|
|
|
|
|
|
Rhianna Compton and Rakhee Sharma as part of the royal entourage, Madeline Appiah as Hermione,with Aïcha Kossoko as Paulina and Hilde Cronje as Emilia. Pictures: Marc Brenner The Winter's Tale The Royal Shakespeare Company Stratford-upon-Avon ***** The Royal Shakespeare Company returns to Shakespeare's problem play with its difficult marriage of tragedy and comedy played out on a deceptively basic, even austere set, all under a huge moon suspended above a bare stage. Under Yaël Farber’s mesmerising direction, the emphasis is on jealousy and out of control emotions, visually enhanced by the stark, featureless set. The South African director, with her reputation for inspired and intense interpretations of King Lear and Macbeth, is making her RSC debut and gives us a production which eschews a route of whimsical tragicomedy concerning itself instead with raw emotion descending into madness and eventual redemption. We open in Sicilia, depicted as a cold kingdom in harsh monochrome shades, a land of shadows and harsh light and encircled by water in a stream around the raised set which anyone entering or leaving has to paddle through. It is ruled by Leontes, a king, we discover, whose mind is on the edge of madness in a quite remarkable depiction by Bertie Carvel. We watch as his hail fellow well met wrestling match with his visiting friend, King Polixenes played by John Light, the ruler of Bohemia, turns toxic. Leontes wants his friend to stay but having been there nine months, the timing being important as we will see, Polixenes claims he must return home so Leontesasks his heavily pregnant wife Hermione to persuade him. It is a wonderful performance by Madeline Appiah who brings a regal dignity to the role. John Light as Polixenes and Bertie Carvel as Leontes As Leontes watches his wife and friend in friendly conversation we see the seeds of doubt and suspicion being planted and inch by inch, leaf by leaf they grow before us as Leontes plunges into his own pit of simmering fury. His descent into the madness of jealousy is the anchor upon which all else depends and Carvel does not fail us. His delusional madness is palpable. It sets in train a series of events driven by an equally driven king who, despite reluctance by his advisors and staff, promises vengeance, imprisoning his wife and ordering the murder of Polixenes, who flees. To add to his problems his only son, Mamillius, played in this performance by Isaac Fox, is taken from his mother, falls ill and dies. His death casts a shadow over the rest of the play, a warning of the destruction and tragedy irrational suspicion can wreak. Appiah's portrayal of Hermione's defence in court on the charges of treason, adultery and anything else her husband can throw at her, is a powerful moment, quiet, reasoned, restrained and with a power no amount of fury, screaming or anguish could come close to matching – magnificent theatre. Leah Haile as Perdita and Lewis Bowes as Florize When Hermione gives birth, the king is dissuaded from his preferred option of instant infanticide instead commanding the newborn daughter be taken to some desolate place and dumped to let fate decide her future. And that is Act II sorted. While Leontes rages, it is left to Aïcha Kossoko’s Paulina to carry the torch of justice and morality, with her scenes with the king burning with an underlying tension. She is the wife of Antigonus (Matthew Flynn), the nobleman who had been tasked by the king with the disposing of his unfortunate daughter, and she is the only courtier to challenge the king and defend Hermione even at the risk of her own life. While he demands murders, banishment, consumption by fire of anyone he feels have wronged or betrayed him, it seems Paulina is almost the embodiment of a conscience he can't quite escape. He has no answer. An interval and 16 years later and we are in Bohemia, where Amelda Brown's Shepherdess, had found the newborn Perdita, a name from the Latin for lost, and taken her in as her own. There is a contrast with the monochrome tones of Sicilia with colour and brightness lifting the mood. Oppressive gloom has given way to a bucolic pleasant scene. Adopted daughter Perdita is now in love with Florizel, son of King Polixenes, and he with her, who he believes is a humble shepherdess, which doesn't go down well with dad, who was perhaps looking for a more, should we say, up market union. So, they flee to Sicilia. Trevor Fox as Time the Thief Leah Haile's Perdita and Lewis Bowes' Florizel bring a youthful exuberance, devoid of the angst of Leontes or Polixenes' threats against the marriage with his dire warnings of disinheritance. The confrontation comes at a festival, party or whatever with a sort of fertility dance that did not seem to sit easily into the story, rather like the ballet sequence in West Side Story. It seemed a rather incongruous distraction – although impressive with its columns of flames and haunting vocals from the Songstress of Bohemia, Rhianna Compton Hovering around we have Time the Thief, played by Trevor Fox looking like an escapee from Waiting for Godot, a laconic, chain smoking Geordie figure who breaks the fourth wall to add his view of what is going on; helps our leap of 16 years and fills in the missing bits to keep us in the loop at the end. He also combines his ethereal role with that of Autolycus, who is a conman, pickpocket and thief, one of Shakespeare's delightful rogues to please the Elizabethan crowds by bringing a little trickery and levity. He freely admits he is sometimes honest . . . but only by accident. With our young lovers in Sicilia, looking for some sort of sanctuary, being pursued by Polixenes, who Leontes has ordered to be killed remember, we have to be heading to a reckoning made even more compelling when a new statue of the dead Hermione is revealed by Paulina and Leontes is filled with remorse and regret. Without giving too much away, it also provides us with a remarkable feat of endurance by Madeline Appiah who stands as if chiselled from stone for ages before the truth is revealed. Soutra Gilmour’s design is more symbolic than scenic, with the stage surrounded by water. The design incorporates two revolves and a gas flame projector in the centre of the stage. Above it all, dominating everything is the huge moon illuminated by video from Reuben Cohen and Oli Quintrell creating a revolving orb, with overlays from deathly pale to blood red mirroring moods and emotions, ending with a view of the earth from space. Along with the lighting (Tim Lutkin) it all helped to create a feeling this was never reality, always mystical. An impression aided by ephemeral music composed by Max Perryment and played by the five-piece band with Tonny Shim on violin and Ailsa Mair Fox on cello appearing as ghostly figures on stage and adding to vocals. As for the famous stage direction - "Exit, pursued by a bear" - we have it as a strange shadow which, to be honest says far more in the direction than in its execution in this case. The play hardly depends upon it, but at least give it a bit of a nod . . . There is a coldness about Leontes in this Winter's Tale, yet he is strangely human, his jealousy, his feelings of betrayal, something we can all feel. Yet this is a story not of anger or punishment but forgiveness and redemption, and the world needs that more than ever. Oh, and did we mention . . . everyone lives happily ever after. To 30-08-25 Roger Clarke 29-07-25 |
|
|
|
