–7, 154, 176, 202, 211
Olivier, Sir Laurence (Lord Olivier) see also cross-dressing; cross-
243 gender casting; nudity; incest
Olympic Closing Ceremony 6, 194 Shakespeare Birthplace Trust, The
Olympic Games 5, 216, 258, 268 268, 269, 270
Athens (2004) 3 Shakespeare, as character 144–5, 182
Barcelona (1992) 5 Shakespeare’s Globe, xxiii, 6, 24, 25,
Beijing (2008) 3 30, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 55, 57, 61,
Sydney (2000) 3 63, 68, 70, 72, 73, 74, 78, 79, 80,
London (2012) 5, 7, 11 85, 86, 98, 105, 107, 109, 110,
Olympic Opening Ceremony 3–5, 194 112, 116, 118, 125, 128, 134,
Omar, Qais Akbar 45 146, 148, 152, 153, 154, 161,
Orientalism 124 163, 171, 172, 173, 180, 181,
182, 188, 190, 195, 196, 197,
Paralympic Opening Ceremony 6 201, 208, 210, 216, 223, 224,
Pater, Walter 26 226, 229, 230
Phillips, Melanie 4 Shakespeare Institute Players, The
Pirandello, Luigi 180 164–5
Poirée, Clément 145 Shakespeare, as national poet/
Poland 115, 117–18 people’s playwright 9, 165
politics, political 4–5, 9, 55–7, 92–4, Shakespeare, William, works
97, 102, 107–8, 117, 118–21, All’s Well that End’s Well 19, 127,
122–4, 128, 131–2, 137–8, 140, 151
162, 166, 169, 171–2, 183–4, As You Like It 250, 258, 267
185, 187 The Comedy of Errors 30, 217, 253,
popular culture 116, 118, 121, 153–4 257
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 289 25/02/2013 09:57

Index
Coriolanus 20, 21, 30, 41 Shelley, Percy Bysshe 191–2

Cymbeline 24 Smialkowska, Monika 22
Hamlet 18, 246, 247, 248, 250, 268 Smiley, Jane 111
Henry IV Part 1 7, 71, 176, 179, Spall, Timothy 6
237 Spanish Golden Age 85–6
Henry IV Part 2 7, 73, 176, 179, sponsorship 24, 98, 216
267 Stanislavsky, Constantin 125
Henry V 4, 7, 8, 79, 87, 176, 179, Stoppard, Sir Tom 95
237, 239, 243, 258, 267, 268 Strehler, Giorgio 61
Henry VI Part 2 180 subtitles/surtitles/sidetitles 41, 59,
Henry VI Part 3 180, 251 88, 99, 100, 101, 122, 124, 139,
Henry VIII (All is True) 250 143, 160, 162, 181, 184, 202,
Julius Caesar 25, 154, 259 212, 221
King John 164 Suzman, Dame Janet 192
King Lear xxiv–xxv, 268 Suzuki, Tadashi 49
Love’s Labour’s Lost 12, 24, 30, 45,
86, 267 Tate, Nahum 25, 107
Macbeth 13, 25, 92, 174, 251, 254, television programmes
255 Britain’s Got Talent 117
The Merchant of Venice 18, 24, 196 Desperate Housewives 133
The Merry Wives of Windsor 125, Downton Abbey 239
229 Eastenders 253
A Midsummer Night’s Dream xxv, Glee 154
137, 156–7, 217 The Sopranos 104
Much Ado About Nothing 100, 180 The Tudors 253
Othello 86, 247, 248 Tennyson, Alfred (Lord Tennyson) 249
Richard II 7, 239, 246 Thompson, Emma 179
Richard III 255, 258 Tintoretto, Jacopo Comin 157
Romeo and Juliet 14, 17, 117, 253, Tolkien, J. R. R. 5, 173, 236
257 Trabelsi, Leïla 122–3
Sir Thomas More 256 translation 26, 59, 78, 99–100, 109,
The Sonnets 250 113–14, 119, 143, 148, 160, 172,
The Taming of the Shrew 151 195, 222, 224, 231
The Tempest 3–4, 12, 22, 97, 217, Tunisia 92
267 Turgenev, Ivan 66
Timon of Athens 12, 145, 251 Tynan, Kenneth 19
Troilus and Cressida 18, 22, 79, 267 universalism 7, 93, 100, 145
Twelfth Night 42, 43, 151, 193, 195,
257, 260, 268 Wainwright, Ian 164, 165
Venus and Adonis 210 Walkley, A. B. 26
The Winter’s Tale 23, 256 Wanamaker, Sam 118
Shaw, Deborah 99 Wells, Stanley 15
Shaw, George Bernard 27, 36 West End Whingers 206
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 290 25/02/2013 09:57

Index
White, Curtis 20 249, 257, 258, 260, 263, 268,

White, E. B. 22–3 269, 270
Wilde, Oscar 27, 64
Windsor, Barbara 135 Yoruban 230, 231
Wintour, Anna 103 Youssef, Salah Ben 124
World Shakespeare Festival xxiii, 5, 9,
10, 18, 23, 24, 30, 71, 80, 92, 94, Zimbabwe 92
99, 106, 109, 142, 151, 152, 164, Zuabi, Amir Nizar 42
9781408188132_txt_print.indd 291 25/02/2013 09:57

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 292 25/02/2013 09:57

(Modern Drama) Churchill, Caryl-Top Girls-Bloomsbury Academic (2013)

Hochgeladen von

Dokumentinformationen

Copyright

Verfügbare Formate

Dieses Dokument teilen

Dokument teilen oder einbetten

Freigabeoptionen

Stufen Sie dieses Dokument als nützlich ein?

Sind diese Inhalte unangemessen?

Copyright:

Verfügbare Formate

(Modern Drama) Churchill, Caryl-Top Girls-Bloomsbury Academic (2013)

Hochgeladen von

Copyright:

Verfügbare Formate

A YEAR OF SHAKESPEARE

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 1 25/02/2013 09:56

Bloomsbury Arden Shakespeare

LON DON • N E W DE L H I • N E W YOR K • SY DN EY

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 3 25/02/2013 09:56

Imprint previously known as Arden Shakespeare

50 Bedford Square 1385 Broadway

First published 2013

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

ISBN: HB: 978-1-4081-8813-2

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Typeset by Fakenham Prepress Solutions,Fakenham, Norfolk NR21 8NN

list of contributors xvii

foreword Stanley Wells xxiii

PART ONE: Openings

PART TWO: The Reviews

Antony and Cleopatra

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 5 25/02/2013 09:56

The Comedy of Errors

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 6 25/02/2013 09:56

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 7 25/02/2013 09:56

Love’s Labour’s Lost

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 8 25/02/2013 09:56

2008: Macbeth, directed by Grzegorz Jarzyna for the TR

Measure for Measure

The Merchant of Venice

The Merry Wives of Windsor

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 9 25/02/2013 09:56

Much Ado About Nothing

The Rape of Lucrece

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 10 25/02/2013 09:56

Romeo and Juliet

The Taming of the Shrew

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 11 25/02/2013 09:56

Troilus and Cressida

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 12 25/02/2013 09:56

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Venus and Adonis

The Winter’s Tale

Events and adaptations inspired by multiple plays or themes:

The Hollow Crown

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 13 25/02/2013 09:56

The Hollow Crown: Henry V, directed by Thea Sharrock

PART THREE: Endings

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 14 25/02/2013 09:56

As editors of a book of this kind, we realize that we are gatherers

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 15 25/02/2013 09:56

Archivist Amy Hurst has designed and established the collecting

Paul Edmondson, Paul Prescott and Erin Sullivan

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 16 25/02/2013 09:56

Susan Bennett, University of Calgary

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 17 25/02/2013 09:56

Dave Paxton, Shakespeare Institute, University of Birmingham

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 18 25/02/2013 09:56

(p. 33) All’s Well That Ends Well. Credits: Vivek

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 19 25/02/2013 09:56

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 20 25/02/2013 09:56

(p. 191) The Tempest. Credits: Simon Annand and the

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 21 25/02/2013 09:56

All references to Shakespeare’s plays and poems are quoted

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 22 25/02/2013 09:56

As Paul Prescott makes clear in his masterly overview of the

9781408188132_txt_print.indd 23 25/02/2013 09:56