Breezy and accessible take on Shakespeare’s classic farce of mischance and mistaken identity
Bursting with exuberant energy, this frenetic version of Shakespeare’s most contrived comedy is accessible, often uproarious and unapologetically shallow. Helmed by Globe associate artistic director Sean Holmes, the production rattles through the twisty plot at a breakneck pace, relying on momentum and slapstick set pieces to carry the audience along.
Early on, a boisterous fight scene breaks out between Ephesian citizens, and though it’s deftly choreographed and undeniably rousing, it feels out of place, a fun spectacle that’s ultimately irrelevant to the plot.
Characterisation is kept to a minimum, with Holmes opting instead to set a flippant, cartoonish tone. Scenes that can often feel sharply uncomfortable for contemporary audiences – the frequent physical abuse meted out to servants, or Dromio’s body-shaming diatribe aimed at kitchen porter Luce – are handled here with such a light touch that they lose much of their sting.
Designer Paul Wills depicts the mercantile city of Ephesus as a ramshackle dockyard, cladding the Globe’s walls in rough wooden planks and extending the stage with a rickety jetty jutting into the yard. Swinging signs hang from the galleries, advertising the various businesses mentioned in the text, while a ship’s mast is thrust out over the audience. Adding a more sinister note to the decor, helmets impaled on rusty spikes are dotted around the auditorium, suggesting the abrupt violence that passes for justice in a state where outsiders are automatically condemned and pardons can be bought with gold.
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Composer Grant Olding supplies a strange, ethereal score, which sits awkwardly beside the earthy comedy. Recorders and medieval wind instruments warble and hoot in the moments when an Antipholus questions his sanity, while sharp percussive cracks add visceral impact to each slapstick smack they deliver on stage.
George Fouracres and Jordan Metcalfe capably carry much of the show’s comedy as the two Dromios, by turns servile and surly, desperate to please but strong enough to stand up to their masters when either of them is pushed too far.
Of the two noble-born brothers, meanwhile, Michael Elcock’s Antipholus of Syracuse is the more likeable, a dashing figure who stumbles, bewildered, from one misadventure to another, his initial boldness gradually giving way to paranoia. Elcock shows off some great comic timing, puffing himself up with an aura of cheeky confidence that slips at inopportune moments. By contrast, Matthew Broome’s moody Ephesian Antipholus glowers and stamps around a city that seems to have inexplicably turned against him.
Claire Benedict makes a strong impression in a small role as the Abbess, who unknowingly offers sanctuary to her own son. Stiff and severe when she first appears, she softens in an instant when she’s reunited with her family, radiating warmth at the bittersweet reunion.
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