- From The Times
- February 16, 2010
- Benedict Nightingale
(Marilyn Kingwill)
Dench: at her hilarious best
Judi Dench is our theatrical queen, but isn’t she a bit, um, mature to be playing the fairy queen in Peter Hall’s revival of Shakespeare’s Dream? Well, there are two answers to that ungentlemanly question. First and obviously, folklore tells us that the classiest fairies may be pretty well any age, from 100 to a million. Second, Dame Judi gives a fine performance. And third, and almost as importantly, Hall sees Titania as the Elizabeth I of roughly the year 1595: an ageing monarch with the passions of a much younger woman.
It’s an odd, interesting, slightly perverse idea, though it has some academic backing. It’s been suggested that the powerful, wayward Elizabeth was indeed in Shakespeare’s mind when he created Titania. Maybe the monarch who harboured strong feelings for the Earls of Leicester and Essex could have become infatuated with “a little changeling boy”, as the fairy queen does. Yet Shakespeare was surely far too canny a bard to hint that his own Queen might end up tricked, humiliated and bettered by the husband she never had. If she’d suspected it was her alter ego who was canoodling with a weaver disguised as an ass, that bardic body might have lost its bardic head.
Anyway, the approach doesn’t prevent Dame Judi exuding the warmth she reportedly brought to the same role when she first played it for Peter Hall way back in 1962.
At the start she is seen as the red-wigged Elizabeth in all her pomp, silently ordering bowing courtiers to begin a performance of the Dream itself. Then, without changing her spangled dress, her Titania is bemoaning the treacherous weather and bringing queenly steel to the business of reproaching Charles Edwards’s elegant grandee of an Oberon. But it’s when she falls for Oliver Chris’s transformed Bottom that Dench is at her hilarious best: stroking his ass’s head, rapturously murmuring “I love thee”, and looking as enchanted as if she’s personally sunk the entire Spanish Armada.
It’s also a bit odd when Oberon tells Puck to seek out lovers he’ll know by their Athenian dress, for everyone, including himself and his fairy underlings, wear much the same Elizabethan costumes. But that doesn’t spoil or compromise a production notable, as Hall’s so often are, for its clarity and narrative momentum. It’s also funnier than most Dreams. The lovers’ crazed confusions are nicely played, especially by Rachael Stirling, a Helena who can yearn as well as expostulate. And the rude mechanicals are excellent fun, ruled by Chris’s Bottom, who clearly thinks he’s the new Richard Burbage and prolongs Pyramus’s death so inventively that, even when prone and in her lap, he manages to upstage Leon Williams’s expiring Thisbe.
Reece Ritchie gives us a Puck who runs, leaps, somersaults and squeals with infectiously mischievous glee, but I did have a doubt about Julian Wadham’s Theseus. Could this affable, earnest, decent cove really be the mythic hero who vanquished and married the Amazon queen, cruelly dumped Ariadne in Naxos, and performed glorious and inglorious deeds galore? The answer comes in Hall’s programme note. He’s no pagan warrior but a very sensible English “country duke”. Sorry, but I found that harder to swallow than Titania the Virgin Queen.
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