What were brilliant were the comic roles - Simon Callow, Charles Edwards and Finty Williams as Toby Belch, Sir Andrew and Maria, the riotously mischievous underlings of Olivia's household who set Malvolio up for his humiliating fall. they were hilarious, especially Sir Andrew, a character who usually irritates the hell out of me, but who was lambasted to the hilt with comic perfection through every gesture. the three characters were such a pleasure to watch - so uniquely silly and so energetic in their rambunctious plotting.
Still, for me, warning signs that i might not leave the theatre glowing with happiness and laughter started the moment Duke Orsino appeared. IE line one. not ideal. He seemed to be an escaped front man from a New Romantics pop band - all flowing locks, open shirt, hairy chest, voluminous velour coat, sweeping strides and languorous, louche lounging. he was utterly nauseating and a completely dickhead... put simply, UNBEARABLE to watch. i contemplated gouging my eyes out with the heel of my shoe. i restrained myself. just. i know Orsino's a bit of a tit - a man in love with the idea of love as Olivia is in love with her state of mourning, but this was insanity. INSANITY. Realist Viola would never have fallen for him.
i also had no truck with things like the scenery... it was downright weird with a sort of sail/canopy construction that was rather pointlessly raised and lowered to create, one supposes, some kind of different atmosphere (?) for the various scenes. A handful of leaves lay strewn by the stage sides while mini houses rested on a shelf at the back of the stage signifying the town in the distance. Result, in my opinion: A Level set decoration. Ditto costumes, which were Elizabethan + strange forays into lurid tones. Olivia's orange dress was enough to burn holes in the retina.
i could go on. i won't, but needless to say i was pretty disappointed, which was sad.
Twelfth Night is on at the National Theatre and runs until March 2.
No comments:
Post a Comment