TWELFTH NIGHT. In rep to 28 September.
London
TWELFTH NIGHT
by William Shakespeare
Shakespeare's Globe Theatre. In rep to September 28 2002
Tue-Sat 2pm or 7.30pm Sun (25 Aug; 15 Sept) 6.30pm
Runs 3hr 10min One interval
TICKETS 020 7401 9919
Review Timothy Ramsden 23 August
An authentic, all-male production that breathes its own abundant life.
See Malvolio caper joyously all over the stage; watch him creep libidinously from a corner upon an unaware Olivia, sitting at ease centre stage with her flask of wine. See Timothy Walker's Steward suffer at the hands of his mistress's riotous relatives then behind a pillar discover the servant Maria and suddenly take on a bullying tone, finding someone he can order about. See twins Viola, disguised as the boy Cesario, and Sebastian at opposite sides of the stage, and you have built a catalogue of how closely yet flexibly the Elizabethan open-air playhouse was in the mind of its leading playwright as he wrote.
Not that Tim Carroll's production is theatre archaeology: the point repeatedly made is how apt staging brings the play zinging to life. Wonderful things have been done with Twelfth Night notably by the RSC between the late sixties and mid-eighties but this production shows its exemplary stagecraft.
And far more: Maria's concern for Sir Toby shows when she warns him Aguecheek's in trouble for drinking 'in your company'. He returns the compliment when his blast about wanting to end the trickery against Malvolio - itself showing how battered in mind and body he's become - is followed by a comforting squeeze of her hand.
There's something uneasy in Olivia's household, an imbalance shown in Mark Rylance's first entry at the head of a formal, black-clad procession. Something in this lady's soul has latched on to bereavement, an unhealthy opposite to the vivacity of Viola, the other sister who believes her brother to be dead.
Rylance's Olivia glides unearthily around the stage, but is impractical. She can't remove the ring she sends Cesario from her finger; a trick to keep him with her involves removing a shoe and leaves her awkwardly hobbling off.
Until reality floods in, the sickly atmosphere's been heaven-sent for Walker's delicious Steward. His self-obsession's expressed in the over-conscious vowels and precious pronunciation of natural-world terms 'squash', 'codling, 'peascod', 'apple'. It's recognised by Olivia, after only a few words 'You are sick of self-love,' she tells him emphatically, as if it's a long-suspected fact. (This clarity through emphasis has already scored a point with Viola's 'And what should I do in Illyria?').
The production's emotionally complex. There's anger throughout. At first sight, even Albie Woodington's bearded Sir Andrew seems a furious fellow. And Liam Brennan's Orsino suffers mounting frustration; in Feste's song 'Come away Death,' he finds comfort from Cesario and his anger when this seems removed leaves even the Priest at ducal sword-point. It serves to set-off the final dancing merriment and its downbeat contrast in Malvolio's revenge-threat, which themselves complete a richly comic show.
Viola: Michael Brown
Sebastian: Rhys Meredith
Antonio: Colin Hurley
Olivia: Mark Rylance
Maria: Paul Chahidi
Feste: Peter Hamilton Dyer
Malvolio: Timothy Walker
Sir Toby Belch: Bill Stewart
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Albie Woodington
Duke Orsino: Liam Brennan
Fabian/Sea Captain: Jan Knightley
Valentine/Priest/Officer: Peter Shorey
Curio/Officer: Simon Hyde
Master of Play: Tim Carroll
Master of the Words: Giles Block
Master of voice: Stewart Pearce
Master of movement: Glynn MacDonald
Master of clothing, Properties and Hangings: Jenny Tiramani
Master of Music: Claire Van kampen, Keith McGowan
Master of Dance: Sian Wiliams
2002-08-24 14:05:23