I’ve been suffering from Tennantitis recently. It is a disease that has spread viciously, and without discrimination, through Britain and especially my home town of Stratford-upon-Avon. I was tantalised at the thought of the Doctor’s Dane, and was unbelievably excited about an evening of the theatrical equivalent of sex. However, when arriving at my seat, I was confronted by the foreboding sight of an 8 year old girl sat on a throne made up of extra RSC cushions, wearing a foam yellow crown, her best dress and her parents seated in the row behind. Shudder. So, I took my seat next to the darling princess. AA Gill wouldn’t have to put up with this.
For the purposes of this exercise, let us call this young lady 'Miss A. Brat'. Miss Brat provided an excellent performance throughout the whole evening. The opening and consumption of Opal Fruits (Starburst…whatever) stood at approximately 30; the number of times she removed and placed her foam crown back on her head was about 200; and the number of times she took her best denim jacket on and off was 15, or thereabouts. It was a very physical, experimental performance.
I caught a little of the play in between being heavily distracted by my seat-fellow’s ADHD. During the first hour of the production, it was much more worthwhile watching Miss Brat.
" I took my seat next to the darling princess. AA Gill wouldn't have to put up with this "
The scenes were static and saturated with arrogance and laziness from both the actors and director. I was sorely disappointed. It didn’t help that I am not a fan of Patrick Stewart who was playing Claudius. I find Stewart a lazy actor; his speech is expressionless and last night verged on soporific: Loud - but expressionless. I saw his Prospero at the RSC a few years back and my brother and I almost walked out we were so unimpressed with his performance. Claudius is a great character to play, he is a calculated Machiavellian, a glorious challenge for any actor. However, Stewart’s Claudius was flat and void of excitement. His scenes were only bearable because they were usually accompanied with the delightful Penny Downie, who was a formidable, complex and vampish Gertrude - and one who provided humour and richness to the scenes.
So far, I was surprisingly unimpressed with this much-hyped production. It felt like we were watching a group actors wading through toffee. Perhaps that is the price you pay for the months of excitement endured before being lucky enough to procure tickets. A disappointment so far, with the exception of Tennant’s quick-witted and electrifying Hamlet.
He was electric and effusive, engaging and agile. This was a twenty-first century Hamlet, a Hamlet of the MySpace generation. An interesting aside for the Hamlet geek: ‘to be or not to be’ often appears after the arrival of the players, whereas in this production, Hamlet ponders the relevance of his existence before. Although this can be seen as perfectly natural, in my mind it makes more sense to place this fundamental speech after he has decided to put on the play to make Claudius confess, as it makes more sense in terms of questioning the human identity. Nonetheless, Tennant’s deliverance potently, yet gently creeps upon the audience.
Photo: Thanks to RSC / Jamie Wallace
Continued...
The 'Player’s Scene' was fabulously camp, and injected much-needed energy into the otherwise static production. Until this point I had thought to myself that the RSC had blown their whole budget on Tennant and could not afford scenery. It signified a change of pace and quality to the whole production. It was grotesque and hideous and consequently very enjoyable.
There were other performers of note that I must mention. Mariah Gale as Ophelia is breathtaking. She portrays Ophelia’s madness with convincing poignancy, and her ‘Tomorrow is St Valentine’s day’ scene, preceding her suicide is one of the most powerful that I have seen in theatre. It was beautiful, raw and edgy.
Oliver Ford Davies as Polonius, Ophelia and Laertes’ father, was an excellent balance of posture and comedy – a wittering and doddery, yet caring father. Peter de Jersey as Horatio was a strong and loyal companion.
Gregory Doran’s Hamlet was an urgent, raw and jittery production. It was not flawless. It seems I may have caught the company as a whole on a tired night, and although some individual performances were very powerful, as a company there seemed to be a lack of cohesion and community, which was disappointing. I look forward to seeing Tennant’s Macbeth in 15 years time, and his Lear in 30 years time. His Hamlet was one I related to, as much as I can to a fictional madman, a nippy and shrewd Hamlet for the twenty-first century.
Hamlet is showing at the Courtyard Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, until 15 November.
Laura Kenwright
No comments:
Post a Comment