by William Shakespeare
Directed by Michael Langham
At the Tom Patterson Theatre
May 21-October 4, 2008

    The program cover shows Peter Donaldson as the Spanish fantastical Don Adriano de Armado, which should be a hint that in this production it shall be the veteran Shakespeareans who will have top acting honours. And, indeed, it is abundantly clear while watching Michael Langham’s umpteenth version of this romantic comedy that the very experienced Donaldson, Brian Tree, and Steven Sutcliffe shine in their roles, while the young performers (cutting their professional teeth at the Birmingham Conservatory for Classical Theatre) have a lot to learn about Shakespearean acting. The disparity in levels and styles is sometimes jarring and more often than not a blemish on the general quality of Langham’s production, and while this mounting is certainly not a failure, it is hardly the feast of language, wit, and romantic comedy that it has been in other Stratford productions I have seen, the most notable of which were Robin Phillips’ unforgettable one in 1979 that showed why this comedy should never lose theatrical status and Langham’s version in 1983 when John Neville created the most vivid and affecting Armado imaginable.

   When performed well, this play has a silken elegance, a beautiful exuberance, a hearty rustic comic spirit, and a wondrous transformation of mood. In spinning its tale of the young King of Navarre and his three companion lords who quickly break their solemn oath of monastic study when the beautiful Princess of France and her three attendant ladies appear on the scene, the play revels in playful linguistic, physical, and emotional gamesmanship that turn Lyly’s Euphues (one of its inspirations) on its highfalutin head. Romance in the sense of love and adventure suffuses the minimal plot, with subplots parodying or spinning out of the principal plot. The unifying theme appears to be euphoria or ecstasy: the quartet of Navarre and his equally love-struck lords are enthusiastically game but amateur lovers; Don Armado is quite overcome by his own delicate loftiness and romantic fantasy; the pedant Holofernes and curate Nathaniel are immersed in their own rapture of outlandish Latinate pedantry and sly lewdness; the “country copulatives” (Costard and Jaquenetta) thrive on their rustic sexual and amatory exercises; and even the agent of law (Constable Dull) is entangled in his ardour for misunderstood and misused authority. The prevailing mood is changed, of course, with Marcade’s entrance during the ridiculous performance of the Nine Worthies, when he brings news of the death of the Princess’ father. Death and the weight of the real world fall heavily on the gaiety of the moment. The scene begins to cloud, but all is brought to a soothing, melodic finish with the final song of the play, and an acceptance of deeply felt existential realities.

   Many of these patterns wear thin in this production because of a lack of experience and conviction in the younger members of the cast. Langham and designer Charlotte Dean offer help in choreography, staging, and costuming. Langham is a past master of the thrust stage, though his preference for circular movement looks like a chronic addiction without substance in the case of the young performers who do not know how to fill the choreography with motive and effect. Ms. Dean supplies wonderful Cavalier costumes that many of the young performers don’t wear well enough. Indeed, many of the actors seem to be dressed in borrowed robes that are too big for their talent. The opening speech of Navarre (Trent Pardy) exposes an actor who doesn’t know where to break a phrase or develop a thought. A slow delivery does not necessarily guarantee or enhance meaning. The play seems to stand still when the three lords and the King are on the scene. However, Ian Lake’s “merry madcap” Berowne saves his side by his more suitable rhythm and tempo of verse speaking and acting. On the female side, only Alana Hawley’s Princess of France shows she belongs in higher company. Her attendants show promise but it is still too early for them (or their male counterparts) to shine in the feast of language that requires connoisseurs of rhetoric, not casual drop-ins.

   It is the veterans or relative veterans who give Langham’s production its real weight and colour. Though this is David Collins’ Stratford debut, this actor has had considerable experience on stage, film, TV, and radio. He is almost unrecognizable as Constable Dull, transforming himself into a figure of earthy, dull-witted fun. There’s also the gay, skipping Boyet of Steven Sutcliffe and the clowning of Brian Tree’s Costard that makes antic hay with the bawdy and two misunderstood words, but the central veteran is Donaldson, whose Armado is of a “sable coloured melancholy” at least in attitude if not in actual sensibility. This actor seems to have modeled his comedy on the late William Hutt’s, imitating that great classical actor’s amusing pigeon-toed walk and delayed comic timing. Where John Neville’s Spaniard floated in a sort of fey Don Quixote mode, Donaldson’s clumps along, finding the comedy in his role rather than being steeped in it. Nevertheless, in this production, he is more than enough for his part. 

    Yet, it is unfair and incorrect to give all praise to the veterans. Gareth Potter scores as Nathaniel, while John Vickery is a hoot as Holofernes, that eccentric pedant who could serve as paradigm for effete academic bombast. The most brilliant performance of any on stage comes from eleven-year old Abigail Winter-Culliford who may not know exactly what her lines truly mean as Moth (Armado’s page), but who delivers them as if she surely knew. Her presence is luminous and her movement wondrously relaxed and graceful. With her cheeky wit, she is the perfect foil to Donaldson’s ridiculously haughty Armado.

Photos: David Hou

pic 1: Members of the Company

pic 2: Abigail Winter-Culliford (Moth) and Peter Donaldson (Don Armado)

pic 3: John Vickery as Holofernes


Go Back to: Stage Reviews