Conrad Nelson’s production of The Winter’s Tale for Northern Broadsides is the most stripped-back production I’ve seen. We saw it performed in the round at the New Victoria Theatre in Stoke where the stage was bare, but for an occasional bench or something similar.
The result is to focus attention on Shakespeare’s words and symbolism – and on the quality of the acting which, as always with Northern Broadsides, was very high indeed with notable performances by Conrad Nelson himself in the role of Leontes, Ruth Alexander as Paulina, Mike Hugo as Autolycus, and Jessica Dyas and Lauryn Redding as the sparring peasant girls Mopsa and Dorcas. Continue reading “A stripped-back Winter’s Tale from Northern Broadsides”→
The weight of this sad time we must obey;
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most: we that are young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
Jonathan Miller’s touring production of King Lear for Northern Broadsides arrived at the Playhouse this week. It’s a stark, pared-down staging of Shakespeare’s starkest play, in which the weight of suffering at times feels almost as unendurable for the audience as it is for its characters. Continue reading “Northern accents in Jonathan Miller’s King Lear”→
It’s an odd play, Shakespeare’s Love’s Labour’s Lost, one of his least popular creations, widely regarded as difficult and inaccessible. But at Newcastle’s New Victoria Theatre on Saturday night the ever-reliable Northern Broadsides production made for a really enjoyable evening’s entertainment.
It’s a comedy with a plot so minimal it’s virtually nonexistent: the King of Navarre and three nobles take an oath to devote themselves to study for three years and during that time to eschew the company of women. Meanwhile the French Princess and her three ladies have arrived in the kingdom and the King insists that the women make their camp in a field outside of his castle. Then – well, you know what happens – the men meet the women and instantly all fall comically in love.
Beyond that, there is very little plot development. The sort of mistakes and misunderstandings that in other Shakespeare plays would lead to complications and plot twists – mis-delivered letters, masks and disguises – are here untangled almost instantly. Instead, the comedy rests on the extensive word-play, punning and literary allusions bandied about by four young men infatuated with their own verbal and intellectual dexterity. It’s a bit like an extended metaphysical poem, and reflects that fascination with the scintillating possibilities that characterised intellectual life in the 1590s. But, as well as demonstrating that he can cut the mustard too, Shakespeare is also taking the mickey: as Michael Billington put it in The Guardian, ‘Shakespeare’s play rejoices in the very verbal virtuosity it is satirising’.
This is what makes it a ‘difficult’ play for modern audiences – a great deal of the comedy passes you by because it relies on the sort of wit and repartee that was clever in the late 16th century, but whose meaning four centuries later can often only be understood by referring to textual footnotes. Fortunately, there is a lot more to the play, and with a lively production and sensitive acting such as we have here, it can be great fun.
There’s a comic Spanish nobleman (named, ten years after the Armada, Adriano De Armado), pompous and also fond of convoluted word games, and Costard, a country bumpkin who gets the letters mixed up. There’s a play within a play (with echoes of the one Shakespeare was to have even more fun with in A Midsummer Night’s Dream the following year), and, in this production, much song and dance.
Indeed, towards the end everyone is having a high old time cavorting around the stage singing rustic songs and pledging their troth when abruptly Mercade the messenger enters with news that halts the jollity instantly. It is as if we’ve been raoaring along at 70 mph and Shakespeare suddenly applies the handbrake. The princess’s father is dead, and the bubble of youthful exuberance is burst. Illness, old age and death force their way in, and each young nobleman is forced to make a pledge in which they leave behind their youthful frivolity – one to spend a year with the sick and dying, tasked to make them smile and so weeding the ‘wormwood’ of jests and mockery from his brain. Springtime is gone; it’s winter:
When icicles hang by the wall And Dick the shepherd blows his nail And Tom bears logs into the hall And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul
This Northern Broadsides production bursts with energy, music and zestful performance. The Princess and her three ladies (Sophia Hatfield with Catherine Kinsella, Hester Arden and Rebecca Hutchinson) form a quartet of feisty women who give us as good as they get. Among the noblemen Matt Connor as the sceptical Berowne gives a fine performance. There are outstanding portrayals of minor characters, too, among them Adam Fogarty as Costard and Emily Aston as Jacquenetta the milkmaid. There’s a hilarious bit in the play-within-the-play in which Dean Whatton as the Spaniard’s diminutive page is cast as Hercules and destroys a serpent in a most convincing manner. But the whole cast succeed in expressing Shakespeare’s convoluted text so fluently that, even if you fail to follow bits of the 16th century word-play, you are still swept along in the overall joie de vivre.
This is a twentieth anniversary production for Northern Broadsides – it’s that long since actor Barrie Rutter came up with the idea of presenting a classical play with an all-northern cast. The company he created to do it he called Northern Broadsides, and it’s still going strong. To celebrate, the company thought it would be great to get as many Old Broadsiders back on stage as possible. So each night during the Love’s Labour’s Losttour, the 16-strong cast will be joined on stage by a guest actor who’s performed with the company at some point over the last 20 years, playing the role of the messenger.
If you go to see this production, buy the programme: there’s a superb introduction to the play written by Mike Poulton in which he discusses various meanings of the title (all those apostrophes) and speculates on its origins.