Looking back at the World Shakespeare Festival: Part Three

What varieties of artistic collaboration emerged during this Year of Shakespeare and what kinds of artistic, civic, and/or ethical implications might they hold?

I’ve already spoken about the ‘collaborations’ between the Globe Theatre and international companies and the ethical implications they may hold, so this entry will look more specifically at collaborations between British companies and artists.

A good place to start here is the BBC’s Hollow Crown series, one of the most high-profile productions of the World Shakespeare Festival. What’s interesting here specifically is the way in which the season was put together. Four of Britain’s most high-profile directors collaborated on the piece (Rupert Goold, Richard Eyre, Thea Sharrock and Sam Mendes as producer), and the endeavor was, as already mentioned, funded by the BBC. So there are two types of collaboration here: artistic and financial.

In the first instance, the absence of any real kind of overarching aim should be noted. True, the four plays are narratively and thematically linked, and clearly effort was made to make them aesthetically similar if not identical, but there are many imperfections. Take Tom Hiddleston’s Hal; in the two parts of Henry IV, he’s presented as a rebel, complete with leather jacket and cheeky grin, but in Henry V his thoughtful, heroic King seems to be a different character altogether with little in common with his former self. The decision to use some of the same cast in the latter three plays but begin with a completely different ensemble in Richard II suggests the first is seen as an entirely separate entity. There seems, then, to have been executive artistic decisions being made at a higher level to the three directors, and little attempt to find cohesion between each of the films. The result then, is a jumbled one, for though the four parts look similar, that’s where the collaboration ends, leaving them feeling disjointed and incohesive.

Where the money came from suggests another kind of collaboration; that between the BBC and the British public. The History plays can often be seen, if not as a cruel, at least an honest look at the monarchy. The constantly warring factions and immature attempts at power hardly portray Britain’s royal heritage in a kind light. Nonetheless, the BBC, the monarchy and Shakespeare are all now British institutions and can be seen as conservative in some cases (though not always, I hasten to add), and all three were spoken of highly over the summer. The BBC’s remit is to represent “the UK, its nations, regions and communities”, but in essence what the Hollow Crown films did was to represent our aristocracy in a positive, heroic light, making them palatable for the summer of Brand Britain, where Shakespeare wrote far more nuanced and human characters. A silent pact was made between the BBC and the British public not to question Queen and country this summer, and this is implicit in the way in which the royal family is portrayed in the Hollow Crown season.

Another large-scale institution to collaborate with the British public was the RSC, through their RSC Open Stages project (not directly linked to the World Shakespeare Festival but receiving significant coverage because of it). The idea behind the scheme is to “bring professional and amateur theatre makers together”, through a sharing of skills and ideas, though to the best of my knowledge little money changed hands. Of course, theatre doesn’t need money to be great, but when all a big company does to support an amateur show is to play them a few videos and give them a logo, one has to wonder just how much ego is present and how much those involved are capitalizing on prestige. One of the most prestigious RSC Open Stages productions, Will Tuckett’s West Side Story in Newcastle, was referred to as “the RSC’s West Side Story” in a few contexts, demonstrating that for many all that mattered was the name of the RSC. This is problematic not merely because of the confusion about origin, but also because this takes away credit from the communities and companies creating these shows, as the RSC takes precedence and the individuals involved have to overcome this pressure. The national becomes more important than the local.

It’s easy to criticise when you haven’t been directly involved, and I know here I’m being nit-picky (and some of my arguments don’t really hold water), but these things are worth thinking about. I’m not complaining for a second that these productions and collaborations exist, either; they’ve done a lot to add to public understanding of Shakespeare and have given incredible opportunities to thousands of people. The question at the top of this post is a multi-layered, far-reaching one, and I haven’t even begin to answer it. Nevertheless, thinking about the implications which the World Shakespeare Festival has on our wider cultural discourse is important, as is considering what the underlying dogmas are which some of these collaborations bolster.

Looking back at the World Shakespeare Festival: Part Two

Yesterday, I considered broadly the way in which the World Shakespeare Festival mirrored current trends in theatre, both at home and abroad. Today’s question is a little more complex, as we consider the universality of Shakespeare’s work and whether or not the WSF has really demonstrated anything which we didn’t know before.

What have we learned from the Year of Shakespeare productions about the performative qualities of Shakespeare’s plays?

This is a difficult one; we’ve always known that Shakespeare’s plays hold a specific power in performance, and that his work maintains relevance in contemporary settings. This leads us to consider the universality of Shakespeare, not just temporily but also spatially. Seeing directors set plays in the current day demonstrates that the canon certainly has a universality within British culture, but what the Globe to Globe season showed was that his work crosses cultural boundaries too.

Perhaps the best way to loosely define “classic” is this: a work of art which, though set in a certain time, maintains relevance across generations and national boundaries. This is the reason the World Shakespeare Festival exists; though the original dissemination of his work was due to the rise of the British Empire, they now live on due to the fact they have gained a global cultural currency.

Each production performed at the Globe demonstrated a reappropriation of Shakespeare’s work by each company. The South Sudan Theatre Company showed Cymbeline to be a celebration for a new era, and was impossible not to read in the context of the country’s new-found independence. The production used music and dance as a way of breaking up scenes and punctuating key moments, much like the Globe’s in-house shows, though still firmly revolved around the central narrative. By extension then, this proved what we already know; that, though Shakespeare’s language, poetry and characters are all gorgeous creations, it is his stories which inspire and enthuse the world over.

This throws up a small problem, however. Seeing as the majority of Shakespeare’s plays are based on source materials and aren’t original works (though they include plot twists and new characters which were invented for the purposes of each play), we have to question whether it is Shakespeare’s works which are being performed or simply the stories, many of which are merely folklore with a bit of poetry.

So what, then, are the inherently performative aspects of Shakespeare’s works? Why, for example, are the Henry VI plays attributed to the Bard and not to Hall or Holinshead, especially when performed in translation? The best answer is a mixture of the three points mentioned above; language, poetry and character. The first two of these are difficult in translation, but a good translator will take the rhythms and rules of Shakespeare’s verse and transpose them into similar poetic patterns within their own linguistic traditions. The Palestinian Arabic used by Ashtar Theatre in Richard II, for example, used an archaic form of the language, which the actors described as (and I paraphrase) “just as difficult to get your head around as Shakespeare”.

More than that, however, characters remain constant across boundaries; though their motives and nuances change for each production, their super-objective will be the same no matter where they perform, and their fate will remain unchanged. Again, I repeat what I said yesterday, and I apologise for failing to put this in a more erudite way, but each production throughout the Globe to Globe season felt like Shakespeare. We left each in much the same way as we’d leave an Anglophonic production, considering its link to the past, its relevance to now, the choices the characters had to make and with a spinning head after trying to understand the language.

In what ways have these productions succeeded or failed in creating a shared frame of reference for spectators?

Only those who saw every World Shakespeare Festival production (and I imagine that group is very small indeed, if not nonexistent) are able to share a solid reference point withanyone else who saw at least one production. Nonetheless, a conversation has grown out of the event, and even those with only one ticket under their belt have been able to join in the debate in some way.

The Globe to Globe season, as perhaps the most public part of the World Shakespeare Festival, has meant a large-scale discussion about translation and international Shakespeare. British audiences have seen that we are not the only nation who can do Shakespeare well and that other languages shed new light on the plays. In this instance, the ongoing debate is not one which focusses on the plays individually but the nature of the festival as a whole; someone who saw Belarus Free Theatre’s King Lear can discuss how Shakespeare differs in translation with someone who saw Romeo and Juliet in Baghdad, each providing different examples of the merits of setting the plays in different nations. The same is true of someone who saw Julius Caesar at the RSC and someone else who saw Julius Caesar at the Globe, though the discussion shifts slightly then to one which focusses more heavily on the play.

I do worry a little, however, that this marks “the other” as the focus of what is being discussed and shoving all foreign language Shakespeares into the same bag without necessarily understanding their differences. Rather than talk about productions in English, French, Albanian, Arabic, Maori etc, we talk about productions in English and productions In A Different Language.

One of the strengths of the WSF – that it contained such a variety of plays, companies and styles – is also, then, its downfall. By choosing not to curate around a particular theme or idea other than “Internationalism”, the Festival lacked any identifiable theme which could be picked up in conversation. Most of the conversations I’ve had about the season have focussed around the nature and ethics of the Festival as a whole rather than specific productions.

 

I understand neither of these questions have really been answered here, but these are my initial thoughts on the issues. Once again, without having seen every show it is impossible to discuss with any comprehensiveness any overriding themes or narratives, so that instead we ask bigger, more oblique questions. This is neither a Good Thing nor a Bad Thing, but it’s a shame that individual productions at the Festival don’t get so much attention due to being lost in the noise of the complete entity.

Looking back at the World Shakespeare Festival: Part One

Now that the World Shakespeare Festival is pretty much over, the time has come to question the effects and implications of the shows chosen on Shakespeare studies, international conversations and theatre in general. At a symposium at the Shakespeare Institute last week, ran by Paul Edmondson, Paul Prescott and Erin Sullivan and attended by a host of Shakespearean academics (and myself), these questions were laid on the table and an attempt made to begin answering them. Most in the group had contributed to www.yearofshakespeare.com. Between us, we had – I think – seen every single production the WSF had organised. Looking back over my diary, I managed to see nineteen WSF shows (plus all of the BBC Shakespeare coverage), though regrettably none of them were outside Stratford or London (ten at the RSC, eight at the Globe and one at the National). Nonetheless, I managed to see a pretty diverse range of productions, so I’ll try to deconstruct some thoughts on the whole thing on a series of blog posts over the coming days.

As a framework, I’ll be using a series of seven questions presented to us last Thursday:

1. What might the Year of Shakespeare productions and events suggest about current and emerging global performance trends, tropes and turns?
2. What have we learned from the Year of Shakespeare productions about the performative qualities of Shakespeare’s plays? In what ways have these productions succeeded or failed in creating a shared frame of reference for spectators?
3. What varieties of artistic collaboration emerged during this Year of Shakespeare and what kinds of artistic, civic, and/or ethical implications might they hold?
4. How might the UK’s hosting of the Olympic Games have inflected our reading of Year of Shakespeare productions and events?
5. What implications might the 2012 Year of Shakespeare festivities hold for upcoming Shakespeare celebrations in 2014/16?
6. How might the Shakespeare productions or events this year influence the way we teach Shakespeare? What are the obstacles to productive change?
7. What were the ‘moments of clarity’ for you during the 2012 Shakespeare festivities – i.e. when did particular interests, questions, or concerns come into focus?

As I go, I’ll use examples and discussions given at the event last week to try to give a little more depth to my limited knowledge of the festival. Anyway, here we go.

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What might the Year of Shakespeare productions and events suggest about current and emerging global performance trends, tropes and turns?

Question One provides the longest answer, but it is perhaps the most straightforward. All we have to do is find current trends surrounding the 2012 theatrical landscape and then discover where in the dialogue about the WSF they are present. Some of the most interesting and passionate debates I’ve had about theatre over the past year have centred around these three broad topics:

• Interpretation and adaptation
• Collaboration
• Criticism and reception

I’d like first to point out that this is in no way the only things which are being talked about nor even a comprehensive discussion of said trends; these are merely the conversations I’ve been having and their relation to the WSF.

Interpretation and Adaptation

This is a particularly thorny subject, especially with regard to the performance of Shakespeare and the classical canon. When does Shakespeare stop being Shakespeare? Is this distinction textual  (by editing the script, have you tampered with the original intention) or theatrical (some may argue that only Shakespeare plays performed in their original setting at the Globe is truly Shakespeare). The Globe to Globe performances could well be considered “not Shakespeare” due to the fact they’ve been translated and cut, meaning they’re Shakespeare twice removed.

These parameters, however, are slowly being disintegrated so that we accept Shakespeare however it is presented. It’s important to turn the question round here and see that when, for example, The Misanthrope is presented in London, though it may be “in a new version by Martin Crimp”, it is still well and truly Moliere’s play.

It’s also interesting to look at traditions of Shakespeare abroad. Many European practitioners are unafraid to tamper with the Bard’s works, subtracting and adding as they see fit. Andreas Kriegenburg’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream which I saw at the Deutsches Theater earlier this year, though far from perfect, played with Shakespeare’s play fast and loose. But though in a different language and recast for a different theatrical tradition, it was still unmistakably Shakespeare.

These questions had to continually be asked throughout the Globe to Globe season. Richard II, though set in Palestine and performed in Palestinian Arabic, still considered the same themes as the original and encapsulated the spirit of what the Bard was writing.

Interestingly, the most contentious WSF production, Troilus and Cressida, was one of the few to include a largely text. I don’t quite know what this suggests, but I do think the trend towards edited and adapted versions of the Canon has meant the limits of what Shakespeare ‘is‘ have been widened. We are now happy to accept more work as “by [or after] William Shakespeare”; as long as the “spirit” is Shakespeare is encapsulated, his name can be used.

Collaboration

This leads smoothly onto the trend for collaboration; I have no issue with works which bear little resemblance to the original taking its title or author due to the fact that theatre is an inherently collaborative form. Wanting to cut or play around with Shakespeare and his contemporaries does not mean we believe ourselves to be “better than Shakespeare”, merely that we acknowledge the four-hundred years since the play’s conception have added a great deal of textual resonance to the piece. We must also never forget the work of Jan Kott, treating old plays as if they were new works, with the creative license that the latter gives. We are not better than Shakespeare. We are collaborating with him.

As our world becomes smaller, it becomes easier to experience other lifestyles and cultures, meaning that international theatre collaborations are becoming ever more prevalent (I know cross-cultural productions have been staple for a good fifty years, but where the invention of flight began to chip away at the borders between nations, the internet took a wrecking ball to it). All the Globe to Globe productions were, by definition, collaborative; they had a British commissioner, native producer, a translator, director and dozens of other creatives. Nonetheless, the strict rules which Locoq placed on the season did seem a little restrictive and, rather than being a platform through which different companies and identities educated one another, it became something a bit too akin to a showcase. Sometimes, the tone felt like “We’ve given you the money, now show us what you’ve got”. The season was a resounding success, but more emphasis on true artistic collaborations could have made it a richer cultural experience.

In my eyes, the two most interesting pieces in this discussion were the RSC’s King John and Troilus and Cressida (I’m sorry, I’ll be mentioning it a lot in the coming posts). The former worked largely within British theatrical tradition but was created in a way which clearly focussed on collaboration. Headed by Maria Aberg (a Swedish director) and with significant input from Dramaturg Jeanie O’Hare and the various designers, the effect was one of plurality. Whether King John slotted into the remit of the World Shakespeare Festival is questionable, especially when placed beside the RSC/Wooster Group venture. Like it or not, Troilus and Cressida embodied what I understood the festival was supposed to be about; joining with international companies and learning what they can teach us about how they “do” Shakespeare. It’s also key in this respect that the companies rehearsed separately until the latter stages of the process before colliding head-on in performance. By putting two starkly opposed ways of working in opposition, they were able to inform and illuminate one another. True, Rupert Goold’s original plan to have a postmodern metathetrical RSC-in-ruffs take on proceedings may have been a bit more successful, but the production nonetheless showed two traditions playing off each other and creating sparks in the process.

Criticism and Reception

It could be that I assign to this point more credit than it’s worth due to my interest in the subject, but it can’t be denied that the way in which we watch and talk about theatre has changed dramatically within the past five years. The influence of blogs, Twitter and websites has seen the advent of a new age of theatre criticism.

That discussion cannot be had in full here (I’ll leave it for another day), because the key point here is how this trend for long-form criticism and more immediate audience feedback relates to the WSF. Throughout the summer, hundreds of blogs and twitter feeds have commented on shows and events, adding to the abundance of opinions and thoughts surrounding the productions. Consciously or not, every review posted on a blog is written in reaction to the strict confines and creatively stunted main-stream media review structure. Whereas during the Complete Works Festival in 2006, blogs were only just beginning to gain a following, in 2012 they are a constant reminder that the opinions of the newspaper critics are not the only ones out there. Take a look at the difference in opinion between the press reviews of Troilus and Cressida and their long-f0rm online cousins, and you see a marked difference.

The same shift is also happening in academic circles; normally, academic reviews of productions happen months after the event in journals (or “posthumously” as some described it on Thursday). The creation of http://yearofshakespeare.com/ however, meant that similar reviews were able to be discussed within days in long-form (though not as long, perhaps, as true journal entries). Star ratings were shunned and an emphasis was placed on discussion and debate, ensuring that no one person’s opinion was seen as gospel. There are discussions that this sort of forum will continue after 2012 as a space to consider Shakespearean productions in an informal academic discussion; there is no doubt this would complement the work of the bloggosphere beautifully.

The concluding thoughts at the Shakespeare Institute centred around “The 2012-ness of the World Shakespeare Festival”, and what made the event specific to now. From my perspective, the Olympics and surrounding events have marked a point at which cultural event fed into wide social discourse in a way which hasn’t been seen before. We can be tweeting, facebooking and blogging before, during and after going to see a theatrical production or a sporting event, sharing our thoughts not simply with our closest friends but with the whole world. 2012 perhaps marks the point at which social media reaches its peak before new methods of communication are found and the existing formats become stale. In the context of the World Shakespeare Festival, this has meant thousands of opinions on singular performances, as the notion of the lone, objective critic is destroyed and theatre is placed back into the hands of those to whom it belongs: the people.

“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.

“Henry VI Part 2″ by William Shakespeare

at Shakespeare’s Globe, Sunday 13th May 2012

The time has come. After a handful of sub-par productions presented as part of the World Shakespeare Festival, the Globe to Globe season has struck shit with the National Theatre of Albania’s take on Henry VI Part 2. I can’t remember the last time I saw such a shoddy, lazy production of a Shakespeare play.

If there was an interpretation, it was nigh-on impossible to spot. The extent of Adonis Filipi’s direction was a decision to put the opposing sides in red and blue and shove in a number of under-rehearsed movement pieces, which involved out-of-time actors performing steps either up and down or round and round (the séance is particularly laughable). Oh, and Filipi also throws in some scooters at the beginning for good measure. Don’t ask me why.

If audience members come out of this production thinking it was a play about people standing and shouting at one another, they’d be forgiven; I don’t know whether or not the National Theatre of Albania has an amateur-quota to fill, but it certainly feels that way. The actors look bored when not speaking, gazing into space or looking at the audience. Indrit Cobani’s Henry is weak and lifeless with no clout, and Yllka Mujo’s performance as Eleanor is completely overdone. There is some redemption in the form of Ermira Hysaj’s stoic Margaret, though her relationship with Suffolk (a passable Dritan Boriçi) is barely explored.

Lay this on top of Anila Zajmi Katanolli’s showy costumes, Armand Broshka’s quietly filmic but ill-fitting music and scene changes which wouldn’t look out of place in a school play, and you can imagine the results. I didn’t know it was possible, but Filipi has managed to create a production one of Shakespeare’s most political plays which says almost nothing.

“Henry VI Part 1″ by William Shakespeare

at Shakespeare’s Globe, Sunday 13th May 2012

I don’t envy National Theatre Belgrade for being given Henry VI Part 1 as their play in the Globe to Globe season; creating an exciting, sustained production of – arguably – one of Shakespeare’s worst plays without the narrative of the rest of the trilogy to prop up ideas is no mean feat. Astonishingly, however, under Nikita Milivojević’s direction, the play is given drama, intrigue and dashings of comedy.

Henry V’s ashes preside over the central round table, watching down on these squabbling protagonists until the end of the play. As his friends and heirs fight it out over who the kingdom belongs to, we are constantly reminded of a more harmonious period. In the present, however, there is no chance of peace any time soon, and whenever is slips into reach, it disappears swiftly.

Milivojević’s production, performed in Serbian, revels in the farcical nature of these factions. Much is made of Pavle Jerinić and Bojan Krivokapić’s comic messengers, who guide us through England’s confusing history with some wonderful bits of slapstick.

Elsewhere, it’s very clear to see that this is a production which sees the differences between the Yorkists and Lancastrians as petty and inconsequential. Boris Maksimović’s ingenious set, consisting of the central table which splits into various sections in order to create multiple settings, becomes a character in itself, dividing and segregating; the characters take their anger out on it by bashing loud drum beats on its surfaces to the time of Bora Dugić’s doom-laden music.

It’s easy to forget there are only twelve actors performing the many roles in this play. Though characterisations are sometimes reduced to archetypes (Predrag Ejdus’ Winchester) and some actors succumb to overacting at times, most cast members shine. Hadzi Nenad Marićić’s Henry and Aleksander Srećković’s Charles are well balanced, whilst neither Boris Pingović’s Somerset nor Slobodan Beŝtić’s Plantagenet come off well in their feud. Jelena Dulvezan, the only woman in the play, seems like the only sane person in this world of men.

There are a few issues; the slow-motion fighting could be a lot tighter and the scene changes smoother, but these are small problems in an otherwise brilliant piece of work. Marina Medenica’s intricate period costumes anchor the production in the past, but throughout we are constantly reminded that these banalities are exactly the basis for many wars. And as Henry V’s ashes are spilt by the messengers in a hilarious scene at the close of the play, it feels like the spectre of the past has disappeared and the stage has been set for clear future. If only that were the case.

“Two Roses for Richard III”

by Companhia Bufomecânica, based on Shakespeare’s Richard III

at the Courtyard Theatre, Tuesday 8th May 2012

*The performance reviewed was the last preview*

In 1863, Alexis de Tocqueville wrote of his concern that the work of artists would become “surcharged with immense and incoherent imagery, with exaggerated descriptions and strange creations”, making us “regret” reality. The Brazilian Companhia Bufomecânica’s Two Roses for Richard III, presented in Portuguese as part of the World Shakespeare Festival, is guilty of exactly these vices, and is such a hotch-potch of ideas and images (many of which are fantastic), presented with little coherence, that it is extremely difficult to follow, lacks drama and leaves us craving for a little sanity.

According to the programme notes, this production has taken inspiration from all eight of Shakespeare’s histories in order to present a new, contemporary version of Richard III. Alas, this barely comes through in the final production, which is basically a translated and conservatively edited production of the last History with a smattering of references to the prequels and a few postmodern asides to the audience (“I don’t know how to die on stage. I’m just an actor!”).

The show opens with an orgiastic movement number, with actors discarding their modern clothes in favour of generic-Elizabethan apparel. Richard, semi-naked, recounts his favourite speech, but before we know it three different actors are playing the character in the Lady Anne scene (supposedly to demonstrate his multi-faceted personality). Rowan Atkinson look-a-like Savio Moll takes most of Richard’s lines for the rest of the play, playing him as petulant and short-tempered, before Carol Machado plays the falling king in the final scenes opposite Julia Lund’s stoic Richmond. These shifts work academically, but on stage without signposts like common costumes or accessories it becomes difficult to follow who’s who and the nuanced differences between the versions.

Total theatre is attempted by directors Cláudio Baltar and Fabio Ferreira, incoporating projection, music, dance and acrobatics into the performance, but it is not fully achieved due to the overwhelming sense that the pieces of the jigsaw do not fit together. Renato and Rico Vilarouca’s video images look stunning, but have little in common with the subject matter of the scene, and Paulo Mantuano’s movement, though clever, too often lasts longer than is welcome (when the women are mourning, the cast just moves around the stage slowly for five minutes). Fernando Mello da Costa and Rostand Albuqueque’s set provides a sweeping blue platform for these aspects to play on, falling down from the back before jutting out and down towards the audience like a dropped ribbon.

The defining moments of this production are the carnivalesque circus acts, choreographed by Renato Linhares, which are used to represent murders or the supernatural. Clarence’s murderers climb onto a floating ladder to murder their charge and the two princes are slaughtered within what look like gigantic finger-traps, whilst the ghosts berate Richard and champion Richmond from high above the audience. Some stunning images are created, and along with Fabiano Krieger and Lucas Marcier’s fantastic soundtrack, which covers everything from basic drumming to contemporary electronica, we are treated to some moments of unadulterated theatricality.

Unfortunately, however, these stand-out scenes are negated by the saturation of ideas presented, which makes it difficult to know where to look or what to listen to (a fact not helped by the fact we find ourselves reading the English subtitles throughout). The visual effects do not add anything to the storyline and actually detract from the drama of Shakespeare’s text even if they do create memorable snapshots. As an academic exercise, Two Roses for Richard III throws up some interesting points about the play, its context and theatre in general, but the company would do well to undergo a little reflection to pare the production back in order to serve itself better as a piece of theatre. As it stands, it seems de Tocqueville was right, and over much of this long three-and-a-quarter hours we long to return to a concrete reality.

“Cymbeline” by William Shakespeare

at Shakespeare’s Globe, Wednesday 2nd May 2012

At first, the LED screens the Globe has installed for the Globe to Globe season are mildly irritating; they give only scene synopses, are sometimes out of sync with the performance and don’t allow us to understand the words which are being spoken. After half an hour, however, they stop being annoying as we learn that the decision not to have a direct translation is a smart one; it allows us to concentrate on the performance in question. This works wonders for the South Sudan Theatre Company’s production of Cymbeline, which has such a focus on visual storytelling that superfluous words would detract from the action.

Firstly, let it be made clear that this is by no means whatsoever a polished production; it is extremely messy (not in a good way), and sequences such as the battle scene which could be spectacular are disappointingly under-rehearsed. To me, the arbitrary asides to the audience in English add to the incongruity and the tin-foil spears and swords are surely avoidable, adding nothing, and scenes are spoiled by a missed cue or muddled entrance.

Often, however, the spontaneity is welcome, and adds to the focus on telling this story simply and effectively. Seeing as this is one of Shakespeare’s lesser-known plots, the clear characterisations work well and the lack of experimentation is probably useful. We have no trouble decoding that this is a play about mistaken identity, mixed messages and, chiefly, loss.

Joseph Abuk & Derik Uya Alfred, the co-directors, give the play a tribal flavour exempt from any clear political statements (though it’s difficult not to be put in mind of South Sudan’s recent history in the reconciliatory ending). Use of comedy and slapstick is used sparingly and only when the scene requires it whilst speeches which hear characters recounting a story put emphasis wholly on their tale (Victor Lado Wani’s opening of Act Two with Bilarus’ story is particularly memorable).

Acting takes precedence, and we are treated to some marvellous performances. Dominic Gorgory Lahore’s Cloten is dynamic, reminiscent of Hotspur, and Francis Paulino Lugali’s Posthumus does well not to become a damp romantic lead. With Margret Kowato at the helm, however, this is clearly Imogen’s play. The extremes of her emotion are remarkably portrayed, and through her performance we seem to understand what she’s saying, even without the comfort of the English language.

Although the lack of polish is hard to forgive here, the passion of the production carries it through; it is by no means exceptional but manages to get to the emotional heart of the play with very little by way of design. Through wit and a glimmer in their eyes, these actors manage to charm us, and after the euphoric finale, it’s difficult not to fall in love with this company.