“Othello”, “The Low Road” and “Peter and Alice”

“If you have been entirely satisfied by something obviously mediocre, may it not be that you were searching for something less than mediocre, and you found that which was just a little better than you expected?” - Edward Gordon Craig

In the past week or so, I’ve managed to catch three of the “Big Openings” of the last month; Othello at the National (still in previews when I saw it), The Low Road at the Royal Court and Peter and Alice at the Noel Coward. They’re all perfectly decent pieces of theatre in their own right and each manage to hold the audience’s attention whilst saying something about their subject matter, but ultimately they each failed to have any kind of lasting impact on me. I’ll admit first and foremost that I’m probably not the target audience for any of these pieces.

“Twelfth Night” (or why I hate Original Practices) by William Shakespeare

at Shakespeare’s Globe, Thursday 27th September 2012

Looking at the cast and creative team behind Tim Carroll’s production of Twelfth Night, it’s not hard to predict how the production is going to be played (that is, of course, if you didn’t see the original in 2002). Now, this isn’t in itself a Bad Thing. The production is very strong, pretty funny, has the audience enraptured and features some glorious performances.

But then I go to the theatre to be surprised. I want to experience something unexpected. True, not everyone does, but if I book a ticket I expect not to be able to work out exactly how it’s going to be performed.

I’m not saying that I was able to sit on the train on the way to London and picture, moment for moment, the play as it happened; that I would have enjoyed myself more sat at home reading the play with voices in my head. No, I’m not a seer and I did very much enjoy the piece. All I’m saying is that, knowing the work of these creatives and actors, and having experienced Globe productions before, it was easy to work out the features and general style of the thing.

Rylance’s Olivia was always going to be gentle on the whole with sudden outbursts and feature a certain peculiarity (here it’s a spirit-like glide), maintaining femininity without ever trying too hard. Stephen Fry’s Malvolio could be heard clearly in the mind’s ear before stepping foot in the theatre; a bumbling, sympathetic misanthrope who is unable to connect with his peers and thus has to suffer humiliation. Johnny Flynn and Samuel Barnett as Viola and Sebastian was perhaps a turn from the more obvious choice of putting them the other way round, but still show two sides of the same coin and provide a lot of heart. Granted, Paul Chahidi gives a surprising turn as Maria, and in many moments steals the scene, but on the whole the rest of the cast is fairly standard (though a little stronger than usual Globe fare).

Jenni Tiramani’s aesthetic of doublet and hose is also of little interest and, though the jokes are strong and frequent (thank God someone remembered it’s a comedy), they aren’t exactly original.

I guess what I’m saying here is that I’m tired of so-called “original practices” (I liked John Donnelly recent tweet: “I’m setting up a theatre company called Original Practices… Tagline: ‘Quality is not an option’.”). I find their use dull, unnecessary (in that it doesn’t add anything that non-original-practice couldn’t do) and regressive. I’m therefore going to use the rest of this post to try to justify those statements, with passing reference to Twelfth Night. Okay? Grand.

The most obvious thing about original practices performances is that they feature all-male casts. The argument that this doesn’t offer opportunities for women in an industry saturated in male parts is perhaps a little redundant since all-female productions have started to become a regular occurrence, but it’s certainly something worth considering. I don’t have an issue with the notion of an all-male cast in itself (I adore the work of Propellor), but with the way it is used. For where Edward Hall’s company takes that old Shakespearean feature and subverts it in order to draw things out in the play which weren’t apparent before, the Globe generally fails to discover anything new about these characters. Of course, the whole notion of acting is based on the idea of pretending to be someone else, but when there are scores of women who could play these parts better than men, why are they denied access?

Using men to play women also, slightly out of necessity, relies on stereotypes. True, those stereotypes (women are “fragile” or “strong” etc.) may be rejected just as much as they are obeyed, but they still collect an audience’s subconscious prejudices and play on that. At one point, for example, Johnny Flynn’s Viola screams when confronted with Andrew Aguecheek’s sword. Why is this funny? Not because of the situation, but because we accept the stereotype that women are afraid little creatures who can’t fend for themselves, and then remember that this isn’t a woman after all. Hilarious.

I also wonder about the ability to repeat of OP productions (and here I become a bit shaky, as I’ve not seen a play done more than once following OP). For, while there is a different production for every director and each will bring out different things in a rehearsal room, if the same design and approach is used each time then there isn’t going to be a huge amount of difference between what the plays say. I know this Twelfth Night is essentially a revival of the 2002 production, but then how different would an original practices production overseen by a different director really be? Sure, the use of the space would differ and things like new intonation and characterisation would be apparent, but would it leave us feeling any differently?

Original practices clearly has/had its place. When the New Globe first opened, it was a way of exploring Shakespeare in his own space and on his own terms, and was actually truly experimental. But I wonder how much the learning curve has plateaued. It doesn’t teach us as much now as it did fourteen years ago, and I think the original reservations about it making the space feel like a “museum” are becoming true again. What do we get from original practices which we wouldn’t get from, say, a black box production, and is that worth the loss of truthful female characters and social comment? This type of theatre was made four-hundred years ago. Have we really become so disillusioned with everything we’ve learnt since then that we have to regress to an outdated form?

I know I’m in the minority here. Audiences love the style and productions play to packed houses. Twelfth Night is a tight, funny, touching production, but to me that seems to be an exception to the rule. I know the Globe is built for presenting Shakespeare in his original context and I know that’s how it’s supposed to work (and, actually, that most productions don’t have all-male casts). Nonetheless, the theatre does have potential to do things differently, and I can’t help thinking that by trying out new styles, Dromgoole and his company could end up moving forward, not back.

“Macbeth” by William Shakespeare

at C Venue, Wednesday 15th August 2012

I never thought I’d be calling a ninety minute production of Macbeth too long, but different circumstances means that As Told By’s production at C Venue feels it runs a lot longer than it should. This Macbeth, performed by a group of young people, contains within it some promising performances but does little with the script and, though promised to be “horrifying”, is extremely tame.

Apparently, the company have decided to set their production in World War Two, but all this entails is a few aeroplane and gunshot noises and soldier uniform; the setting doesn’t infiltrate the world of the characters at all, and does nothing to add to the text, for the way the actors perform suggests they could be performing at any time in history. The only vaguely disconcerting elements of the piece are laughing weird sisters (pronounced “wared” for some reason”) and a bit of blood.

It’s a very plain and conventional staging, with a few too many moments of empty stage and ill-thought-through scene changes. Far too frequently, actors find their way to their mark and stand there without reacting much. More effort has been put into technique than into feeling.

There are some very accomplished performances here, especially from the two leads (though we see very little of their madness), but they wouldn’t look out of place in the 1950s. They are closer in tone to Olivier and Gielgud than Russell Beale and Rylance. This isn’t exactly a bad thing, but one would hope that future actors were being pushed towards modern ways of doing things rather than just speaking the verse well with a glimmer in the eye and a wave of the hand.

With so many productions of Macbeth on at this year’s fringe, As Told By can’t afford to just present a traditional and poorly-cut version of the play and selling it by using words like “innovative”. It’s also a shame that this clearly talented cast haven’t been given a slightly more exciting production to play with instead of creating something which could have easily been created in the twentieth century.

“Much Ado About Nothing” by William Shakespeare

at the Courtyard Theatre, Wednesday 8th August 2012

Though Much Ado About Nothing is commonly held to be an extremely modern play in its structure and use of language, there is always the problematic question of the way in which women are treated in this reality. As director Iqbal Kahn has said, there are few more Elizabethan contemporary countries than parts of India. Though his joyous production manages to solve some of these problems, however, it’s difficult not to think it could have a lot more clout if the performances and pace had a little more work.

Tom Piper’s extraordinary set easily steals the show, with its intricate arches, balconies and huge moving sections. The stage is paved like a city courtyard and Ciaran Bagnall’s colourful lighting does its job to set the scene. Along with Niraj Chag’s score, the design aspects of these piece come to a head during the climactic wedding scene, which shows the cast and creative at their best and nigh-on forces the audience to tap their feet. During this scene, the strengths of the company are truly shown.

If only this were true throughout the play, for though no other scene can be as spectacular as this one, for the rest of the production the actors don’t seem to be giving their all. Meera Syal’s Beatrice doesn’t seen overly witty and fades in comparison to Paul Bhattacharjee’s energetic Benedick. The focus is perhaps more on the youth off this society; Sagar Arya and Amara Karan as Claudio and Hero contain hope and vigour and manage to make this couple more than the often wet lovers.

The strongest aspects of the production are the moments of smart (not bawdy) comedy. Simon Nagra’s gives an intelligent reading of the not-so-intelligent Dogberry and Shiv Grewal surprisingly find much to laugh at in Don Pedro. If only more care was taken over comedy throughout.

Nana’s production has the potential to be more radical than it is, for it’s little more than  Much Ado About Nothing set in India. It feels like a lot of good opportunities for cultural and social comment have been missed, and though a stunning set and slid performances lead to an enjoyable production, I left wanting much more.

“Troilus and Cressida” by William Shakespeare

at the Swan Theatre, Wednesday 8th August 2012

My main issue with the World Shakespeare Festival, as I have bemoaned many times on this very blog, is that collaboration has never really been forthcoming; the Shipwreck Trilogy simply used British actors and put them in a foreign setting, whilst Romeo and Juliet in Baghdad was little more than an international company being housed by the RSC. At last, however, we get a glimpse of what true collaboration should look like, as America’s The Wooster Group and Britain’s Royal Shakespeare Company collaborate on Troilus and Cressida, creating a tribal, zany, intelligent and mind-boggling production which makes the mind race.

The Americans and the Brits worked on their aspects of the production separately before working on the finished product, so keeping in line with this separatist approach, it seems best to look at each ‘tribe’ in turn.

Under the direction of Elizabeth LeCompte, the Trojans are recast as Native Americans, living a happily sheltered lifestyle surrounded by totems which hold television screens which play clips from films. I only wish that I knew what these movies were, for the actors mimic the gestures of the on-screen characters, and I’m sure the choice of scenes is pertinent; what this creates is a sense of performance and a Zizekian struggle with what is “real” in this world. The pulsing, disorienting music for these sections, created by Bruce Odland, strikes a note of discordancy as this world is torn asunder by the violent Greeks. The intertextuality created by the use of screens is heightened by the fact their tribal costume consists of wearable Trojan statues. Though the performances are a little stilted, they force us out of a reverie caused by overly-structured verse speaking and ensures we listen to the language anew.

This is most evident in Scott Shepard and Marin Ireland’s Troilus and Cressida. Both have amplified voices and a crisp delivery, filling in the lack of emotion with an intelligent examination of the lines. Shepard (hard not to love post-Gatz) eclipses Ireland due to the strength of his characterisation and the plainness of Cressida here. This production is not about lovers, however; it is about fighters.

The British sections, directed by Mark Ravenhill, are a little easier to come to terms with, though this is surely due to their comparative traditionalism (which says more about us as an audience than the play). The Greeks are here modern soldiers, which creates an overall sense of colonialism as the (impressive) battle scenes emerge at the play’s climax. The screens here show a frequency line reflecting the tones spoken, which pits the RSC’s language-based approach against the Wooster Group’s image-based one (though this may be overthinking things somewhat – this production does that to you). More attention has been paid here to performance; Zubin Varla’s wheelchair-bound Thersites is searingly witty and Danny Webb’s Agamemnon commands attention. Scott Handy’s Ulysses is the closest we come to a traditional performance in this production, and pulls some loose strands together.

What this creates is an overwhelming sense of this production as a postmodern cross-cultural take on the play. It’s not an easy watch; the fact we have two entirely different companies means we have to adjust to the feel of each, meaning much is lost at the beginning of each scene as we make that shift. I also question to what extent this is collaboration seeing as the two ‘tribes’ have worked on their pieces separately and a cohesive whole is never realised (though this is, clearly, the point). With many people, this production won’t go down well due to the fact you can’t simply sit back and take it in. Nevertheless, if you pay attention and untangle the web, it’s difficult not to stop playing over this production in your head for a long time afterwards.

“Timon of Athens” by William Shakespeare

at the Olivier Theatre, Saturday 4th August 2012

Philanthropy, especially for the arts, is a hot topic at the moment. In our increasingly privatised society, we must depend on the ‘generosity’ of those better off than ourselves if any kind of innovation is going to take place. This is exactly the kind of statement Nicholas Hytner’s production of Timon of Athens examines, questioning how this kind of attitude can lead to tragic outcomes. But though this is a smart, tight production, the play itself means the whole thing never truly gets off the ground.

Cleverly riffing on the fact that Shakespeare’s text includes a painter, a poet and a philosopher, Hytner presents Timon as a wealthy funder of the arts who is surrounded by greedy people who want a bite of the pie. But he is blinded by the fact that this cannot go on forever; when someone should intervene, they don’t, and he is left on the streets fending for himself. The inclusion of a group of protesters creates an opposition to this viewpoint, creating a slightly more pluralistic reading of the play rather than focussing on Timon himself, allowing a new order at the end of the piece. Particularly interesting is the inclusion of Celia’s speech from As You Like It as a final line, cutting off the last two words, so what rings out is: “Now go we in content/ To liberty”. A seemingly better new world order has been established.

The play itself, however, never really supports these ideas, and Shakespeare’s words feel a little out of place in this production. Hytner has cut the piece, but I wonder whether more could have been done to draw out more from the central aspect. The play – to an extent – mirrors the structure of 13, offering a multitudinous first act followed by a more solitary and slow second, meaning all the momentum built up originally drops as the play progresses. Nevertheless, Tim Hatley’s stylish set (though sparse) is a little bit genius in the first act, constantly revolving to reveal new scenes which appear through two entrances, a little like a giant cuckoo clock lit gorgeously by Bruno Poet.

The inability of big producing houses to hire consistently strong casts is also starting to grate on me; though Ciaran McMenamin’s Alcibiades leaves a lasting impression and Hilton McRae demonstrates vigour as Apemantus, Paul Bentall’s Lucullus never grabs out attention and Deborah Findlay’s Flavia (changed from Flavius) is just plain wooden. Supporting performances are also either far too big or far too small for the space. The only person who gets it spot on is veteran Simon Russell Beale in the title role, whose Timon falls with extraordinary grace and remains clueless about his tragic end even before he dies, maintaining a desirable innocence. It would be good to see Russell Beale outside his comfort zone in the near future, but I guess when he’s as strong as this it’s tough to complain.

Perhaps a stronger cast and a willingness to cut more would give the play the thrust and the drive it needs, but equally we could just accept it’s a rather weak play (by Shakespearean standards). The debate about funding, philanthropy and monetary aid is one we should be having more passionately than we are currently – support should not be cut as freely as Cameron and his cronies are allowing – and we should recognise the tragic structure of recent banking crises as a way of ensuring they don’t happen again. Timon of Athens manages to broach all these things, but disappointingly doesn’t quite pull through as a complete whole, instead floating around as many ideas which need a little more glue.

“Henry V” by William Shakespeare

at Shakespeare’s Globe, Saturday 28th July 2012

Two years ago, following the superb Henry IVs Parts 1 and 2, I begged “for Jamie Parker as Henry V at some point in the near future”. Well, my prayers were answered (yes, I like to think this was all down to me) and I wasn’t wrong; in Dominic Dromgoole’s production of Henry V at the Globe, Parker gives a wonderful performance as the charismatic king. Unfortunately, however, the production is let down by a less than impressive ensemble and rather indulgent direction.

I don’t understand how it has become normal at the Globe to have strong central performances and weak supporting actors. Granted, it’s a hard space to master, but the likes of Parker, Rylance, Allam and Best prove it’s not impossible. Why, then, do shows consistently cast actors who feel it necessary to gesticulate wildly and lose all trace of awareness of the space? It’s all well and good to do straight-laced productions of Shakespeare, but the least we expect from that is a strong cast.

One of the worst perpetrators of this in Henry V is Sam Cox, who plays Pistol as a cross between Russell Kane and Jack Sparrow but who is let down by supreme self-awareness and seems to be working by the mantra ‘do anything, as long as it gets a laugh’. Brid Brennan’s Chorus is equally uninspiring, and speaks the lines with such anger and wide-eyed menace that it’s difficult to take her seriously; there is little chance we will imagine the scenes she asks us to with such bizarre delivery. When Olivia Ross speaks her lines as the young boy, her hands seem to be imitating an air traffic controller, though she is redeemed by her sweet portrayal of Katherine.

Nigel Cooke’s Exeter injects some charisma into proceedings and Brendan O’Hea’s Fluellen is – most of the time – hilarious. But no one even comes close to matching Parker’s affable, strong-willed, knowing Harry. He walks around the stage with such ease and converses with the audience in such laid-back tones that we really do feel part of his army. “Once more unto the breach” is delivered with searing energy and when he looks you square in the eye and says “We happy few”, it’s explicit that you’re on his side. It’s only a shame he didn’t get to play the king in the same season as Hal; I suspect his performance would be even richer in a shorter timeframe.

Jonathan Fensom’s set is a disintegrated version of the Henry IV design, and the squabbles between the nations of Britain here are brought to the forefront, showing a kingdom on the edge of collapse (with so much talk of “Britain” at the moment this play comes across as supremely English). The stylised fight scenes are also a nice addition, though more enthusiasm from certain members of the cast at these points wouldn’t go amiss.

But perhaps what’s most interesting about this production, especially considering so many aspects are taken from the previous Henry IVs, is that it shows Henry V to be very much a play which only makes sense in the context of the histories. The Falstaff scenes are lost on much of the audience and some of the characters are paper-thin in this play without the aid of previous narratives. The fact Dromgoole doesn’t attempt to smooth over these issues is an oversight, and though Parker shines, its difficult not to think he’s driving a slightly faulty vehicle.

“Julius Caesar” by William Shakespeare

at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Friday 1st June 2012

*The performance reviewed was a preview*

Doran’s ‘all black’ production (an odd description, in my opinion: you wouldn’t necessarily describe a cast as ‘all white’) of Julius Caesar, cut down to two hours and fifteen minutes, feels like a modern political thriller, though it lacks any real drama and could do with having more pace. Seeing as Caesar is murdered halfway through the text, this cannot be blamed much on Doran, though the second half of the production feels slow by comparison and fails to really say much about the nature of dictatorships.

We enter the theatre to jovial music and a lively, crowded stage, and as the lights go down it’s clear that Caesar is loved by all. He had led his people to a victory and created a happier lifestyle. What’s odd, though, is that this feels like the jubilation which follows a revolution, and though images of tyranny (a large statue, pictures of Caesar) are present, this is far too happy a state and doesn’t bear the marks of repression at all. This means the plot of Brutus and Cassius to overthrow the ‘tyrant’ comes out of nowhere and is difficult to understand.

And while this production manages to ask questions about the nature of military coups and the shifting nature of politics internationally, the attempt to mix it with images of the Arab Spring falls short. This play is about the politician, not the ordinary man, which is utterly incongruous with the clips of popular uprisings we have seen over the past eighteen months.

That said, the central cast play the manipulative and charismatic politicians of the play with impressive honesty. Jeffery Kissoon’s ageing Caesar bears resemblance to many past-it dictators, and puts on a kind face for the masses. The problem is, we never really see him lose his rag and his wrongdoings aren’t evident, meaning Cyril Nri’s bewildered Cassius has a harder job to convince us that he deserves to die. Ray Fearon’s Mark Antony is powerful though gentle, and is the closest we get to hearing the people speak; his speech to the populace is fantastic, though by the end of the play it’s easy to see that he could just as easily follow in the conspirators’ footsteps by creating another dictatorial regime. Paterson Joseph is here on top form as Brutus, overly ambitious and willing to die for what he believes, even though that opinion is tough to endorse. They are supported by a fine cast who inject energy into the play (though the accents are sometimes a little, shall we say, scattered).

There are clear military references in Michael Vale’s set, which looks like the steps of the Pergamon built out of Soviet breeze blocks, though it feels a little static for a play which sees such broad shifts in location, tone and government. A bizarre moment sees a section of the copper back wall rise up for no apparent reason, and scene changes could be smoother. It’s also lit to excess by Vince Herbert, though Akintayo Ekinbode’s African music is interwoven well and changes with the state, as it moves from happy union to a land of turmoil.

Doran’s production is solid and strong, and I welcome the cutting of an interval in order to create a more thrilling atmosphere, but it’s difficult to shy away from the fact that, no matter how hard we try to philosophise in the UK, it’s tough to really know the effect and questions surrounding the Arab Spring. There are also holes in the plot and drama which means this Caesar doesn’t feel that tragic, plodding along with an unclear trajectory.

I also wonder about the verisimilitude of the term “World Shakespeare Festival”, particularly the Royal Shakespeare Company’s take on the idea. Though Boyd et al have invited companies from Iraq and Brazil to perform in their theatres, the majority of productions have been created by British directors – Roxana Silbert and David Farr co-ordinate the ‘Nations at War’ and ‘Shipwreck Trilogy’ respectively. This production of Julius Caesar now adds to that list, and though British directors setting plays abroad is by no means a Bad Thing (after all, Shakespeare did it), it feels remarkably like the RSC is giving us a peculiarly British version of the world. Naturally, collaboration between nations should be encouraged, but it feels slightly disingenuous to use the adjective “World” to mean “British-directors-setting-plays-somewhere-that-isn’t-Britain-with-a-few-actors-from-around-the-world”. It would be far better to have foreign directors tackling these plays with the RSC’s resources to give an entirely different perspective in order that we may learn from one another.

Overall, this once again feels like a missed opportunity to have a genuinely global discussion; perhaps in a different context Julius Caesar would be more impressive, but under the banner of the ‘World Shakespeare Festival’ it falls at the first hurdle.

Pinterest board here: http://pinterest.com/danhutton/julius-caesar-by-william-shakespeare/

“King Lear” by William Shakespeare

at Shakespeare’s Globe, Thursday 17th May 2012

I have never experienced a deeper silence at the Globe. As Lear wheels on his executed daughter and mourns her passing, everyone stops moving, stops breathing even, and seem to synchronise their heartbeats in order that we can comprehend more fully the enormity of the situation played out in front of us. For a minute at least, London seems to stop for this experience to take place unencumbered by external factors.

What lies at the heart of the Belarus Free Theatre’s production of King Lear is a defiant sense of passion, and the freedom to express feelings no matter what. Naturally, this is helped by our knowledge of the company’s background, but what comes through loud and clear is the importance of speaking out; only once the characters in this production have made an attempt to put their thoughts into spoken words to they achieve some kind of happiness.

Vladimir Shcherban’s production presents us with an utterly broken state, which punishes those who fight against corruption and causes its population to turn mad. The company is careful not to show us black-and-white portraits, as our sympathy constantly shifts; no one is completely good just like no one is completely evil.

Nicolai Khalezin’s adaptation plays freely with Shakespeare’s original, intercutting additional scenes (such as Cordelia singing about her father) and changing the emphasis in the last few scenes so we watch the demise of the leads. Once again proof that Shakespeare is not sacred and his that his texts can and should be adapted in order to present specific ideas.

There is an urgency in the ensemble’s performance which heightens the sense of passion (though sometimes it’s difficult to hear them). The cast has been pared down to its bare essentials in order to tell the story more clearly, and although some may complain of the inaudibility of the actors, I found that the juxtaposing of loud choruses with quiet speeches underlined the message of the people having power. Pavel Garadnitski’s Gloucester, though young, does a fine job of portraying the anguish and loneliness of this man, aided by the fact the stories of Edgar and Edmund have taken a back-seat to make way for the three sisters. Victoryia Biran’s Cordelia is not the quiet, waif-like creature she is often portrayed as, instead preferring a more sinister approach in order to be on par with Goneril and Regan. They are played by Yana Rusakevich and Maryna Yurevich respectively, and preside in an utterly self-interested sphere, so much so that their relationship verges on incestuous. At the centre of it all is Aleh Sidorchik’s  arrogant Lear, whose decent into madness comes extremely early and who is less concerned with the love of his daughters than cold, hard power, which only serves to make his final realisation all the more painful.

This production shows a superlative understanding of the importance of imagery in theatre. Nice ideas like using real earth to demonstrate the delineation of land and playing with the concept of mental and physical ability reach their climax during the stunning storm scene, using only a large tarpaulin, some water and a couple of long coat tails. It’s as good a storm scene at you’ll see at our subsidised powerhouses at a fraction of the cost. In an intelligent twist, Shcherban brings back the idea during the battle scene but substitutes the blue tarp for a red one. This, coupled with the high-pitched moans of a saxophone and Belarusian poems by Andrei Khadanovich, makes for a chilling finale.

It’s difficult to do this production justice in one review; the sheer dearth of ideas and intensity of the final scenes is difficult to put into words. It’s a remarkably brave and determined production, and though it is deeply tragic there is also a pure optimism discovered in the reappearance of the bodies in the final image. This feeling of hope is exacerbated by the tension released by a company who has to perform in secret in their home country having free reign in the most public of theatres. We know, like Kent, that awful pasts can be confined to the shelves of history if the masses come together to share their passion.

“Henry VI Part 3″ by William Shakespeare

at Shakespeare’s Globe, Sunday 13th May 2012

As someone who is of a generation whose collective memory kicks in just as peace was being restored to the Balkans, it’s easy to forget the region’s turbulent past. Henry VI Part 3, presented by the National Theatre Bitola in Macedonian, manages to remind us of these terrible wars whilst maintaining a light-hearted tone, commenting on and joking about the nature of conflict.

John Blondell’s production is smart, stylish and slick. In a pared back and intelligent aesthetic, everyone wears a deep blue, with accessories to determine whether their allegiance is to York or Lancaster. Heightened violence mixed with a brutal honesty keeps the battle scenes sharp, but when necessary we are left alone with the characters and the words to allow Shakespeare and the actors to work their magic.

The divisions here are clearly along family lines, and care has been taken to make relationships between the characters truthful. Edward (Ogne Drangovski), Richard (a vicious terrier-like Martin Mirchevski) and George (Filip Mirchevski – the brother of Martin, I assume) are a brilliant trio, and their roles are balanced perfectly. In contrast to Drangovski’s laddish Edward is Peter Gorko’s gentle, wise Henry VI, tired of the fighting but egged on by those around him.

Most impressive in this production are the women. When Gabriela Petrushevska’s marvellously persuasive and headstrong Margaret meets with Sonja Mihajlova’s manipulative Warwick and Kristina Hristova Nikolova’s flamboyant Lewis of France, we are treated to one of the best scenes in the production. Their initial hostility quickly becomes a realisation of their shared power, acting as metaphor for the role of women in conflict.

What makes this production so successful, then, is the way it handles contrast: men with women; peace with war; funny with serious; real with surreal; solitude with madness. This hinges on the soliloquies of Henry and Richard towards the end of the first act, delivered with wit and eloquence, underscored neatly by Miodgrag Nećak. And though the thought that what we are witnessing is a putting to rest of the Balkan’s difficult past is probably aided by the presence of the Albanian and Serbian companies earlier in the day, it can’t be helped considering these complex and wide-ranging plays as allegories for the not-so-distant past.