In
so many ways, Trevor Nunn’s production could have been staged a century
ago. There are occasional modern video-projection effects and the odd
modish touch such as sprites performing an aerial ribbon sequence, but
the core of the aesthetic of what is, surprisingly, Nunn’s first
ever
Tempest is almost defiantly traditional.
Ralph Fiennes is the Gielgud
de nos jours
in his concern for the weight of each word and the rhetorical music of
set pieces. His later speeches here, “such stuff as dreams are made on”
and “I’ll drown my book”, are precisely pitched (although he renders
the epilogue with an odd flatness). Each gesture, each stressed word is
considered; however, he perhaps ought to reconsider the occasional
rapid shake of the head which, with those flinty features (albeit
partly hidden behind a thicket of beard), make it seem as if Werner
Herzog has momentarily transformed into Leonard Rossiter. The nobles,
the comic characters (Nicholas Lyndhurst in a Mummerset accent?
Really?), the young lovers, the counter-tenor singing of Ariel, all are
present and classically correct. Nunn cleverly takes a cue from one of
Ariel’s remarks and periodically “divides” him among three performers,
reminding me of a bizarre German production of Philip Glass’s
opera
Satyagraha which
featured a tripartite protagonist, with an acting Gandhi, a singing
Gandhi and a dancing Gandhi. Here, though, it is part of the magic of
the isle.
But how much magic
is
there? Moments. Ferdinand and Miranda’s log-carrying scene is truly
touching, but much of the rest of the time Nunn’s arithmetical fidelity
means that Michael Benz and Elisabeth Hopper are playing dippily naïve
teenagers. Now and again Tom Byam Shaw as (the main) Ariel hits a note
of ethereal wistfulness, but more often he has been directed simply to
be otherworldly in his speech patterns. Since his 2004 Old Vic
Hamlet
I have been unconvinced by the results of Nunn’s generosity towards
younger actors; I think that with the lovers and spirits here, less
authenticity in casting might have led to more truth in performance.
There is also one verifiable 21st-century element: the notion of Prospero as director-
cum-stage
manager is emphasised by designer Stephen Brimson Lewis reusing the
fake proscenium arch he fashioned for the Haymarket’s 2009 production
of
Waiting For Godot, right down to the torn-up boards in one of the side alcoves.
Written for the Financial
Times.