Writer: William Shakespeare
Director: Henry Maynard
There are so many different settings and characters within Shakespeare’s fairy-infused A Midsummer Night’s Dream that it’s often instructive to think about which settings are left out or minimised, and which are played up, in a particular production. That can be a good barometer of what a particular director and production team wishes to explore.
For Flabbergast Theatre, a company interested in clowning and puppetry, it is perhaps no surprise that the machinations of the Athenian court hold little charm. In this presentation, it is the little people – the fairies, the mechanicals, and, to a lesser extent, the four romantic leads – who hold all the cards.
Wilton’s upper stage is taken up by an enormous cart, suggesting that is the combined costume and prop store, living accommodation and performance space of a group of itinerant players. And there is an air of that in the company, too, with nods to commedia dell’arte and the sense that these performers would produce broad, over-the-top performances to audiences that may otherwise be distracted by the usual hustle and bustle of whatever town they’ve rocked up to.
But in an indoor space, with a seated audience, that approach to the material rarely works. Overemphasising the iambic tempo of the lines or insisting that every metaphor in Shakespeare’s dialogue be signalled with hand gestures are moves that might work when competing for attention. But in the space of a theatre, it denies the opportunity to present light and shade, to contrast the world of the fairies with those of the mortals, for the humour to emerge naturally rather than to be forced out.
There are occasions where this multidisciplinary, multinational cast seems to click into a position where they are able to both gel with the material and bring something fresh. Paulina Krseczkowska’s Hermia gets a strong start, and while both her erstwhile suitors don’t have much opportunity to shine initially, once Nadav Burstein’s Demetrius is enchanted into favouring Helena (Vyte Garriga), he displays a fine sense of comedic slapstick. It’s that sort of physical comedy of which one hopes for more, a sense that clowning can supplement and enhance, rather than replace, the mood of the original.
Unfortunately, such work is in short supply. Elsewhere, the desire to over-egg the pudding works against the production. Krystian Godlewski’s Oberon, a simpering buffoon on stilts, comes across not so much as King of the Fairies but their court jester. That also serves to diminish Lennie Longworth’s Robin Goodfellow, for it is never good when Puck is less Puckish than their master. Longworth does occasionally get the opportunity to shine with some fun physical mime work; while those moments are fleeting, it is a signal that Flabbergast’s approach has some potential, however much untapped.
The most egregious misfire comes in the handling of the mechanicals, the mostly prose-talking labourers who convene to rehearse a play to present to the Athenian court. One of the great strengths of this structural element is that it can be a light relief to the histrionic love quadrangle playing out among the young Athenians, as well as satirising the occasional pomposity of the thespian classes. Here, the mechanicals are portrayed by the same cast but under masks, which tends to lead the performers to become even more overblown caricatures than they have been elsewhere. That’s an inversion which not only does not fit with the characters as written but also drags the pace of the show in places that traditionally feel lighter and airier.
It doesn’t help that Simon Gleave’s Bottom lacks any warm edge that could temper his otherwise insufferable persona – nor that Gleave’s other role, as Hermia’s father, Egeus, is similarly overblown. For the mechanicals to work, they really need to be as opposite as possible to the “real” acting work going on around them – but there is little room for that, when everything is hammy throughout.
Matters come to a head with the finale, as the stories of the lovers are brushed aside for one of the most interminable renditions of Pyramus and Thisbe. Rather than being a brisk send-up of actors and acting, the leaden approach does neither the actors nor the work many favours. Instead, it makes the final half hour of the piece feel like it is dragging the audience through treacle.
Though the show comes down only ten minutes later than advertised, it somehow feels much, much longer. When Helena says in Act III, “O weary night, O long and tedious night / Abate thy hours,” one should not expect to agree with her so wholeheartedly.
Continues until 20 April 2024
