If you are very lucky, once or twice in
a lifetime you chance upon a writer who you feel is writing just for
you, touching the uttermost depths of your being. I first had that
feeling with the early plays of Tom Stoppard: here, I knew, was someone
speaking direct to the smart-alecky sixth-former I was at the time.
Stoppard and I have both matured in the subsequent decades, but I still
feel youthfully reinvigorated on revisiting work such as this, his
breakthrough play which effectively refracts
Waiting For Godot through the prism of two minor characters from
Hamlet.
Every
now and then we see Ros & Guil (as the script calls them for short)
and/or other figures at the Danish court exchange a few of
Shakespeare's lines, before the others go off and leave the central duo
to muse on the purpose of existence and its end, and to engage in
rallies of Stoppardian high-speed, oblique wordplay ("The fingernails
continue to grow after death... The toenails on the other hand never
grow at all"). If this is not your bag, you will likely be infuriated
by it; if (like my poor companion) you have never seen
Hamlet,
much of it will be Greek to you. To those who remain, I commend Samuel
Barnett's gorgeously puppyish Rosencrantz, his fellow
History Boys
alumnus Jamie Parker's more existentially insecure but scarcely less
comic Guildenstern, and Chris Andrew Mellon (taking over at short
notice from Tim Curry) as the leader of the troupe of players, at once
bluff and menacing, personifying the illusory and the unknown that vex
our nondescript heroes.
Trevor Nunn's
production (which moves into the West End later this month as part of
his season as annual artistic director at the Haymarket) dresses all
characters in period costume except Ros & Guil, whose more
unspecific but thematically designed clothing lets them straddle our
world and that of the play. Nunn brings out the pensive undercurrents
(the pair are even first discovered beneath a stunted
Godot-like
tree) whilst also relishing all the possibilities for play... the
latter perhaps excessively so, with a slightly distended press-night
duration of two and three-quarter hours. Nevertheless, this is an
evening to delight those who enjoy laughing at clever gags not simply
to show that they understand but because they actually are funny.
Written for the Financial
Times.