by William Shakespeare
seen at the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse on 21 September 2016
Shakespeare's Globe and Liverpool Everyman and Playhouse have collaborated on this production, which is directed by Nick Bagnall (from Liverpool E&P) and designed by Katie Sykes. The play, one of Shakespeare's earliest, has been imaginatively re-set in the 1960s, with many clever musical pastiches and a great deal of energetic climbing of ladders.
The traditional house style of the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse has been subverted here, understandably so as the production is to go on tour to venues both inside and out. Though the candles remain lit, there is plenty of electric light as well, not least because there is also a stage within the stage that is crammed with the musical instruments required by a pop band; this is brightly lit and could easily belong in an edition of Top of the Pops. Characters ascend and descend on either side of this box, and the Playhouse's own balcony gives on to its top, constantly tempting the cast to leap over the railing which usually protects the musicians from falling.
The 60s setting works well with the general tone of the play, in which young people are finding their way often quite selfishly, and certainly kicking against the restraints of the older generation. The uneasy tone (uneasy at least for modern sensibilities), in which male friendship is at first betrayed and at the end appears to trump romantic longings, is somewhat mitigated by the heady sense of experiment and possibility associated with the swinging sixties. This is exemplified in the clever device whereby the band of outlaws which Valentine joins when he is exiled from Milan becomes The Outlaws, a raucous rock band.
The whole concept is ably supported by the cast, many of whom are both strong actors and proficient musicians. Though the juxtaposition of modern music and Shakespearean verse can be a woeful mistake, in this case there is no problem: the verse speaking is fine and the sentiments of the songs complement the action. The two gentlemen Valentine (Guy Hughes) and Proteus (Dharmesh Patel) are passionate young men, though the former is rather proper and the latter suddenly unscrupulous.
The only false note came from Garry Cooper playing the older parts (the two disobliging fathers). His exaggerated style of villainy, full of strange tics and jerks, seemed out of place amid the more natural exuberance of the younger players. Amber James had the rather thankless task of playing Thurio, the spurned suitor of Sylvia - a shallow character made more flat by being cross-dressed. She was far more impressive as Julia's maid Lucetta in an early scene of the play.
Leah Brotherhood (Julia) and Aruhan Galieva (Sylvia) were the objects of affection, all too often seen as little more than that. However each character has a mind of her own, leading to a touching scene in which Sylvia speaks of her pity for Julia all unaware that the young messenger she addresses is actually Julia in disguise.
Comedy is provided by the two servants Speed and Launce. The director Nick Bagnall stood in for Speed capably with script in hand where necessary. Launce was excellently played by Charlotte Mills pulling off the very difficult trick of talking to a dog much of the time, represented by the otherwise non-speaking musician in the band (Fred Thomas). This dextrous patter is of the sort that most dates Shakespeare's clowns, but here it was very well managed.
It is fascinating how many themes in this play are developed in later plays with more power and subtlety. They are, of course, the stock themes of romantic comedy - disguise, thwarted love, mistaken identity, and so forth - but even here the darker side is revealed in some of the twists. It is something of a shock when Valentine offers to give up Sylvia to cement his friendship with Proteus, even though Sylvia clearly prefers Valentine. Proteus just as abruptly dismisses the offer and turns back to Julia whom he has moments before felled with a blow (admittedly thinking 'him' to be Sebastian). In fact, in the final scene both young women are merely observers of the spectacle of the men (including Sylvia's father) arranging matters to suit themselves. In the play they have no comment to make, but in this production the pardoning of the outlaws is replaced by a song of angry pain by Julia and Sylvia who rail at their loneliness. The play hardly suffers from this reminder that all may not be well.
