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… Read the rest of this entry »