Simon Godwin’s production of Antony and Cleopatra for the National Theatre garnered rave reviews when it premiered in 2018. Both Ralph Fiennes and Sophie Okonedo as the eponymous lovers are excellent, however the production as a whole leaves me little underwhelmed. Admittedly this may have something to do with the fact that I watch all three hours of it on my laptop, thereby missing the communal experience of being in the actual theatre, but these are the times we live in.

My main criticism of the production is the lack of any sense of surprise or immediacy. Everything seems inexorable and I feel that Godwin’s direction favours Shakespeare’s lyrical rhythms at the expense of theatrical freshness and tension. The events in the play just occur one after the other and neither the audience nor the performers ever seem surprised by anything. Rather, the actors take hold of the words and drive them onward at a furious and steady pace. There are few moments of pause or relaxation. This is not to say that the ensemble garbles the text in any way. The Brits obviously have an affinity for Shakespeare and every single actor makes the words clear and full of meaning. But the lack of variation in pace does make for a rather long three hours.

Fiennes in particular relishes the text and finds an ease of articulation and delivery that is always clear and affecting. Okonedo too is confident in the language, however I feel that she suffers from some strange directorial choices. She plays Cleopatra almost as a petulant teenager and I never see the power that she commands in her role as Queen of Egypt. Her relationship with Antony seems to be reduced to a tawdry suburban affair at times; the political machinations at work trying to tear them apart, feel distant and toothless. Even in their moments of passion the couple feel more like horny teenagers than mature powerful leaders.

As with a number of Shakespeare’s plays, there are two differing worlds that the characters inhabit. Here it is Imperial Rome and the more passionate and earthy Egypt. However this production does not play up their differences, thus diluting Antony’s dilemma of having to move between them.

Strangely, too, the drama of the piece is often eschewed for throw-away comedy. Even Antony’s attempted suicide gets some laughs. There seems to be a reluctance to really enter into the emotional maelstrom of the play and instead remain on the surface. Where there should be a sense of danger there is rather a feeling of blandness.

Overall, despite the very strong work of the ensemble, and Fiennes and Okonedo in particular, this production of Antony and Cleopatra is ultimately, for me, rather beige. 

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