In the 1820s, Lord Byron (George Gordon), wrote of the Greek Islands thus:
The Scian and the Teian muse,
The Hero's harp, the lover's lute,
Have found the fame your shores refuse:
Their place of birth alone is mute
To sounds which echo further west
Than your sires' 'Islands of the Blest'...
Which is as good a description of Robert Jones's set - and the ethos - of director Gregory Doran's new RSC production of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night your are ever likely to get in just six lines of classic poetry. And it's that Romantic period of the early 19th century - of poets such as Byron, and their wealthy, and, in many cases, rather stupid, upper-class fellow travellers, and the somewhat languid lifestyle of the near east - that trickles its way through this glorious new interpretation of one of the most beloved - and misunderstood - of Shakespeare's plays, because, for all its comedy, it is still, at centre, a tragedy.
And Twelfth Night is always about Malvolio isn't it, and those ridiculous yellow stockings, and how such a man (a foolish, preening unloved man, but at heart a very lonely, and kindly man) gets his come-uppence for being (in the eyes of his colleagues) something of a pain in the backside. And of course it's those stupid upper-class fellow travellers who persuade one of Malvolio's colleagues to write a letter, supposedly from Malvolio's employer, saying how much she - the employer - is in love with her steward, and that he must wear those yellow stockings to show his love. And of course Malvolio's vanity, and loneliness, get the better of him and, when he discovers the 'joke' that has been played on him falls into a deep pit of bitterness and loathing, destroying what kindliness he had, which, of course, is the tragedy.
In other words Twelfth Night is a play about class and social snobbery, which was something Shakespeare suffered from all his life: he was never part of the 16th and early 17th century literary establishment, never one of the college boys. And let's not forget that on the very day that Shakespeare died Oliver Cromwell started his short-lived university career at Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, and later recalled how that, even then, radical university (Shakespeare had not been university educated) celebrated the playwright's death (not his work or possible legacy, but his actual death) until the early hours. And that snobbery, and the affect it had on him, percolates throughout Shakespeare's work.
As of course does the well tried and tested (too well tried and tested perhaps?) device of a girl dressing as a man (Viola, the twin sister of Sebastian, who doesn't know she has a twin of course) and then having another woman fall in love with her/him, in this case Countess Olivia (who didn't write that letter to her steward Malvolio), a woman who obviously needs to go to Specsavers, but in the end is saved when the real Sebastian turns up, who doesn't know he has a twin sister until a bit of splendid RSC double-take - and a short verbal revelation - makes them both realise who they are, and that they are also from the upper-classes, and therefore splendidly placed to marry into Olivia's upper-class family. Which is the cue for the wealthy hangers-on, who, with gigantic hangovers, can now slink off to the next location of their European tour, with Malvolio plotting a revenge that will probably end with him murdering everyone who has slighted him, culminating in his own suicide. Shakespeare never wrote that revenge. Perhaps it was just too raw?
But with Twelfth Night Shakespeare is having a great deal of fun too (much appreciated by the plebs who made up the 16th century audiences) at the expense of those who would later laugh at his death.
Consequently this new production is not so much about the details of the story, but how those details are unfolded, both verbally and visually in an attempt to make them new.
As stated at the beginning of this piece, visually this production is a stunner, as it is verbally, with Shakespeare's witty and dangerous language spoken as if the actors really understand what they're talking about, and by so doing creating characters that are wholly believable, most especially Richard McCabe's memorable Sir Toby Belch, who is a frightening creature who lacks any remnant of the morality he may once have had: become his friend and you become the friend of a hooligan and a dangerous drunk. McCabe's acting is a delight to watch, although his sideburns were rather distracting at times.
Alexandra Gilbreath's Olivia is played in a lovely low-key fashion that enables the ridiculous comedy of her situation with Malvolio and Viola (disguised as Cesario) to really come to the fore, creating some of the finest stage close-ups you'll ever experience - wonderful stuff.
Naturally enough, most members of the audience will have come to this production to see Richard Wislon's Malvolio, and they will not have gone away disappointed - although perhaps a little surprised to have seen so much of his underwear - because Wilson plays the doomed Malvolio with wit, charm and endless grace that does make the audience warm toward the character, as they no doubt warmed to his TV character, Victor Meldrew. And for an actor, who admits to never having played Shakespeare before, his portrayal of one Shakespeare's most famous creations is up there with the best.
James Fleet's Sir Andrew Aguecheek was worth watching, creating something of a daft old inbred that was an excellent foil to McCabe, and Tony Jayawardena's Fabian, not unlike the daft inbred he played in the BBC's Vicar of Dibley. Good stuff.
But for me the star of this production is Miltos Yerolemon, whose Feste was a delight from beginning to end. One moment he is the thoughtful muse, and a very independent Fool, who you know, one day, will come unstuck and lose his head. When Yerolemon is on stage he becomes the centre of attraction by his acting and dancing skills. I think, probably for the first time, the character of Feste really came alive in this production, giving so much more meaning and pace to the play. And what a beautiful voice Miltos has too. The RSC must use him again.
Twelfth Night - which will become another Doran classic - finishes at Stratford on the 21st November, 2009, before moving to the West End of London.