I.A.M. Musing About…

I know I ought to be saying things about how things in general are with the trip (weather, driving, culture, how many times I’ve heard the word “toilet” and screamed…) but all I’ve got for you right now is a review of the RSC’s production of Twelfth Night. In a word: BRILLIANT!

Stratford After Dark [#2265] Taken outside the church where Shakespeare is buried, using tiny tripod and insanely wide lens.

I’ve seen Twelfth Night only once, as far as I know, but the difficulties inherent to the script were not entirely overcome. A very fine production it was, I quickly add, but the play is a tough one to present completely realized. It takes a very careful approach to story-telling that is both completely controlling and at the same time able to be loose enough to let the tale breathe (for a plot summation, go here).

I’d love to show you a photo of the inside of the space, but the taking of it was met with a cry akin to the WWII one of ‘put out that light!’ After being told that “there’s no photographs to be taken inside the theatre”, I pointed out that it was the interval and the performers weren’t on stage, but the reply was “there’s no photographs to…” yeah yeah yeah, shut up you ‘job’s worth’; clearly you’re neither listening to me nor brooking any logic from some up-start, long-haired Yankee (who’s actually a Canuck but you can’t tell the difference and that would send you into a real tizzie of confusion) with some flash digital camera, and so on. So, have a look at the photo of the street there on the right. Nice, eh? Yeah… Not a patch on the theatre, though, is it (if you’re really interested, head here for a gallery of the Courtyard Theatre’s construction and interior)??

What’s key to the play working — to my mind, anyway; others will probably disagree — is the scene late in the 3^rd act where Malvolio discovers the letter planted by the three sneaky bastards who wish to shame him. Malvolio has, until now, been only seen as a po-faced ice-boy who has more than a few books on etiquette and decorum shoved up his back passage sideways. Suddenly, we see that he’s been harbouring a secret passion for his mistress and would love nothing more than to give her a bit of the old ‘extra servant attention’. Suddenly he’s a steaming pile of emotional jelly as his long-crushed fires leap to the rafters and his little footman comes to attention after years of neglect. Not only so we see the other side of him, we realise how restrained the world of his household is, with his mistress still mourning her brother’s death some years ago and also still in mourning so deep she’s still wearing nothing but black (at least in this production)) and refuses to reveal her un-veiled face to anyone but the most trusted servants. He’s supported that, the entire house at the very least observes the official mourning by wearing an arm-band (ibid). The other home in the area — of the Duke Orsinio — is in a similar state of reduced joy, as the Duke is yearning for the Lady across the way and sends his new servant to woo her.

I’ll skip the long explanation about who the servant actually is and who the Lady thinks the servant is… it’s a farce, so everyone falls in love with the wrong people for the wrong reasons, but everything’s right in the end (oddly, no-one runs off into the forest at any time, though… I’m pretty sure it’s Shakespeare…).

Anyway…

So, the thing with Malvolio signals the whole reality of thenng story being chucked into the sky and being let fall where it may. Anything is fair-game now! Malvolio losing the whole thing is like seeing Mr. Dressup in a bar setting fire to a dancer’s g-string (for those of you in God’s Own Land, think of the same setting but substitute a presenter from Blue Peter)! Malvolio here is played with scene-chewing perfection by John Lithgow [image, left]. When he finishes reading the letter he runs it all over his chest in an effort to make it part of him, then his groin, then his face as he spins ’round missing seeing the three plotters by fractions of inches. As he ponders the message he closes his letter whilst turning, then has the letter taken from his hand while they examine the handiwork of their compatriot servant woman, then he closes his eyes with joy as his heart fills with knowledge that the glory being thrust upon him will come with another sort of thrusting along side of it. The entire letter scene has to be driven by enough speed and agility that it’s constantly possible for the people hiding to be seen at any moment. Here it’s flawless, even to the eye of one who’s seen the story prior and knows well the trouble with the situation.

The entire cast is so incredibly good, with Festes affecting a sort of Tom Waits approach to being our host for the evening, the three old soaks are played by women, Orsinio is world-weary without belabouring it in the process, the long-lost sister Viola is played by a guy, and so on and on. they’re al very fine, but those stand out beyond others.

Although there is one moment that the comedy turns to drama so effectively that I almost wanted to either cheer, weep or run on stage and hug the poor guy. After being shown the letter purportedly written by her, the Countess Olivia explains to Malvolio that she didn’t write this letter professing love for him. Those responsible step forward and admit their guilt, explaining it was nothing more than jape. The room goes quiet, as he stands there for some time taking this in, fixes the group with an icy — yet still dignified — glare and says:

MALVOLIO: I’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you. [Exit]

OLIVIA: He hath been most notoriously abused.

And you can’t help but feel complicit in the act against him. There is such guilt in the air as people watch him leave that you feel so very very sorry for him. You want — nay, need! — to apologise and make things right for him. He risked his all and can never serve the Countess Olivia again in the same way; possibly he will have to leave her employ. The rest of the characters find who they need, and their future is sealed as joyful. Yet his is nothing but sorrow and woe, for surely he now has reason to resume the outward appearance he started with, when previous he had none.

If this baby goes to North America, and you’re going to be in the same city as the tour, do not walk, but RUN to the box office. You’ll not see this story so complete again. If you’re reading this in the UK, then either drive down the M40 to Stratford or get on the train to the downtown end of the show. Fuck, this show kicks so much ass it’s a wonder anyone’s sitting at all by the end!

RATING: ««««« (out of five)

This entry was posted on Monday, September 17th, 2007 at 6:04 pm and is filed under BLOG-O-RAMA, FantasyCon, LIT-O-RAMA. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.