Like Hamlet, Twelfth Night is one of those god tier Shakespeare plays that pops up so much at 'regular’ theatres that it feels relatively underproduced at the Globe. It’s maybe a stretch to say it’s actually not suited to the iconic Bankside playhouse (which is probably something you could say about Hamlet). But this new production feels like an object lesson in what can go wrong with a Globe Twelfth Night.
Robin Belfield’s production falls into a very Globish trap of having a lot of fun individual turns but failing to really cohere into a whole that makes much sense. And the lack of set changes leaves it without any real sense of place, just various groups of characters mucking about in front of Jean Chan’s unhelpfully abstract sun ray set design.
It starts off very well, mind. As Ronkẹ Adékọluẹ́jọ́’s Viola shipwrecks on Illyria she witnesses a vibrantly weird carnival, equal parts Notting Hill and The Wicker Man. This is Duke Orsino’s court, which is contrasted beautifully with the subsequent appearance of the moribund Olivia and her extravagant mourning garb.
These costumes – by Chan again – are wonderful, and give the main parties on the island a real sense of identity. But then it just loses steam. The carnival versus funeral thing never really comes to anything and certainly doesn’t result in the sort of joyous, movement-soaked production that is briefly threatened.
Instead it lets itself get bogged down in the various drunks, oddballs and assorted other comic characters in Olivia’s household - which to be fair is not an uncommon occurrence with this play. But this lot aren’t really much to write home about – certainty not a patch on the proper weirdos of the Globe’s 2021 take – with Andrew Aguecheek et al a mishmash of styles and ideas that never feel like a group of people who actually hang out with each other.
There are individual bright spots: Globe veteran Pierce Quigley is typically entertaining as a Malvolio so doleful he genuinely looks and sounds like he’s having a stroke when he tries to smile. He also had a wicked way with audience interaction, not least when two hapless audience members are hauled up on stage to join in Toby Belch and co’s carousels. ‘Don’t you have homes to go to?’ he barks at them.
Adékọluẹ́jọ́ is a sweet Viola and I liked Laura Hanna’s level-headed, down to earth Olivia. But it feels messy and slackly told, with a lack of emotional grist beyond Malvolio’s misguided courtship of Olivia. Kwami Odoom’s Sebastian just drifts into a snogging relationship with Max Keeble’s smitten sea captain Antonio, then drifts on into Olivia’s arms at the end without anyone seeming very bothered. The relationship between Viola and Solomon Israel’s affable Orsino feels breezed through too. I’m all for low drama relationships IRL, but maybe not in actual drama.
Belfield’s colourful production is adequate tourist fodder but its shortcomings feel all the more frustrating because there are so many good ideas gestured but simply never followed through.
