PATRICK MARMION theatre review: A tale of two Twelfth Nights... but which one's top?

Twelfth Night (Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon) 

Rating:

Verdict: Clowning glory

Twelfth Night (Orange Tree Theatre, Richmond)

Rating:

Verdict: Ravishing treat

Now the 12 days of Christmas are upon us, who comes out on top in two festive stagings of Shakespeare’s midwinter comedy? 

In Stratford, we have a full-scale RSC revival starring All Creatures Great And Small’s Siegfried Farnon (also known as Samuel West).  And in Richmond we have a gorgeously intimate production with veterans including Jane Asher, Oliver Ford Davies and Clive Francis. 

The RSC production majors on polishing up the play’s antique comedy, with Michael Grady-Hall turning the fool, Feste, into a circus clown. He completely steals the show, telling the story of shipwrecked twin, Viola, who disguises herself as a man to become a go-between for the Duke of Illyria — only to find that the Duke’s beloved Lady Olivia falls for her instead. West is perfectly snooty as Lady Olivia’s haughty manservant Malvolio, affecting an officious nasally twang. 

He pushes all the right buttons when he’s tricked into wooing Freema Agyeman’s horrified Olivia. But whether you find him funny depends on how you feel about middle-aged men wearing bondage gear below the waist. It wasn’t for me. 

There’s more original invention from Joplin Sibtain, who plays Olivia’s wayward uncle Sir Toby Belch as an ageing public-school roué with the nasty side of a hardened boozer. Gwyneth Keyworth makes a solid Viola, anxious and earnest, but I never felt there was much danger of her relationship with Agyeman’s Olivia bursting into full-blown passion. 

Instead, Grady-Hall runs the show, working tirelessly to make mirth and present laughter. A clown in the surreal eastern European tradition, he controls lights with a giant bell-pull, and cues sound- effects when stepping on and off the stage. It’s as though Cirque Du Soleil has come early — especially when he’s encumbered with a frilly yellow clown suit fitted with a dispiriting banana codpiece. 

Much of the action is set (for no obvious reason) in front of a vast organ loft, with huge pipes like giant fountain pens. But Prasanna Puwanarajah’s production pulls the ensemble, and us, in too many different directions. Accents range from Welsh to Scottish, Yorkshire, Cockney, RP — and even North American — leaving the cast to feel like citizens of nowhere. 

Along with ad-libbing, including a ‘WTF!’, a lot of rehearsal room larks have clearly made the final cut. But where Puwanarajah shows a weakness for extraneous capering, Matt Maltese’s music is on much surer ground. At first playful (a lush, Barry Manilow-ish skit), there are thunderous moments of Bach and Widor played on the organ, as well as some camp Hammond organ fairground music. 

Here Grady-Hall strikes again, showing that beneath his goofy appearance he has a heart-stoppingly beautiful voice. Singing Present Mirth and, later, Come Away, Death, he nails the play’s elusive qualities of sadness beneath the seasonal merriment. 

More affecting to me, however, was Tom Littler’s revival of Twelfth Night in Richmond.

His charming show features a lovely cast of old-timers — Oliver Ford Davies as a lugubrious Malvolio, Clive Francis as a hell- raising duffer Sir Toby and Jane Asher as an impish, mischievous housekeeper, Maria — along with younger, up-and-coming actors. 

And his intimate staging, in the Orange Tree’s tiny space, allows us to get more involved with the story. Dorothea Myer-Bennett brings class and sparkle to the reclusive Lady Olivia, who is in mourning for her brother. But she’s lured out of her shell by a lyrical yet vulnerable Patricia Allison as Viola, shipwrecked go-between acting for Tom Kanji’s pining Duke, Orsino. 

A glossy black baby grand piano is parked right in the middle of the pocket hanky- sized stage — whose gold floor is marked as a sundial, to echo themes of passing time. The piano could have been a huge impediment, but instead it focuses the action. Pianist Stefan Bednarczyk ingeniously turns his role of the fool into that of a Noel Cowardish compere, remaining at the keyboard almost throughout, providing cheeky sound effects and eliciting the occasional lump in the throat with melancholy songs and sonatas. 

The storyline where Ford Davies’s Malvolio is tricked into believing Olivia is in love with him is made even meaner by his advanced years (85): a long-suffering manservant, shuffling about in a bowler hat. By contrast, Francis (78) is a gloriously unpredictable Sir Toby: a schemer who combines sycophancy and surliness with cross-eyed inebriation. And Asher makes a fine porcelain miniature as Olivia’s mischievous maid. 

Some of Shakespeare’s ancient word play remains obstinately beyond the reach of humour. But this is a remarkable and charming production that has the added pleasure of making you feel part of the action. At the Royal Shakespeare Theatre until January 18. The Orange Tree Theatre production is almost sold out, but a recording can be streamed via ‘OT On Screen’ from January 28-31.

Swan Lake (Sadler’s Wells)

Rating:

Verdict: New stars are Bourne

Three decades ago, Matthew Bourne’s staging of Swan Lake, with a bare-chested flock of fearsome swans in feather breeches instead of the trad flock of fragile birds in fluttering goose-down tutus, changed the dance-theatre world forever.

Now an astonishing 30-years young, it remains ageless and imperishable.

I have seen two of the three current casts, and the performances are strikingly different but similarly satisfying. None of the dancers are big names, but every one of them is a star in the making.

This fresh generation of hissing, writhing, stamping swans are even more muscular, mesmerising and menacing; the Queen, the image of Princess Margaret in a sumptuous New Look gown, is an even more glacial, unreachable mother, the Prince an even more confused, isolated son.

And as the pathos is heightened, so the comedy is amplified: the young Prince, in piped, crested jim-jams, steps out of his bed and down the backs of his household staff to the floor. A Corgi snaps at the tottering heels of Katrina Lyndon’s hilarious vulgar selfie-taking Girlfriend.

Bourne’s brand of dance-theatre packs such a raw emotional charge that it is all the more articulate for being wordless. Tiny gestures speak volumes: the drunk Prince’s hand begging for his mother’s attention, only to be carelessly disregarded; the sweep of a soot-stained thumb across a forehead denoting the connection between swan and man.

This time I noticed one poignant image previously missed: the star-crossed lovers united in heaven after death. My broken heart cherished this small crumb of comfort.

See it, if you haven’t. See it again — and again — if you have.

Until January 26, then touring.

REVIEWED BY GEORGINA BROWN 

Pantos On Parade

Jack And The Beanstalk (Cliffs Pavilion Southend)

Rating:

Verdict: Not so full of beans

Rylan's pantomime debut — as Spirit Of The Beans — in his native Essex should have been a triumph. We know he can sing and dance. But act? Not so much, as it turns out.

Even that shouldn’t have been a problem, if only the creatives — writer Alan McHugh and director/choreographer Ashley Nottingham — had worked around his weak points. But here he has to carry the show, and fails.

He certainly sinks his teeth into it (ba boom), and is a warm presence on stage, appearing in a range of fabulous costumes by Teresa Nalton.

Sadly, though, the script doesn’t sing — a fact that’s not helped by Rylan swallowing some of his lines.

And the running gag about his mum, Linda, phoning him while he’s on stage soon wears thin.

There are decent local jokes, but Toby Miles as Jack and Georgia Joan Clements as Princess Jill barely get a look-in, For better or worse, Rylan is the star of the show.

Until January 5

Peter Pan (Birmingham Hippodrome)

Rating:

Verdict: A proper spectacle

Alison Hammond, having made her panto debut here last year, returns to her hometown to star as the Magical Mermaid.

It’s a made-up role, of course; but then writers Harry Michaels and Matt Slack pay scant attention to JM Barrie’s story, in which the Darlings and Peter Pan (Noah Harrison) are almost peripheral to the action. Even Nana the dog has only a walk-on part.

No matter, as this is a marvellous spectacle (much helped by Ben Cracknell’s lighting) that has plenty of innuendo for the adults and a scary animatronic Crocodile for the kids, as well as lots of song-and-dance routines by a terrific ensemble.

Ms Hammond is as smiley and bouncy as she is on This Morning and delivers her gags with impressive timing; old panto hands Mr Slack (as Mr Smee) and Andrew Ryan (as the Dame, Mrs Smee) are the show’s comic heart, and Danny Mac makes an unusually sweet Captain Hook. The whole thing zips long under Michael Harrison’s direction.

Until February 2 (birminghamhippodrome.com)

REVIEWED BY VERONICA LEE