Measure for Measure

O God. 'Disappointed from Islington' can't quite contain herself here. breathe. Here goes: Measure for Measure is a Shakespeare play so full of darkly pulsating, morally congealed dramatic potential that Michael Attenborough's production at the Almeida should be ashamed of itself for creating what i can only describe as an incomprehensible (even for someone who knows the story), dated, grossly over-acted and utterly uninspiring piece of theatre. Warped judiciary, sexual deviancy, fanatical dogma, religious extremism, devilish crimes, tainted mercy, double standards, divided loyalty, love destructively refracted - the play is deliciously ripe for juicily compelling drama. For anyone who saw Complicite's production in conjunction with the National Theatre it can be a contemporary, bitingly relevant and magnetic play to watch. This, however, was a muddlingly confused missed opportunity, despite a stellar cast including the brilliant Rory Kinnear (so so so wonderful in The Revenger's Tragedy and the Man of Mode at the National i immediately became a crazed fan - hence, really, why i booked to see this) and Anna Maxwell Martin (who stole my heart in the BBC's Bleak House).

I often find myself having to defend the theatre to people who are put off by what can only be described as the 'actORly-ness' of stage performances. well, this was one strike for them in the perennial battle. Forced, shouty, pompous performances reigned supreme. the agony. i don;t know if some of the characters actually understood at all what they were saying. at times they certainly didn't sound as if they did. Supporting characters Pompey, Escalus and Lucio were fun though, i liked them. I did also think Anna Maxwell Martin's Isabella was rather fabulously priggish; so obsessed by her own purity as to convincingly be prepared to sacrifice her brother's life (often hard to pull off). and i liked flashes of the oleagenous politician in Rory Kinnear's Angelo (save incurably naff touches like putting in contact lenses to replace his glasses in order to impress Isabella).

While the set (for me) gave a fabulously grand nod to the recent Hoerengracht exhibition at The National Gallery, the costumes - what the HELL was going on there? Angelo was a cheap-suited contemporary politician, the Duke dressed in a Da Vinci Code-ish monk's habit before switching to some Gothic velveteen robe, Isabella was dressed for a Jacobean drama while the prostitutes came from down the road King's Cross via Ann Summers. WHAAAAAT? all over the shop.

Still, strangely the play did end on a high for me - and this was because it ended on a low; completely altering (through facial expression rather than script meddling) the usual outcome, which was much more satisfying as normally the ending is unfathomably cheery (although the falsity of this cheery ending does somewhat underline the moral ambiguity of the play, as it's so uncomfortable). still, bold i thought.

I'd like to end by divulging the fact that my beautiful, erudite and highly intelligent theatre companion (who shall remain nameless) fell asleep. ok, jet lag may have played a part, but honestly i would never have believed it from such a switched on character as her. but, i have to confess, a part of me was a bit jealous - she was probably enjoying something a lot more fun in dreamworld.