Twelfth Night review, Hampstead Theatre

Twelfth Night is a jovial romp of mistaken identity. When twins Viola and Sebastian are separated during a shipwreck and washed up on opposite shores, the sister survives by passing herself off as a man. Employed by the local Duke, Orsino, to woo the lovely noblewoman Olivia on his behalf, Viola runs into trouble when Olivia falls in love with her new persona.

Separately to this, Olivia's cousin, Sir Toby Belch, much to the horror of her superior steward, Malvolio, is running amok on her estate with his dozy friend Aguecheek. This storyline takes up much of the first half, and it is only in the second, when Sebastian turns up and is mistaken for his manned-up sister, that things take off. This means that to make the first half work - which it doesn't, in this production - you have to set up the lines of love very clearly, right at the top; you have to create a rapport that suggests Belch and Aguecheek are more than random drunks;  you have to get the pace right to ensure their rambles and jousts don't pall; and you have to make them likeable.

Edward Hall's all male theatre troupe, Propeller, has a fine pedigree in Shakespeare, and the visuals and effects are beguiling - strange walks, human statues, a pop up boxing ring, Aguecheek's mad wig and Malvolio's studded codpiece... All the markers of comedy are there, but we laugh because we should, not because it touches us. There's no soul. Both actors and audience are going through the motions. The set doesn't help: it's created for a tragedy with storm clouds, a black floor, and a series of Schreiber-type teak-effect walk-through wardrobes that.... that people walk through. The cast is almost entirely in black and grey and when not in role wear the masks of Greek tragedians. The single adornment is a giant chandelier. If the production had morphed into Phantom of the Opera, no one would have batted an eyelid.

In conclusion: Visually this show is a treat and it's possible to watch it without following any of the not-always-well-enunciated dialogue. That's what we did. My 9-year-old companion laughed out loud at the vomiting and peeing, the belching and the pooh stained knickers, and he jigged to the music, so it works at that level. It just isn't cohesive.

References
Hampstead Theatre, Tickets
Fiona Mountford Review in The Evening Standard

Hampstead Theatre, Eton Road, London NW3      Production ends 20 July