Theatre Review: The Winter's Tale

What do you know about Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale?

Go on think about it. I'll wait. 

...

Ok? Good. If you came up with anything more than 'exit, pursued by a bear' then you're either lying or much, much cleverer than me. Either is possible, frankly. 

Anyhoo, the point I'm labouring here is that The Winter's Tale was not a play I knew at all before seeing the Kenneth Branagh Theatre Company production of it. 

Approaching even with the most open of minds there is no question that this is not a great play. I believe the adjective most frequently attached to it is 'problematic' which seems a fair assessment to me. It's a play of two halves really and, to be fair, the first half (the tragedy bit, as jealousy crazed King Leontes causes his family to die in various ways) has a lot going for it - it's basically Diet Othello and that's kind of cool with me. The 'redemptive' second half, and in particular, the big (SPOILERY) reveal that dead Queen Hermione is actually sort of alive in statue form, I have less time for.  My suspension of disbelief is just not willing enough to buy it. 

But whilst the play might not be great this production certainly is. 

First of all, let's just agree that seeing Kenneth Branagh and Judi Dench doing Shakespeare, any Shakespeare, is simply an utter joy. To see them doing it together is blissful. They are both on superb form here. Dench is a definitive Paulina; sassy, wise, stealing scenes and delivering whatever Mr S would have called mic drops left, right and centre. And no one but no one speaks Shakespeare as well as KenBran. Even if Leontes is a complete shit for most of this play, Branagh makes him a compelling, human and believable shit who you absolutely want to see more of. It's a real honour to see these two acting together in the flesh (you have to wonder if it will ever happen again). 

The company they're surrounded by is (almost) equally excellent. Whilst there's no weak link to speak of, John Shrapnel's authoritative Camillo, Hadley Fraser's wronged-but-actually-a-bit-of-a-bastard Polixenes and Michael Pennington's (what a legend) tragic Antigonus are personal highlights. Also Tom Bateman (Florizel) and his lovely chest, but that's by the by. 

This production looks so beautiful too. Christopher Oram is on typically perfect form with his beautiful designs (though I was disappointed with the 'pursued by a bear' sequence - perhaps I've been spoiled by The Hairy Ape but I wanted a proper bear not a cop out projection!) and setting the action unapologetically at Christmas gives him a lot to work with. His costumes are equally beautiful, something only enhanced for me by the fact that Leontes' wardrobe is vaguely reminiscent of Harry Potter's Gilderoy Lockhart (seriously, Google this and check out the similarities). Rob Ashford's choreography is joyfully exuberant in all the right places, especially the pastoral scene. 

All of this gives the action an unashamedly cinematic feel which totally works and is enhanced by approximately 100% by (long time Branagh collaborator) Patrick Doyle's beautiful yet unobtrusive music. Were there to be a soundtrack album, I would buy it. 

Overall then this is a total winner and a fantastic start to the KBTC's Plays at the Garrick residency. I would urge you to see it, but it's sold out and the live broadcast has been and gone. Watch out for encore screenings as a matter of urgency. 

The Winter's Tale is playing (in rep) at the Garrick until 16th January. 

Theatre Review: The Lorax

When I was seven, my parents took me to see my first ever professional theatre production.

It was a touring production of Joseph, with Darren Day (remember him?) in the lead role, in Manchester and as far as I was concerned it was fucking magical (though I like to think I wouldn't have phrased it that way back then). It was a treat because I’d broken one of my arms over the summer holiday and was feeling pretty glum about it, booked as a day out package out of the back of the local newspaper. We sat in the cheap seats (I was obsessed with the red plastic opera glasses you could hire) and I was completely captivated from start to finish. I even ended up being a member of the Darren Day fanclub for a number of years as a result. Yes, such a thing really did exist.

Twenty odd years, hundreds of theatre hours and an amount of money I don’t care to think about later and I still think theatre is magical and captivating, even if my opinions on Darren Day and red plastic opera glasses have moved on.

I mention this not, shockingly, to show off my early love of Darren Day but because I was reminded of it whilst watching the Old Vic’s Christmas family production of the Dr Seuss classic The Lorax. And whilst my seven year old self wouldn't use the phrase ‘fucking magical’ my twenty-nine year old self definitely will: this show is fucking magical.

Image source.

For those who don’t know (idiots), The Lorax is an environmental fable which tells the story of a small beavery creature who looks after his local trees and animals. When ambitious inventor the Once-ler moves in he cuts down the trees to make pointless stuff to sell on for a profit, building a city to support his growing business. Cultures clash, the Lorax turns eco warrior but ultimately there is a happy ending where everyone learns that it’s our job to look after the environment and not get caught up in the relentless quest for pointless stuff.

Technically there is so much to love about this show, not least the fantastic, whimsical design which stays true to Dr Seuss’ trademark visual style to a degree that’s as impressive as it is adorable. Every set, prop and costume is colourful and larger than life but still hangs together perfectly and nothing seems to be fighting with anything else. The truffula trees were a personal favourite - they look exactly like they do in the book and, as a versatile prop, are used incredibly well.

Visually, though, the most impressive aspect of this production are the amazingly lifelike puppets - particularly the Lorax himself who I desperately want to rehome once the show is over. 50% adorable moustachioed ginger beaver, 50% eco-terrorist, the Lorax is operated in the Japanese tradition by three puppeteers including Simon Lipkin who also provides his voice (and who I last saw as the beyond creepy clown proprietor of the disused fair where the Menier's Assassins was set - the contrast is stark to say the least). It’s a fantastic collective performance that makes an adorable puppet into a real, living, breathing character. When the Lorax is sad and broken, after all the trees have been cut down, I was genuinely heartbroken for him. I only remembered some time later that he was essentially a teddy bear and so didn't actually have feelings (despite what the Toy Story films would have us believe). Lipkin provides a great, authentic voice too, including some beautiful singing during the Lorax’ eleven o'clock number.

Speaking of singing, the music for this show, written by Charlie Fink, the former lead singer of Noah and the Whale (remember them?), is memorable and fun, and includes one of the best, most accessible protest songs I've heard in a long time. Combined with energetic, silly dance routines - that the cast throw themselves into with 110% (sorry) enthusiasm, as they do everything else - and you've got, if not quite a great musical, then certainly a great play with songs.

The writing too is fantastic, with playwright David Greig having done an amazing job on beefing up Dr Seuss’ short book into a full play without losing that distinctive, joyous language and voice. The contemporary references he slips in (selfies, Twitter, a not very veiled spoof of Apple) feel natural and the blend between dialogue and songs is as good as you’d find in any musical. It’s apparent that Greig loves Dr Seuss’ world and the cast do too, Lipkin is a highlight as is Simon Paisley Day’s Once-ler (even if he did look unnervingly like a green haired Benedict Cumberbatch).

All of this is completely unimportant though and I'm not really sure why I've wasted my time writing it. Because the best thing about The Lorax is the glorious, uncynical optimism which oozes from every pore of this production. Its positivity is infectious and if you can see this show and fail to walk away thinking you can absolutely change the world then there’s something wrong with you. And even for hardcore anti-children people like me, it’s genuinely heartwarming to see little kids so into a piece of theatre as the ones sitting near me were with this - I can’t imagine a better introduction to how magical theatre can be than this show.

In short then, whatever your age you should go and see this show immediately. Because, remember, “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot/Nothing is going to get better. It's not.”

The Lorax is on at the Old Vic until January 16th. Get your skates on.  

Theatre Review - Henry V

Last week I had a genuinely nuts and exhausting week at work and so naturally decided that the best thing to do with my Thursday evening was to spend three hours watching Shakespeare. 

The fact I managed to stay awake through the entirety of the RSC's production of Henry V, currently on at The Barbican, is probably the best review I can give it frankly. 

I can’t honestly claim that Henry V (the plot of which I’m not going to explain because, well, really?) is one of my favourite Shakespeare plays, though it is one of the ones I like to think I know reasonably well, but it is one of the ones I seem to see fairly regularly. I like it because it’s one of the plays that is most open to interpretation: is it pro-war, is it anti-war, is it (as the RSC’s excellent programme proposes) actually just concerned with going to war, is it something else entirely? Personally, I think a ‘going to war’ play is the best explanation of what Shakespeare was doing. And certainly the label applies well to this production, which has no political agenda beyond, I think, being a love letter to the craft and power of theatre.

Inevitably with this play the type of Henry you have is key to the type of production you’ll have. In this production it’s Alex Hassell, who was so impressive in the RSC’s Death of a Salesman and is even more impressive in this. Hassell is a great Henry and provides one of the more interesting takes on the character I’ve come across. I think in large part this is a consequence of the fact that he’s played the part in the full cycle of plays in which Henry appears. He has grown into the role of King Henry along with the character, and as a result his Henry is a fully realised, rounded and human King riddled with self doubt. He deals with the set piece speeches excellently (I loved the fact that ‘once more unto the breach’ wasn’t delivered as a set piece but as a battle cry literally on the run and ‘we few, we happy few’ was so much more touching in this nervous version) but is frankly even better at the ‘ordinary’ dialogue where he gets to be a human being. In a production which revels in the humour in its text, Hassell also turns out to be a superb, natural comedian. The final scenes, wooing the hesitant Princess in broken Frenglish, are perfectly pitched with a modern sensibility and disregard for the fourth wall which elevates this sequence from over-milked, anticlimactic afterthought to one of the highlights of the piece.

The other standout performance in this production is the mighty Oliver Ford Davies as the Chorus. Notwithstanding the fact that he is an utter ledge anyway, and I’ve always wanted to see him live, he speaks the verse better and clearer than almost anyone else I’ve ever heard. This is a self consciously theatrical show - the five minute call is broadcast into the auditorium as well as backstage, much of the mechanics of the set are left bare, Alex Hassell makes his first entrance out of character and out of costume - and it is the Chorus (in modern dress) who pulls this all together. I suppose when you’ve got an actor the calibre of OFD to play with it’s only natural to give him more space and time with his part than you might otherwise, but the increased emphasis on the Chorus and the intentional theatricality of this piece really works.

Speaking of the verse, which I did some sentences ago, it’s worth mentioning that it is immaculately spoken by everyone in this production. I’m no expert on iambic pentameter, I had to google how to spell it for a start, but I can’t remember the last time I heard Shakespeare spoken with such clarity - of both diction and meaning - and it really is joyous. Combined with stark and minimal staging, and some of the most beautiful lighting I’ve seen in the theatre of late, the result is a deceptively simple production that allows the verse and the acting to sing.

And it’s also worth mentioning that the one instance of literal singing, a haunting Te Deum for the war dead, is one of the most touching moments in this production. Music is used sparingly overall, and there’s certainly none of the battlefield action music that some productions emply, but when it is it’s so effective. The Te Deum was incredibly moving, well sang, and a lovely moment of (highly topical) breathing space in a busy play.

Overall then a big old hit for me. There are plenty of tickets left for the rest of the run so no excuses not to check it out. 

Henry V is part of the RSC's King and Country season at the Barbican and runs on its own until December 30th and in the full cycle (with Richard II and Henry IV parts I and II) from January 12th.



   

Theatre Review: The Moderate Soprano

You know that thing when you’re up to episode six in your bingewatch of your current TV show of choice and they make a pop culture reference, you know they've made a pop culture reference, but you don’t know what it’s a reference to?

I hate that thing. It annoys me so much. But thanks to the Wikipedia gods that ‘thing’ never progresses to becoming a full blown ‘issue’ (issue is definitely above thing in my hierarchy of annoyance) because you can just pause the show and look the reference up. It’s truly a glorious age to be alive and watching TV.

It becomes a bit more of an issue when it’s not a TV show but a play that’s making the references you don’t understand, though.

Image source.

The Moderate Soprano is David Hare’s new play about the founding of the Glyndebourne Festival Opera. And I suppose on one level it’s my own fault that I hadn't spent some time googling potential opera/classical music jokes before seeing it. But on another, higher, better furnished level I shouldn't have to do homework to fully enjoy a play.

Because there are a lot of opera/classical music (in)jokes in this piece that aren't fully accessible to someone who isn't a huge devotee and, without Wikipedia to help me, this did start to grate after a while. The fact that the rest of the (so white, middle aged and middle class you’d be forgiven for thinking you were in Chichester) audience evidently found these jokes very funny made the grating even sharper. I don’t like to be made to feel stupid when I'm (largely) not. And it’s not like it’s impossible to write a play about a niche subject and make it accessible to everyone. I know fuck all about nuclear physics but I still loved Oppenheimer.

It’s a shame really because this is an otherwise enjoyably funny play with an enjoyably funny cast. Roger Allam as the pleasingly eccentric John Christie is, unsurprisingly, particularly good in this regard - his clipped, sharp delivery adding joyous comedic zing to his various rants (the one about ticket prices was my favourite). All of the comedy scenes, injokes notwithstanding, zipped along merrily and though none of them are exactly seared on my memory I certainly remember having a good giggle through a good chunk of the play’s brief - intervals, like armrests, are so last year - run time.

The play is far less convincing when it tries to be a serious drama though and to be frank I found most of the serious and emotional scenes just a bit dull. Although the pace is excellent throughout (Director Jeremy Herrin also worked on the RSC’s Hilary Mantel double bill and it shows) the serious scenes, with one exception, are curiously without emotional punch. The most puzzling example is where Christie’s German conductor and producer are explaining their persecution at the hands of the Nazis which should've been touching and sad but I found flat as a pancake. I often felt a bit that the way that Allam's character is written (or performed? I’m honestly not sure) is the problem - his constant propensity to chippily interrupt long speeches by other characters seemed to consistently derail any attempts at building emotional interest.

A real bright spot in this production, and the absolute saving grace when it comes to the emotional stuff, is Nancy Carroll’s performance as Audrey, Christie’s beloved wife and the moderate soprano of the title. She deals with the comedy and serious stuff with equal aplomb and provides the one genuinely heartfelt moment of the piece, as an ailing, ageing Audrey begs to be let go. I will admit to having a small cry.

The staging here is also really effective, using what looks to my untrained eye to be a particularly huge stage to simultaneously portray Christie’s house in two different time periods as well as incorporating elements of the stage and backstage of an opera house. It’s unfussy but clever and a great use of the space.

Overall, then, The Moderate Soprano is a fun comedy with dramatic aspirations it never fully realises. I liked it and I'm sure anyone who knows a bit more about opera would like it even more.

Also worth mentioning is the Hampstead Theatre itself which, honestly, I probably enjoyed more than the play. It’s is another venue crossed off my ‘to visit’ list this year and another I hope to return to. It’s a fantastic building, with crodoughs in their cafe and the most theatrically disconcerting toilets I've ever used - what more could you want?

Happiness a crodough and red wine.

I went for a wee behind Imelda Staunton. Not a phrase I ever thought I'd use.

The Moderate Soprano plays at the Hampstead Theatre until 28th November.

Theatre Review: The Hairy Ape

Here's a dirty confession for a theatre fan: until recently I'd never seen a Eugene O'Neill play.

I know right? I'm awful.

Fear not though. Thanks to The Old Vic's The Hairy Ape I have now remedied that situation and remedied it in some style.

Image source.

The Hairy Ape tells the story of Yank, a stoker on cruise liners, whose unshakable belief in his own self worth and place in society is destroyed when some rich bitch daughter of a steel millionaire calls him a filthy beast. His attempts to get his revenge on her and her whole social class are repeatedly thwarted until, broken, he seeks solace with a literal ape at the zoo. Hilarity does very much not ensue.

At this point I want to give a bit of a health warning for the rest of this piece: I have absolutely zero chill about this production. It’s amazing, I love it and everyone in the world should see it. So if you’re short on time, stop reading and go book tickets immediately. The other thing I should probably say is that, for the above stated reasons, I saw it twice and this review is my collected thoughts (‘incoherent fangirl ramblings’ might be more accurate) on both performances. 

The major drain on my chill here is Bertie Carvel whose central performance - and this is basically a one man show - as Yank is just phenomenal. The fact that, as discussed in a previous post, I very much have A Thing about Bertie Carvel notwithstanding the combination of brute physicality, violence, bravado and vulnerability he manages to pull off is genuinely astonishing. It’s a pretty boring observation to make at this point of his career, but fuck me is that guy versatile. It’s very hard for my tiny brain to compute that lumbering, angry, seemingly 7 foot tall (how do you act taller? how does that even work?) is deranged, broken Agave is tender, slightly nuts Jonathan Strange etc etc etc. And that’s amazing if you stop and think about it for even the briefest of moments. 

In this performance it’s first of all the physical transformation that’s strikingly impressive. Apart from somehow adding a foot to his height, the power Carvel's Yank has is frightening wherever you're sat. His gait, his stance, his movements are all slightly simian and all convey such pent up anger that you sort of want to leave the theatre because clearly bad shit is going to happen and this guy is going to be at the centre of it. (Also, aesthetically, WOW. Any semblance of my remaining chill was powerfully lost the second his shirt came off.) What’s less obvious but more impressive though is how, behind all of that, there’s an instant and heartbreaking vulnerability. Even though you sort of know where this play is heading, you root for Yank so hard and it’s because Carvel’s performance let’s you into this guy’s head to an extent that I doubt many other actors could manage. The scene where he’s rejected from the trade union he tries to join just broke my heart and the last scene (no spoilers) gave me such a physical reaction that I could feel my heart beating almost out of my chest both times I saw it. I don't remember reacting that way to any other performance before.

With this masterful central performance dominating the stage for basically the whole evening - the one scene that Yank isn’t in felt boring by comparison - there’s not much for the rest of the cast to do but they all do it well. Steffan Rhodri is particularly enjoyable as a nostalgic Irish drunk whose romanticism Yank can’t stand (and also delivers the play’s few funny lines, “I’m never too drunk to sing” being a favourite) and Phil Hill gives an amazingly charismatic performance as the ape, one that gives Andy Serkis and his Hollywood mo-cap magic a run for its money for sure. And the guys who get naked in the shower scene are a very welcome addition. Just saying.

The production looks stunning too, very modern in its black and yellow minimalism. The yellow storage container that serves as almost all the sets in various guises is such a clever, claustrophobic device and, more basically, it just looks quite frightening. One of the few scenes that lets the action out of the box and puts it into Fifth Avenue is also really effective and really fucking creepy, especially when the anonymous, masked posh people start doing an almost musicless, twitchy charleston. And thrusting Yank into the middle of this weirdness only makes it weirder still.

Now, there was a criticism in some of the proper grown up reviews that much of the dialogue, particularly in the first half hour or so, is difficult to make out and I think that is a valid point. Even on second viewing (/hearing) it took me a while to get my ear in and be able to fully understand the thick New York accents everyone uses and indeed are actually written into the play text. But then I have the same problem with people from Newcastle when I’ve had a few drinks and have never found it impairs my ability to enjoy their company. And so it is with this play; much like drinking with a Geordie or watching a Shakespeare you’re unfamiliar with, you may not pick up absolutely every word but neither do you for one moment lose the sense of what’s going on.

So, yeah, in summary see this show, see it now and see it repeatedly. And also go say hey to Bertie Carvel at the stage door because as well as being sickeningly talented he is also sickenkngly lovely, adorable human being. I sort of want to hate him but am physically and psychologically incapable of doing so.

Image source.

The Hairy Ape plays at The Old Vic until November 21st. Get your skates on.

Theatre Review: Waste

Christmas is still a few weeks away but the National Theatre has already found itself a nice, fat turkey.

 Shut up, I'm proud of that line.

On paper, Henry Granville Barker’s Waste (an appropriate title on oh so many levels) is very much my sort of play. Famously banned by the censor when it debuted, Waste tells the story of the implosion of the career of talented independent MP Henry Trebell, so obsessed with the Bill he has been tasked with stewarding through Parliament (disestablishment of the Church of England - thrilling stuff) that his affair with a married woman barely troubles him until she dies at the hands of a backstreet abortionist whilst trying to get rid of his child. Politics, scandal, social conscience - so many of my boxes ticked. And yet…

Image source.

Waste is unquestionably the worst thing I've ever seen at the National Theatre. To be honest, I'm struggling to think of anything I've seen at any theatre that’s much worse.

Perhaps the worst thing about this mess of a production is that it is deeply, deeply tedious. Things that may have been controversial and sexy when the play was written - lengthy debates about the relationship between Church and State, for example - are very much not anymore and nobody involved seems to have thought about how this would translate. All of the dialogue is so turgid that I think I’d turned off by the end of the second scene. The first members of the audience walked out after about half an hour.

This is not helped by the fact that the plot and the characters are so clichéd and facile that a twelve year old could have been responsible. I'm not sure why the characters are even given names to be honest. They’re so one dimensional that they may as well just be called Idealist Crushed By The Man, Plucky Northern Industrialist, Nasty Establishment Prime Minister, Spinster Sister, Outsider Who Tells It Like It Is and so on. It’d be much easier to remember. The plot plods along to a singularly inevitable conclusion with all the excitement of watching beige paint dry and the lazy attempts at making satirical points (‘he’s an ideas man and we don’t need those in politics hahahahahahahahaha’) might have been edgy a hundred years ago but now have all wit of a particularly dull concrete pillar.

Further pain is heaped on the poor, unsuspecting audience (a good chunk of whom had left in the interval and frankly I wish I’d joined them) by performances that can be charitably described as patchy. Charles Edwards does his best with what he’s given in the lead role, though he’s hardly the most convincing charismatic politician I've ever seen, but beyond that there’s very little to praise. Even the usually excellent Olivia Williams is shrill and annoying as the wronged mistress, though hardly helped by some particularly insipid lines. For reasons best known to someone else, a lot of the cast deliver their lines as if. There is a. Full stop. After every second. Or third. Word. And the actors playing the ‘establishment’ figures employ the sort of ‘politician’ accents and delivery that should just be banned in professional theatre.

A final mention must go to the setting which at best looks half finished and at most actively broken. My particular favourite is the series of mechanical walls that move across the stage to mask the changes of scene, which would be a neat device did they not move so slowly that I genuinely thought they’d broken down completely on a number of occasions. Though to be fair they did provide the one genuine moment of drama of the evening when towards the end of the second act they opened and closed so slowly that you could hear the audience (further depleted by people leaving during the second act) wondering aloud whether the play had finished. And of course the SYMBOLIC WASTE PAPER BASKET (I'm writing it the way I assume it must’ve been written in the stage direction) which should win some kind of special prize for the clunkiest, least subtle metaphor in the history of theatre. When it was revealed that it was still on the stage, just knocked over, during the curtain call I got serious giggles which I suspect was not the intention.

I don’t particularly enjoy slagging off productions to this extent (I'm lying) but there’s really nothing to admire in this production. Don’t waste your time and money on it, unless you’re someone I don’t like in which case I'm sure you’d enjoy it.

If you still want to see Waste for some reason, it plays at the Lyttleton at the NT until March 19th.

Theatre Review: As You Like It

I'm not a big fan of Shakespearean comedy.

With the notable exception of Much Ado About Nothing, I just don’t find it that funny. Maybe it’s unfamiliarity (I only ever read the tragedies at school), maybe I've been unlucky with the productions I've seen or maybe it’s just my sense of humour. I don’t know, they’re just not usually my bag.

But it’s always lovely to have your expectations confounded and the NT’s production of As You Like It does just that.

Image source.

The central plot of AYLI is the story of star crossed lovers Rosalind and Orlando who fall in love at first sight but are split when both are forced to flee for their lives into the mysterious Forest of Arden. Complications (and occasional hilarity) ensue but ultimately they are reunited, get married and live happily ever after. Aw.

So far so Disney. But where this production, directed by Polly Findlay, excels is in playing down the syrup - and to an extent the humour - and playing up the naturalism.

This approach isn't unproblematic. For one thing it makes the purely comedic characters, Touchstone in particular, very out of place and consequently largely unfunny, which is a shame as Mark Benton (playing Touchstone) is a great comedy actor who gets robbed of the potential to be a really great Shakespearean clown. It also makes the pre-Forest portion of the play feel oddly disjointed. The action is transported to a technicolour cliché of an office, where random characters wander about for no logical reason, and overlong wrestling matches are staged. It feels like it belongs in another, much less good, production altogether and left me convinced I was going to have a fairly miserable evening.

But the change of setting to the Forest of Arden breathes new life into the production and introduces the real star - the incredible design. The transformation between the two locations is stunning and the undoubted highlight of the show. Rows of office chairs, desks and lamps, connected by previously unseen chains, are dragged upwards so they hang from the ceiling to create the trees of the forest. Cast members dressed all in black climb into the trees where they remain, creating a surprisingly effective soundscape (wind through the trees, animal noises, bird song, raindrops) for the rest of the night. It’s inventive minimalism at its most beautiful - award nominations for designer Lizzie Clachan, please - the only downside of which is that it rather overshadows the action onstage.

Which is a shame as much of said action is really rather good, especially where the delightful Patsy Ferran is involved. Ferran is a near-perfect Celia. Playful and deadpan, she steals every scene she’s in and, importantly, offers a much more convincing articulation of the punchdrunk love that drives this play’s plot than any of the rest of the cast. Rosalie Craig is a decidedly modern Rosalind, particularly good as her male alter ego, and Joe Bannister an effectingly lovelorn Orlando, though both could do with an injection of the sort of joyous, maddening love that Ferran is so good at. Paul Chahidi has a couple of gorgeous moments as Jaques, his ‘all the world’s a stage’ speech is really beautiful (even if some stupid fuck let their phone ring through it the night we were in), though overall he struggles to make much of an impression, or that much sense of his character. And massive kudos are due to the supporting cast who provide, amongst other things, my second favourite moment of the night as they appear en masse as a flock of sheep, on hands and knees wearing white woolly jumpers. It’s as gorgeously silly and irreverent as it sounds.

Despite my misgivings, I really enjoyed this production and found it surprisingly clear for a text that I had never encountered before. It didn't completely convince me of the merits of Shakespeare as a comedy writer, but it’s fun, inventive and just so beautiful. Well worth your time.

As You Like It plays in the Olivier theatre at the NT until 5th March.