The RSC's Titus Andronicus: 'Blood and revenge are hammering in my head'.

My last experience of Shakespeare at the RSC was truly horrible (see my Hamlet review), but Titus Andronicus at the Swan Theatre could not have been more different: it was, put simply, a gorgeous spectacle of gore.

We open on the Swan Theatre completely transformed from when I last saw it (only a week previously, for Candide), fitted with baroque arches, moody lighting and a distinctly moroccan - certainly foreign - feel. At the beginning of the play the action occurs very quickly. We soon learn that the three body-bags on stage hold the corpses of Titus Andronicus' (a noble general, played by Stephen Boxer) sons, killed in battle. They are buried, and he enacts a vengeful punishment on the son of the queen of the Goths - allowing his remaining living sons to tear him limb from limb. This first act of retribution becomes the fuel for much of the play's subsequent action, Tamora (Katy Stephens), the queen of the goths marrying Saturninus (the deceased emperor's son, who Titus recommends should be made emperor). With her remaining sons Demetrius (Perry Millward) and Chiron (Jonny Weldon), she plots to eventually wreak vengeance on Titus, from her newly elevated position of power. Meanwhile, Titus kills one of his sons for disobeying him (random, I know), and his beautiful daughter Lavinia betrays him by secretly marrying Bassanius, Saturninus' brother. etc, etc. Sorry to run through this so quickly, but it's basically all plot, and we need to get to the juicy bits!

Now we get to the good part. Demetrius and Chiron, Tamora's two foul, ravenously youthful, horny sons are crudely fighting over their respective wishes to 'obtain' fair Lavinia (Rose Reynolds): by obtain, I mean penetrate. Aaron (Kevin Harvey), a Goth moor arrives on the scene, and contrives a plan whereby they will both be gratified. At this stage, it becomes apparent he has 'obtained' their mother, repeatedly. The reason as to why he helps them is vague, but he figures as an essentially darkly mischievous figure, bound to to evil at whatever costs. Harvey is particularly good in this role, at times making the audience laugh (I think his thick scouse accent helps), and - more often than not - repulsing. Whenever Aaron is involved, there is trouble. So, Demetrius and Chiron manage to ensnare newlyweds Lavinia and Bassanius while the rest of the nobles are on a hunt, killing Bassanius and disposing of his body in a neatly contrived hole. Lavinia, devastated at her husband's death, can aptly foresee what is to become of her. Tamora emerges from the trees. Reynolds' pleas to her human empathy, her kindred spirit as a woman &c are deeply affecting. With a studied reticence Stephens presents an unbending Tamora, who by a twisted, depraved logic affirms that if her children have sexual lusts, they must be sated: and why not on Lavinia, a Roman and Titus' daughter. She leaves them to her sons mercy - not without a tiny flicker of hesitance - and departs. Parental authority has disappeared, and youthful urges are given dominance. The effects can only be disastrous... 

Meanwhile, Titus' remaining sons accidentally come across Bassanius' body. Aaron's plot works to frame them for his murder, and they are lead away captive by Saturninus. Titus believes his luck cannot be any worse, nor his life any sadder (FYI Titus, you're wrong). 

As act II begins (I think, don't quote me), we return to our beautiful damsel. If you happen to have forgot when happens to Lavinia in the play, you're quickly reminded: she is savagely raped, and has her tongue cut out and hands lopped off so she cannot communicate who the perpetrators of the crime were. She is silenced in the bloodiest, and most brutal possible way. The RSC chose to take a graphic approach to this scene, and in some ways, I don't think there is any way to stage such a gross violation 'minimally'. There is a fine line between staging that is reverent of the stories true horror, and gratuitous exhibitionism. Although the audience was visibly and audibly shocked and repulsed by Lavinia's repelling appearance - the two girls sat next to me were very distressed, one burst into tears and could not look at the stage, the other actually wretched - I think that the RSC stays on the side of the reverent. Yes, to look at Lavinia - stumps wrapped in scarlet-stained strands of blond hair, head shorn, clothes torn and bloody, blood spilling from her castrated, muted mouth - is horrible, but it is necessary. We are shown with repugnant accuracy the disastrous consequences of headless, ignorant, rampant, sexualised youth run amok. For a split-second, as Demetrius and Chiron stood gloating, gorged, wielding knifes with the husked shell of a woman at their feet, I was reminded of the horrific case of Jamie Bulger, the beautifully innocent infant tortured and murdered by two ten-year-old's in 1993. Obviously, Demetrius and Chiron are historically older than Thompson and Venables, and there is no real, honourable way to compare fiction and reality, but I instantly felt a disgust at the sheer destructive power of unchecked, unguided, hedonistic, sadistic youth - the same disgust I felt when hearing about the Bulger case a couple of years ago. It is uncannily strange and completely disturbing to realise that issues that clearly concerned Shakespeare and motivated his writing are still horribly relevant today. Sorry for that digression, but it felt important to share.

Demetrius and Chiron flee, leaving Lavinia in her sorry state. Although I of course recognised Lavinia as a damaged, dejected, violated - near animal - creature, I'm happy to say that the sheer skill and beauty of Reynolds' acting managed to convey something else too: Lavinia's undeniable, un-thwartable strength. Lavinia hides her face for shame as she encounters different characters, her uncle Marcus (the ever astute, faultless Richard Durden), and her woeful father, yet I argue that she is not completely hopeless. Demetrius and Chiron's' aim was to silence her, but Reynolds insistent, continuous noise - in the form of tounge-less moans and grumbles - as other characters lament her situation around her, or a la Titus, proffer to speak for her, completely negates their sick objective. Yes, she's not coherent, but she is not silent, never silent. It may be just that I want to read this into the performance, but I think this subtle, small detail diffuses some (but definitely not all) of the feminist claims against 'Titus Andronicus' misogynist agenda. Maybe in an eighteenth century performance Lavinia might have been mute, but in 2013 she strives to reclaim the voice unlawfully snatched from her, to undo the violation of the young, male hand.

Rose Reynolds as Lavinia 

Reynolds and Boxer

Tamora as 'revenge'

But whatever happened to Titus' remaining sons, imprisoned by Saturninus? Aaron emerges on the scene with a sick bargain from Saturninus (a bargain that does not exist): the sons will be restored in return for one human hand. Marcus, Titus and Lucius - in an extremely touching, and nonetheless comic moment - all willingly offer up their hands, squabbling over who should be the one to redeem the sons while Aaron watches with a wry smile. Titus eventually fulfils the sick task (sending Marcus and Lucius away so he can do it). Later, a 'gift' from Saturninus, a pram-full of the sons bloody, dismembered body-parts, is wheeled on stage. Their two heads are thwacked on the floor with a sickeningly realistic thud, the blood and matter clinging to the flimsy plastic. The symbolism of this image was not lost on me (extremely thoughtful staging by Fentiman); the sons, so cherished and loved, are returned in a baby's carriage that subtly incenses Titus' paternal woe, and intensifies our sense of injustice. Titus' severed hand is also returned to, and he is uncannily, comically, heart-wrenchingly, able to shake hands with himself. 

As the woe of the play reaches its crescendo, Boxer comes into his own. Titus' soliloquies are perfectly delivered, blending anger and sorrow, evincing pathos and outrage in the viewer. As the play has progressed we have observed him transform from brutal, honour-obsessed murderer (killing his own son in the first act), to pliable, human father. As woe is heaped on woe, he consistently oscillates between sinking into and luxuriating in his despair, and railing against it. As any theatregoer - or film or TV-watcher - will tell you, however, the gut-lead reaction against despair unfortunately has the tendency to propagate further disaster. What is our instinctual reaction to pain? Revenge.

Gradually, the plot bubbles on; Marcus helps Lavinia name her killers (finally, the pressure of the dramatic irony upon the audience is relieved - at times I wanted to shout out their names to Titus for her!), and Lucius is sent to summon a Goth army. In the meantime, Tamora gives birth to her child. Surprise surprise, it's Aaron, the Moor's. Shakespeare has the wonderful knack of making his secondary plots reflect the larger 'main' plot, and be sources of intrigue in and of themselves. Here we see Aaron - an essentially rouge, villainous, heartless character - almost palpably melt as he realises the great responsibility thrust upon him (with his son's birth) and awakens to the possibility of genuine, un-lascivious, incomparable love. The play opened with a man mourning the loss of his sons killed in battle, its entire action is propelled by Tamora's pain of witnessing her son ripped to pieces, and Titus' revenge is prompted by the deaths and violations of his sons and daughter respectively. Familial love, more exactly the love a parent feels for their child, is highlighted by Shakespeare as the main motivation of any action. As we witness Aaron kill the messenger and plot to kill the midwife present at his babe's birth (who could, he reasons, tell people about it's illegitimacy and so write it's death-sentence), we see the extreme (and violent of course, it is 'Titus Andronicus' for heaven's sake) ends a father will go to to protect his child. Although in 'Titus', the forms protection adopts - killing, torture, betrayal - are inherently, objectively bad, the motivation is, arguably, from the best, most sacred place: the heart. Ends don't justify means, but means do mean something.

Back to the 'rape' plot. Tamora now knows (through some messages) that Titus knows who raped his daughter - it's a whole web of knowing - and decides she's going to trick the old man in his sorrowful 'madness' by showing up at his house, disguised in a wolfs hide, pretending to be the embodiment of 'revenge' (with her accomplices Demetrius and Chiron, Rapine and Murder). In this scene, dark as it is, there is indubitable humous as Titus pretends to be mad and believe Tamora is revenge, and the characters interact beautifully - their exchanges swathed in layers of irony and black comedy. 

Tamora departs, and the mood quickly turns from comedy to horror as Titus reveals the extent of his own horrible 'knowledge', wreaking his revenge on the two defenceless, gruesome brothers (still in their silly disguises). Titus' binding of Demetrius and Chiron and letting of their blood as they hang suspended from the rafters (Lavinia collecting their blood in a bowl), is simultaneously a marvellous technical feat (the staging, set and costume excels throughout), and a spectacle that inspires outrage in the audience. Although shocking, I once more hasten to say that this scene is not gratuitous. Arguably, the tenor of the visual spectacle must match the tenor of Shakespeare's keen verse: if Titus is proclaiming that he will let their blood and mash their bones into a paste to feed to their mother, he can't simply strangle them silently. What they did was animalistic, and they are killed like animals. Their suspended figures, slowly lifted up, aptly mirror the raising of the corpses to the Andronicus family vault first scene of the play: Tamora's children rise up, bloody and defamed - their legacy the obliteration of a human life (Lavinia's) - the hateful counterpart of Titus' noble sons, killed and famed in battle. Respectful/depraved, Roman/Goth. In Titus Andronicus, things occur in circles. Right or wrong, Demetrius and Chiron's bodies balance and lead back to those of the first fallen sons.

Now we reach the dramatic catastrophie, and you can betcha, there will be blood. Fentiman et al put a comic twist on the dinner scene, dressing (the ostensibly) 'mad' Titus in a french-maid's outfit to serve up the grisly supper. But things only get darker from here. Titus, in his 'insanity' asks Saturninus if a father should kill his daughter if she has been raped. Saturninus replies yes, to put her out of her misery. Now, I haven't read 'Titus Andronicus '(I knew it only from extracts and allusions), and so Titus' sudden and almost unbelievable, painful, prolonged smothering of the struggling and resisting Lavinia came as a brutal shock to me - and a lot of the audience members. I guess this is why so many people find this play problematic. We believe that Titus loves his daughter, truly, deeply loves her. So why does he kill her? To prove a point to Saturninus, and reveal the rape - treating her more as a symbol than a person? To abolish her shame? To send her to heaven, and put her out of her misery? To show he is the dominant patriarch? I really, really don't believe it's the last one. There is a pathos in Boxer's performance, even, paradoxically, as he suffocates his child. When death is immanent, I can't help thinking, isn't it better to be killed by someone who loves you?

Even in death Lavinia cannot be silenced.

Titus is on a roll now, informing Tamora that the pie she has just consumed is composed of the blood and bones of her own sons. Titus has achieved the ultimate revenge, and simultaneously committed the gravest crime. Villain in himself or no, I couldn't help feeling sorry, and kind of pleased for him as he sinks into the glorious oblivion of the bloodbath that ensues (practically everyone is killed). Again, accusations of gratuitousness are likely to arise here. Although spurting fake-blood can seem amateurish, and remind one distinctly of messy Halloween's past, the argument of gratuity seems pointless now. The entire play, from the first second, has been characterised and coloured by gore - so how else could it finish? 

Arguably, this end is not so acutely or cuttingly horrible (for that moment, see Lavinia's rape), and it feels kind of anticlimactic (not gratuitous, anticlimactic) as if, like Titus, we have seen so much that we cannot possibly feel or respond to any more. As there are no more tears, there are no more outraged gasps. Not sensitised exactly, we begin to view such spectacle with a horror-worn eye - still moved, but dangerously, frightening, less responsive. This is how the visual arts work. This is why we have Saw III and V and infinite. Nothing is enough, more so in 2013 than any other era. Yet if we are less than ruptured in the final act, it is not because we can't feel as a generation anymore - we were moved by the rape, weren't we - but because as a play audience, in the finite space and time of the performance, in that and to that particular world, we have become apathetic. 'Titus Andronicus' takes us on a journey of the different types of horror that is very much its own.

I lied when I said this was the end. It's not the end. We return to Aaron, his punishment (enacted by Lucius for the betrayal of Titus' family) is to be buried in the ground with only his head exposed, left to rant (and starve), at will. Aaron rails against life, and vows that if he could go back and live again he would commit 1000 such villainies with gusto; rape, pillage, murder, betray - the focal depravities of the play's plot and main characters' downfalls'. The irrepressible Aaron is only silenced when the young Lucius enters the stage, holding his baby. Two members of the next generation of Romans and Goths. Lucius brandishes the baby in one hand, and a small shovel in the other - holding it up, sparkling, to the light. This moment is beautifully ambivalent; will he nurture the child, or destroy it. The audience, along with Aaron, gaze in awe: if our response to horror has dulled, our reaction to intrigue has not. In this moment we get an overwhelming sense that the fate of the next generation lies in this moment of cure or kill; the Romans and Goths can form a relationship of mutual respect and distance, or they can continue down the involved, brutal path that has engendered a seemingly endless cycle of childrens' deaths and parental revenge. If Aaron's boy is killed there will be no father to avenge it. So will the cycle stop either way? This is something we simply do not know.

The RSC's 'Titus Andronicus' was a tour de force of both old and young acting talent, with Reynolds flying the flag for the girls, and Boxer upholding that of the men. If you see one play this autumn, make it Titus Andronicus. Set your stomach, hold your nerves, and brace yourself for an unforgettable evening of blood and beauty.

*****

Venus and Adonis: She loves, she is love: and yet she is not loved.

Yesterday, I had my first 'real' Renaissance theatre-going experience, with a visit to Shakespeare's new Globe theatre in London, to see Venus and Adonis, performed by the Isango Ensemble from Cape Town, South Africa.

Firstly, a word on the theatre itself. I had been anxiously watching the weather all day, because I thought I had booked groundling tickets. When we arrived, it was a nice surprise to find that we'd actually got seats, under shelter (phew! it hailed at one point!). The theatre was extremely impressive, and I'm led to believe, authentic, with gilt edgings, colourful facades and worn-out posts and framing. There was, as I'd expected three tiers of seats (in a circle), and of course the middle section, for groundlings to occupy. I was pleasantly surprised that, as one would of in Shakespeare's time, the people standing could go right up to the front of the stage - practically resting on it! (with our current health and safety climate, I had assumed there would be some sort of barrier - especially as 'death' was wielding some dangerous looking, bloodstained cleavers uncomfortably close to the expectant eyes of the people at the front).

The performance began with the opening lines of the play, sung in a conglomeration of South African and English, by the female actors. It is worth noting that each one of the cast was profoundly vocally accomplished, able to sing as well in English as in other languages, and the majority of arias were truly spell-binding. The first scene featured Venus and Cupid, a comically morbidly obese man in a romper-suit, who got a lot of laughs, frolicking. Venus is accidentally pricked by one of Cupid's arrows, and this is how the love-story begins. Now, I have a slight bone to pick here. After studying Shakespeare's 'Venus and Adonis' in horribly deep depth for a recent second-year undergraduate essay, I know, as many of the theatre-goer's probably wouldn't, that this is not how his epyllion begins. However, it is found in his analogue Ovid's Metamorphoses, and I'd like to think that Shakespeare's overwhelming admiration for and indebtedness to the master-poet overrides that fact that this scene is not authentic to his poem.

Once pricked, Venus' wooing begins. Unusually, Venus was not played by a single actress. Almost every actress in the ensemble took a turn to play her, each wrapping a white linen cloth around them when they would assume the role. Usually, I might consider this to be slightly twee, however, for the character of Venus it is extremely appropriate. Shakespeare's Venus is a veritable emotional whirlwind; at some points she playfully jokes with Adonis, at others is comically lustful, occasionally extremely sensitive and loving, and, disturbingly regularly, is stiflingly oppressive and/or ferociously aggressive. Although each of the actresses displayed these various, shifting emotions during their performances, the literal changing of Venus effectively conveyed just how capricious, conflicting and perplexing she is, in the midst of overwhelming love and passion.

Another aspect of the Venuses performance was their use of the cloth (used to identify her) to bind, constrain and envelop Adonis at various instances. The company has successfully drawn out the aspect which I believe Shakespeare tries to emphasise most strongly in his poem - Venus's oppressiveness - and made it a visual symbol. This effect is particularly helpful when considering that, i'd say nigh on 99%, of the audience, maybe more, was not versed in South African. When language is a barrier, spectacle takes over.

A further notable characteristic of the Venuses performances throughout the wooing scenes, was their use of their bodies/sexuality. I'm keen to avoid stereotyping, however, the Venuses truly were beautiful, buxom ladies who knew exactly what moves to make, or hips to shake, to illustrate the lustful, sexual aspect of Venus's pursuit. Part of this was their sly glances, or covert winks at the audience, which made it lucidly clear - when language again confounded interpretation - exactly what Venus's intentions were. Oozing subtle sensuality at times, secreting raging passion at others, this female company had the goddess of Love (the vicarious goddess of Sex) down to a tee.

If they perfected Venus's sensuality, so too with her hopelessness. 'She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved', says Shakespeare. In her most desperate moments, the Venuses haunting, mesmerising voices give a true sense of her despair: her illimitable capacity to love, to cause other's to love, yet, paradoxically, her inability to make Adonis love.  

Now for Adonis. In Shakespeare's poem, Adonis is frustratingly reticent, declining to speak until around line 80, and largely vocal only to reject Venus's advances and/or, like the petulant teenager he is, to complain about the sun, or about her wringing grip. I was happy that the Isango Ensemble maintained this aspect of Adonis's character - it is not an unwarranted swipe to say that, for Shakespeare, he is not much of a character at all - as it would have been extremely tempting to make him vocal earlier, for the sake of theatrical interest. Really he is uninteresting, and uninterested: throughout Venus's elaborate wooing process, he'd much rather be somewhere else. Mhlekazi Mosiea, who played Adonis throughout - a petulant, stoic consistency which was a lovely contrast to Venus's capriciousness - had perfected the disdainful glances, pained grimaces, and violated vocal objections that characterise Shakespeare's young, narcissistic mortal beloved. Like the Venuses, Mosiea had a beautiful voice: he sang in English (which seemed quite appropriate for the young, unloving chap) and carried each note perfectly, with a tad more clarity than the rest of the company.

Other notable mentions include:

1. The treatment of the palfrey and jennet - a focal point in Shakespeare's poem, illustrating the successful sexual love which Venus attempts to persuade Adonis to - was very well done. The company used horse heads, yet, moreover, their bodies to convey the sexual act - securing a lot of laughs, imbuing the episode the comedy it deserves. 
2. The cast performing African songs and dances together, bare-footed and raw, were truly magnetic. All of the ensemble were enthusiastic, vocal, and spell-binding: this is clearly a cast who knows how to work well together.
3. Death, played by Zebulon Mmusi - not embodied in Shakespeare's poem, but embodied here, I assume, for some clarity/ to add some perspective to Venus's speech - was particularly harrowing. His frame painted as a skeleton, cavernous red mouth and serpentine tongue, bloodstained hand-held scythes and occasional menacing, animal-like hisses combined to make him a truly terrifying figure. We realise, perhaps before Venus, that he is not a character to be chastised - and his vengeance costs Venus her love.     
4. The boar was similarly effective. Wild, ferocious, rabid, we are given a true sense of the danger he can inflict.   
5. I know this is purely coincidental, but at one point, as Venus said 'the sun that shines from heaven shines but warm', the sun prophetically gleamed on the so-far gloomy stage. A sheer chance occasion, but a beautiful one at that. 

I only have a couple of criticisms about this performance. 

• One, is that I believe at some points, the cast was playing for laughs (at the cost of sentiment of the poem). I appreciate that they must cross a language barrier, and appeal to a popular audience, yet I would argue that pathos overrides comedy, and theatre trumps pantomime. 'Venus and Adonis' is an indubitably humorous poem, yet it is also a poetic master-piece: any more comic moments, and the play could have descended into farce. 
• Two, they could have made a lot, lot more of the final metamorphoses (after all, Shakespeare's analogue was Ovid's Metamorphoses!!!,  and Adonis's growth into a purple flower gives Venus far more hope and joy that this simple, unmemorable conclusion conveys.) However, I did appreciate when all the Venus's joined together again to indite her horrible prophesy (love will now be jealous, unkind, unrequited etc.), each woman versing the different afflictions in a round: they say do not mess with a woman scorned, but a woman thwarted by death is even worse.  
• Finally, not really a criticism but a piece of advice: it may be too late for Venus and Adonis, as it only had a short run here, but, if you are going to see a play in another language, read the English version. It was clear that almost 80% of the time, almost 80% of the audience had no clue at all what was going on. Obviously, not knowing the language (here, a mixture of IsiZulu, IsiXhosa, SeSotho, Setswana and Afrikaans) will always prevent anyone from grasping the exquisite lilts and facets of Shakespeare's verse (I recall them all too familiarly from my recent studies), yet having a general gist of the basic arguments definitely helps. I saw far too many confused (and quite disinterested) faces in the audience, which rather distracted me from the play itself. I know some people like to be surprised by a plot, but, if the play's in another language, you won't be surprised by the plot, you will never know it! The cast did their absolute best to transcend the language-barrier, but the audience needs to helps themselves. 

In conclusion, I was thrilled with my theatre trip. I was slightly skeptical following the recent theatrical-disaster of Hamlet, but all those concerns were dispelled from the first song of Venus and Adonis. A highly accomplished cast, a beautiful translation, a captivating, rich, multi-cultural performance. 

****

Video - http://vimeo.com/42139882 

The RSC's Hamlet 2013, a review: suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

On Saturday night I went to see the RSC's (Royal Shakespeare Company's) performance of Hamlet in Stratford. As we live fairly close to Stratford, I have been to the old and new, refurbished theatre on a number of occasions. Last year I saw Romeo and Juliet - a rather lack-lustre performance - and the year before enjoyed The Winter's Tale, which was excellent. In light of these variable recent experiences, I didn't quite know what to expect from Hamlet - but I was not pleasantly surprised.

Before I say anything about the performance, I think it is important to establish that - as it is well-known - Hamlet is one of Shakespeare's longest, weightiest and more complex plays, and poses a daunting task for even the most skilled and experienced of directors: including David Farr. Yet, the RSC is itself a formidable company - the defining establishment of British theatre - and Hamlet's cast includes some stellar theatre stalwarts. Despite the magnitude of the venture, the RSC had the tools and talent to produce a fantastic show.

Firstly, I must begin with our Hamlet - Jonathan Slinger. My criticisms of Slinger are multitudinous, and my praises (sadly) lacking.

• My primary problem with Slinger is his age. At the expense of appearing ageist, at 40 years old Slinger is simply too old to convincingly perform Hamlet. With a balding pate and distinctly middle-aged mannerisms Slinger is void of the youthful charm and spirited fervency one would expect a scholar recently returned from Wittenburg to posses; also - and I'll probably sound shallow as well as ageist now - he lacks any sense of Hamlet's animated attractiveness. These may sound like very superficial, pernickty points, yet, arguably our sense of Hamlet's youth and attractiveness are essential to our appreciation of his character; in the RSC's performance, there is ultimately no viable reason why Ophelia, and more importantly the audience, would be drawn to Hamlet. This inappropriate casting marrs every aspect of the play. When Hamlet is 'mad' (or feigning madness), his witty speeches and silly phrases lose effect; delivered, as they are from the vessel of a middle-aged man, they seem more like a joke your dad (or specifically my dad) would make, than brilliant flourishes of a quick, resourceful wit [in conjunction with this, Slinger's tedious - and ofttimes cringeworthy - tendency to hyperbolically elongate words or repeat them in a silly, childlike manner is unduly incongrous with his 'grumpy old man' facade, and very Jack Dee-esque, but I shall say more on his poor delivery later]. Perhaps more blasphemously, due to Slinger's maturity Hamlet's philosophical speeches on the nature of time, death and life concurrently emerge more as the embittered, dulled, disillusioned mumblings of one J. Alfred Prufrock than the fired-up, ebullient, exhaustive interrogations of a youthful Hamlet, struggling to comprehend the world's inherent complexities as he experiences the thrilling epoch of newly-burgeoning philosophical and worldly consciousness; the essential expansion of the mind (from considerations merely of the self, to musings on mankind as a whole), that occurs primarily when one makes the tentative, perplexed, perplexing transition from boyhood to manhood. [For a portrayal of Hamlet fat and oozing all his intended youthful, spirited brilliance, rhetorical skill, playful wit and philosophical aptness, see - the ineffable, unparalleled - master that is Laurence Olivier: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K0xYbpYgdPQ]

• Another unignorable aspect of Slinger's portrayal of Hamlet, is his in excruciating tendency to over-act. Indeed, Hamlet is an intense, tragic, dramatic play; however, Hamlet's passionate speeches or mad ramblings are more poignant when considered in isolation. In Slinger's performance there is no respite, no relief from the relentless harangues of his constant crying/laughing etc.. A truly great dramatic performance climaxes, crescendos, deftly works up to moments of intense emotion or compelling action. Slinger's decision to play Hamlet all on one (ebulliently dramatic) level erases the subtle nuances of Shakespeare's original text: in his interaction with his father's ghost the audience's pathos is negated and the sublime cadences of the actual verse are lost, as we are unrelentingly subjected to Slinger's cringe-inducing, childish, repulsive cries. Where is the delicacy? Where is the simplicity? Why is a revered, well-known RSC actor performing like a naively exuberant, unexperienced teenager straight out of acting-school (and don't tell me that's what Shakespeare's Hamlet is - he is anything but). Unfortunately, it seems that the word 'subtle' is not in Slinger's vocabulary. 

OK, so enough about Slinger (although I could say more), and onto Hamlet's other problems.

• The staging was confused, and quite frankly, ridiculous. Although I appreciate that the RSC is always striving to do new, exciting things with their sets, here they have massively overreached. The stage is a confusing conglomeration of high-school gymnasium, old-fashioned Scottish country-pile (see James Bond's family home, in Skyfall), littered with incipient fencing paraphernalia. There are simply too many 'themes' in conflict here, and, whats worse, none of them are remotely interesting/engaging/titillating. If anything, the play would be better suited to a simple, blank stage: at least then it would avoid the criticism of being confused/amateur in design.  (A couple of extra notes on staging. The stage was littered with skulls - I assume to foreshadow Hamlet's famous 'Yorick' speech, but which actually debase it. In addition, the 'movers' took far too long to clear away the stage in preparation for the graveyard scene, totally distracting the audience from Hamlet and Horatio's conversation). 
• Hand-in-hand with staging, naturally, goes costume. Again, there seems to be no consistent theme (or even thought) behind the costumes: Hamlet appears wearing a suit (circa 1950's), then time-travels back to a doublet and hose, before donning an absurd 'modern-day' hooded parka and jeans in the closing scene. Horatio and Ophelia suffer with the trials of dodgy knit-wear, meanwhile Claudius, the Queen, and their court are attired in a similarly inexplicable/clashing array of old-world fashion, 'modern' attire and fencing vizors. Yes, Hamlet is a play that thrives on the inherent inconsistencies and inconstancies of life, human psychology and physiology - but the RSC's costume choices seem more like an un-planned, accidental menagerie than a carefully-coordinated, intentional, thematic jumbling. 
• A flaw I have touched upon, but find too ridiculous to merit discussion is the 'fencing' dimension of this production. It is unnecessary, un-textual, unriveting and - and this is perhaps the most offensive aspect of the whole sodding conundrum - isn't even executed well. Hamlet may have been a skilled swordsman - but these actors are not. The average theatre-goer in 2013 is sophisticated enough to appreciate this aspect of Hamlet's character without having it literally (and poorly) rammed in front of his eyes. 
• I found Ophelia ill-cast and ill-concieved. I can see that Farr was attempting to make more out of her character, but really, in Shakespeare's text and in almost every other production of Hamlet, she is on the periphery. Hamlet has dimensions of 'love', yes, but it is not a 'love story'. Our focus  is meant to be on Hamlet alone, which is why his relationship with Ophelia is largely left unwritten/open to the imagination. Forgive me for sounding anti-feminist, but Ophelia is an unimportant antecedent. If any female character is interesting in Hamlet, it is Gertrude: the character whose decision to marry her husband's brother tears the rug from under Hamlet, and corrupts the very fabric of the play's moral universe (On that point, Charlotte Cornwell's Gertude was bland, unmemorable, and dire: when, in the play, she is actually a rather interesting, ambiguous paradox of a woman. I do concede, however, that her performance was not exactly helped by having Mr. Over-actor - Slinger - as her counterpart, who prevented her from getting a word in edgeways, anyway). On a different note, Ophelia's eventual 'madness' was as unconvincing as Slinger's, and her smearing blood on Claudius and Gertude etc. a trivial, predictable motif - which crowned my dislike for Pippa Nixon's performance. *also, extremely superficially, I did not like her hair. Where are the famous locks intwined with flowers and weeds that drag her to her watery-grave - WHERE?!

• Hamlet is long, yes, but at four hours (including interval) the RSC's production was looong (with extra 'o's'). Given, Farr may have felt that he wanted to give the play its full-run, and allow all of Shakespeare's verse to be included - but there were scenes which were tedious and un-engaging, and could have benefited from being shortened. Although I largely believe in the 'sanctity' of the written text, it is natural and necessary that a literary piece should be formally (as opposed to thematically) modified and altered to fit its new, dramatic context. I read recently that Renaissance theatre goers were extremely adept listeners, and would sit through a four-hour performance of Hamlet with no qualms/discomfort. It is a lamentable, but real fact that modern audiences do not posses this astonishing faculty. In order to keep engaging audiences with albeit, the same material of the Renaissance, contemporary directors must at least attempt to make that material palatable and enjoyable for them. I am sad to say that if this was my first experience of professional theatre (as I suspect it was for some of the 14/15 y/o's sat in front of me) I would be unlikely to return. * NB I am not suggesting a dulling-down/de-elevation/modernisation of the text (these sorts of productions are repugnant) - my suggestions are merely in a formal sense. 
• The final scene was inexplicably poorly acted.
• As the play ends, a fire alarm goes off and sprinklers flood the stage. Why was this necessary? The audience were not surprised, taken-aback, or even momentarily affected by this (shoddy, half-hearted) 'spectacle': in my mind, the only thing it achieved was making Ophelia's white dress extremely dirty - the RSC's dry-cleaning bill is going to be extortionate by the end of the play's run. 

Despite my criticism there are a few - sparse - parts/factors of the RSC's Hamlet that I genuinely enjoyed. 

•  I thought Robin Soans was an excellent Polonious. He exquisitely portrayed all of Polonious' comic idisyncracies: from his inclination for proverbs (many of which have now entered common speech), his pompous verboseness, his sycophantic manouvers, and his insuppressible dislike for Hamlet. Soans pulled-off the character perfectly, and shone as, arguably, the most experienced and well-suited to his role. 
• The dumb-play was extremely engaging, combining humour and dark-tragedy. The use of costumes/setting that would have furnished an actual dumb-show in the Renaissance conveyed the same sense of jeopardy and titillation Hamlet's first audiences would have undoubtedly felt: as they watched Claudius, watching the play of himself. There was menace, there was sexual-innuendo, there was unease and enjoyment: in this brief dumb-show Farr manages to engage and amuse the audience wholly, when in the actual theatrical performance - of which the dumb-show is a mere part - he only half-captivates them, and merely sporadically amuses them. 

Evidently, as I warned you at before beginning, my criticisms vastly outnumber my praises. Overall, I feel extremely let down by the RSC: I expected an excellent performance of one of my favourite Shakespeare plays, what I got was a paltry 'show' of amateur dramatics, shoddy staging and sore-eyes from watching such a dull play for so long. I have booked tickets for a dramatic production of Venus and Adonis at Shakespeare's Globe theatre in May - I can only hope that it will outshine Hamlet, although that should not be too difficult. 

JEM.