The first thing to make an impressive impact in the British National Theatre’s 2017 production of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night (available ‘at Home’ until Friday, in NZ) is the lighting, sound and set-design combo that evokes a storm at sea. Created by James Farncombe, Christopher Shutt and Soutra Gilmour respectively, it ensures we are drawn to the human cries of “Sebastian!” and “Viola!” that mange to escape the elemental turmoil.  

On the Olivier Theatre’s massive double revolve, Gilmour’s twin flights of steep-raked steps are the dominant feature – allowing for ascension to “the brightest heaven of invention” perhaps? They spread apart and fold together on the revolve ingeniously to accommodate a remarkable range of settings, often framed in large triangles. But while Henry V’s prologue invokes a “muse of fire” to inspire the audiences’ imaginations, in Twelfth Night it is Viola who is obliged to invent a new persona for herself, namely as boy-servant Cesario, in order to survive in Illyria. The play’s other major invention is the mischievous love-letter used to delude Olivia’s puritanical and anally-retentive steward, Malvolio …

And this is the other remarkable thing about this particular production: all the publicity top-bills Tamsin Greig (Black Books, Green Wing, Episodes) as a gender-swapped Malvolia, and Simon Godwin directs it as if hers is the A-story, relegating the Orsino-Olivia-Cesario/Viola love triangle to subplot status.

While Greig is clearly skilled in her craft, not least with her witty hand and finger acting, and a great hit with the live audience (heard but not seen), I don’t think it does her or the play any favours to impede the flow of her speeches by breaking them up with such laboured interpretation and heavy-handed ‘business’.

That said, I have come to measure the worth of any Twelfth Night production by the degree to which we feel compassion for Malvolio in light of the merciless gulling and mental torture inflicted by Maria, Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Aguecheek and Feste. Here the emphasis does fall very strongly on Malvolia’s distress, to the extent that – as Feste sings ‘For the rain it raineth every day’ – her slow ascent up the long staircase, reaching to heaven and being blessed by gentle (merciful?) rain is the final image for the production.

This counterpoints the undignified soaking she got from a fountain while discovering and trying to interpret the fake love letter. So the ‘rain’ we’ve had at the beginning, middle and end of the play leads to Feste’s epilogue song, wherein the play’s moral may be discerned. Yes, I see the thinking there … Nevertheless I remain bemused as to why Godwin has Malvolia strip off her stern black wig to reveal Greig’s close-cropped blonde hair just prior to that final ascent (and I’ll be obliged if anyone can decode that for me).

Design-wise, modern Illyria may lie near the Riviera. Oliver Chris brings a privileged playboy sensibility to retro ’60s sportscar-driving Duke Orsino; his manservant Curio (Emmanuel Kojo) follows on a moto scooter. Valentine (Brad Morrison) is in charge of Orsino’s teddy bear as well as vain attempts to deliver his master’s love letters to Countess Olivia, who is in mourning for her brother.

Once out of the hospital bed the wrecked ship’s Captain (James Wallace) has brought her to, Tamara Lawrance’s assertive Viola needs no ‘pantomime boy’ swagger to make her transformation into Cesario credible. S/he is more than ready for action as Orsino’s boxing sparring partner, as the Duke instructs him to be his new go-between. The mutual love that, as Orsino sees it, dare not speak its name is clearly played out between them.

Similarly the love expressed by Antonio (Adam Best), reputed to be a pirate and the actual saviour of Sebastian (Daniel Ezra), is played as unresolved sexual tension despite the text allowing it to go nowhere. Apart from that, the role their subplot plays in the scheme of things is well executed.

As the Duchess Olivia, Phoebe Fox is tellingly selective in playing her addiction to a melancholy, adding outbursts of stroppiness that remind me of Miranda Richardson’s Queenie in Blackadder II. Obviously her grief is a ploy to avoid Orsino, given how randy she becomes with Cesario – then, once he comes into the picture, Sebastian, thinking they are one and the same, of course.

Olivia’s dissolute uncle, Sir Toby Belch, is well rendered by Tim McMullan, and Daniel Rigby’s physicality as Sir Andrew Aguecheek transcends the excellently ignorant nonsense he’s obliged to speak. Both are amiable enough to lend credibility to the strong-willed women of the household – Maria (Nicky Wardley), Feste (Doon Mackichan in fine voice) and Fabia (Imogen Doel) – spending time with them.

The text mentions The Elephant as the inn where Antonio hides out, and here, what was a street scene becomes The Elephant Cabaret in which a drag queen (sorry I can’t name the performer) sings ‘To Be or Not To Be’ – go figure. It’s an odd interpolation given no-one is contemplating suicide, although Antonio and Sebastian seem have got each other into some serious trouble (in a mix up redolent of The Comedy of Errors).

The stage revolves and steps are well utilised to bring visual closure to such dangling plotlines as the marriage of Orsino and Viola. Dan Jackson’s musical direction and his playing along with Jon Gingell, Martin Briggs, Nicola Davenport and Hannah Lawrence, adds excellent variety to the production.

As a popular favourite in the Shakespeare canon, Twelfth Night is therefore one that demands some ‘point of difference’ each time it is done – and this production owns its choices with confident alacrity.

See here. 

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