Twelfth Night, Pembroke New Cellars
***
Twelfth Night is undergoing something of a renaissance. No, that’s wrong. It’s undergoing a whole series of renaissances, with each production trying far too hard to capture the essence of a play that people seem to have lost. Greg Doran’s RSC production at the Courtyard, for example, relies far too heavily on the pressurised sexual confusion surrounding the romance between Orsino and Cesario, resulting in overtones of homosexuality overpowering the subtler, more tender moments of Viola’s sexual awakening. Here, Christabel Rose and Madeleine Hammond have reduced Doran’s vision of the heart of Twelfth Night to one moment on a sofa. That made me smile. Instead we are presented with a breakneck comedy in which the ensemble cast shine. If you’re searching for a Twelfth Night striving to find a textual sense of itself, don’t go and see this play. If you want to have a good time watching some fast-paced, genuinely funny, fringe theatre however – this is the ticket for you.
The real strengths of the production were the use of live music and the depth of comic talent within the cast. When it’s done well live music really works in theatre, and much of the success for creating the more tender moments of the play were due to the vocal/ukulele skills of Jeff Carpenter (Feste). Leo Parker-Rees (Sir Toby Belch) and Annie Gilchrist (Maria) beautifully captured the relationship between bar-hound and busty tavern wench, enthusing their characters with a debauched energy that Rik Mayall would have been proud of. Rosalie Hayes, stripped of any real attention being paid to her romantic development, also turned in a controlled and versatile performance as Viola. The standout performance, however, came from Oliver Marsh as Olivia’s hapless steward Malvolio, whose comic timing as well as his command of blank verse was riveting. I have never seen the line ‘One would think his mother’s milk were scarce out of him’ delivered with more barbed ferocity. I’d pay just to watch him again. Especially as he looks like a furry Michael Palin.
Interestingly, the production would have benefited from the removal of pretty much everything except the performances. The set consisted of a 1920s sofa, a mock-Tudor chair, some boxes, and a mirror. The lighting (set to roughly the same levels as the Oxford Street illuminations) distractedly bounced off the walls and the ceiling of the New Cellars, and the costumes hinted that the play was set some time ago in “the past”, whenever that was. An anally retentive reviewer here would note that perhaps some effort should have been made to disguise the fact that Viola is actually a girl (a hat – perhaps!) or indeed that Malvolio’s stockings should really be cross-gartered. Points for the garters, minus-points for not working out the rest.
Then again, I kept thinking to myself WHO CARES? WHO REALLY CARES? I had fun. I wish Doran had seen this, just so he and the RSC could understand what it’s like to watch theatre that actually entertains.
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I saw people promoting this in King's Parade last week. They were singing really strange songs. I had a nightmare about them that night. Scary!
'Oliver Marsh's command of blank verse was riveting was it?' – shame that Malvolio has about ten lines in blank verse and the rest is in prose. A little more anal retention might have served this reviewer better.
His command of blank verse was a very pleasant surprise following the rest of the cast's off-beat delivery of prose (in an attempt to glean as much humour from the lines as possible). When it came along, I was riveted.