MIRANDOLINA. To 5 August.
Manchester
MIRANDOLINA
by Carlo Goldoni translated by Ranjit Bolt
Royal Exchange Theatre To 5 August 2006
Mon-Fri 7.30pm Sat 8pm Mat Wed 2.30pm & Sat 4pm
Audio-described 22 July 4pm
BSL Signed 29 July 4pm
Post-show discussion 3 August
Runs 2hr 10min One interval
TICKETS: 016 833 9833 www.royalexchange.co.uk
Review: Timothy Ramsden 10 July
Translation, direction, acting – everything works apart from the set.
This production puts Mike Britton among the country’s most inconsiderate theatrical designers. He sticks a gallery in front of a row of circle seats, destroying the intimacy theatre-in-the-round stands for, fragmenting any view of the stage. If he didn’t realise the impact this would have, he’s not inconsiderate: just incompetent.
Did director Jonathan Munby never sit up there to see how this intrusive piece of set ruins the view? The title character bends over some piece of furniture on the stage. What it is, or what she’s doing, is utterly concealed. Profound amateurism.
Munby’s production, updated from 18th-century to 1930s Italy, gives Ian Bartholomew’s self-made Count an added hymn to the new fascistic times, while Mirandolina’s inn could well be the ‘Blue Angel’ given the several accordion-accompanied songs, and woman-hating Ripafratta’s baggy, academic unworldliness.
Despite these cultural and political bolt-ons (only the Count refers to politics), the main news on this show is good. Munby’s production is filled with deft details and characterisations that bestride Goldoni’s infusion of individuality within traditional Italian comedy character-types, enabling him to mark out the first part’s pure fun from the more emotional later scenes, set in the working-areas of Mirandolina’s hotel.
The difference between Nicholas Boulton’s effete, impoverished Marquess and Bartholomew’s superbly-judged, rough, new-moneyed Count is delightfully reflected in the Count’s serious-business stiletto and the Marquess’s miniature knife, so unused it’s stuck in its sheath.
Gwendoline Christie and Mia Gwynne are physically and vocally contrasted as actresses dressed-up as ladies, while Alan McMahon and Michael Condron are tactfully-played servants. McMahon’s a glacier-surfaced figure attending Matthew Kelly’s fall from shambling, defiant hatred of women to an equally unbalanced desire for Mirandolina, Condron her long-suffering servant and ultimate natural partner.
Miandolina’s the object of all men’s affections, and Raquel Cassidy’s light, swift-turning performance moves from calculated flirting to moral responsibility – or back – in under a moment. Establishing her working-woman’s credentials against the louder male tones, her apparent dry monotony of voice incorporates a firework display of sudden thoughts, practical sense and imaginative flights, making her in all ways the heart of a fine, seriously comic evening.
Mirandolina: Raquel Cassidy
Marquess of Forlipopoli: Nicholas Boulton
Count Albafiorita: Ian Bartholomew
Fabrizio: Michael Condron
Ripafratta: Matthew Kelly
Guido: Alan McMahon
Ortensia: Gwendoline Christie
Dejanira: Mia Gwynne
Accordionist: Lisa-Lee Leslie
Director: Jonathan Munby
Designer: Mike Britton
Lighting: Oliver Fenwick
Sound: Steve Brown
Composer: Dominic Haslam
Choreographer: Katherine Taylor
Dialect/Voice: Kate Godfrey
Assistant director: Poppy Burton-Morgan
2006-07-12 08:42:13