A storm by any other name…
…is still a political maelstrom descending upon us, and it’s the same storm, 400 years later.
I spent the larger part of my formative scholastic years studying Shakespeare, just like you locals. When the Empire spread across the globe, it brought with it not only disease, petulance, alcohol, a lack of empathy for other cultures, and the idea that land could be taken from others and claimed as one’s own for a monarchy far, far away – but it also brought some good stuff, including your literature. Okay – maybe the only good part was the literature. And the alcohol. But that’s a bit loaded and I won’t get into the dodgy trades enacted upon indigenous people under the influence of, and for the exchange of, European booze.
My point is, I consumed as much Shakespeare as you did in school. Then I went on to study it further at uni. One of my favourite courses was “Shakespeare in Performance” – because when it comes right down to it, plays aren’t really meant to be read, they’re meant to be experienced in performance. One of my favourite “performances” was the 1971, black and white, Russian version of King Lear. My professor, Dr Weil, had a personal copy on actual film which he’d spliced together due to breakage so may times, we were informed ours would be the last ever viewing.
But I digress. As I do. So does Shakespeare though, amiright?
My point, which I will now get to, is that I’ve read and seen a lot of Shakespeare – but there is something entirely different about seeing it in the country where it originated. It might seem bog-standard to you lot, but it’s a magical experience for this foreigner.
I had the opportunity to check out The Tempest at this year’s incarnation of Shakespeare’s Rose Theatre. I experienced the story, in live, full performance glory, and it would have made Dr Weil proud.
It’s a steam-punk, Mad Max-esque take on the delightfully odd, magical play that is widely considered one of the hardest to categorise. In fact, my guest at the show asked if it was a comedy or a tragedy (as Willy’s work is generally thrown into one or the other box). It’s both, really. And in the current political climate of distrust of the ruling power, climate change and a general sense of the coming end of the world, what better way to present The Tempest than in a post-apocalyptic, uneasy aesthetic, contrasted against the reconstruction of the 400-year-old Rose Theatre? This is a brilliant way to experience Shakespeare. It also does an exceptional job of underscoring how relevant the subject matter is, four centuries on.
I particularly loved the portrayal of Miranda, who, in previous versions I’ve seen, (and during my own interpretation upon initial reading), is often played as a doe-eyed innocent who is easily overwhelmed by the activities on her little shipwreck island home. Not this one – she’s a wildling who is curious and outspoken, and this is particularly highlighted by her physicality. Miranda, along with all the island natives (Ariel, Caliban and the brilliantly interpreted Spirits), moves like an animal. She and the Spirits are most interesting to watch when they’re not the focus of the scene, when they can be seen reacting to the dialogue, each other, and their general wild space with the ferociousness of untamed beasts.
Prospero is appropriately fierce and tormented, and the choreography makes his magic nearly come to life. However, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Trinculo and Stephano, who are generally meant to steal the show as the comic relief – and they don’t disappoint. Their drunken despair is fabulously physical, and I’d happily watch their spin-off series when it comes to Netflix (someone pitch that – you’d make my year!). And yet, the dark horse award goes to Sebastian, the King’s treacherous brother, who instead of falling into the trope of villain, is delightfully incongruous to type in his portrayal as a terrified and jumpy import to the wild island, and who draws focus anytime he’s on stage.
The reconstruction of the Rose Theatre should be acknowledged as a character in and of itself. It creates a space in which the audience can truly experience Shakespeare’s stories as they were envisioned by the great Bard. The staging outside the theatre also does a wonderful job of taking one back to 17th century England – minus the disease and the struggles of the fiefdom, of course.
My only complaint is about you, York. You, the audience. Or the lack thereof. I’ve been to shows both years that The Rose has been here, and each time, there have been too many empty seats. Where are you, Yorkies? One friend told me she wasn’t willing to pay “London prices for a York show”. Now, this is admittedly a dilemma. On one hand, this is evidence of York, once again, not appreciating the culture at hand. Shakespeare’s The Rose is a unique, pop-up theatre experience that isn’t even available in London. It’s a one-of-a-kind space and event (well, two-of-a-kind. After last year’s success they are running another pop-up event in Oxford this year, but we got it first!) and as such, the prices reflect the uniqueness of the experience. However, on the other side of the argument, I’ve worked in the arts in event management, and I have long debated the cost of a ticket versus getting bums in seats. Would a full theatre at lower ticket prices not be better for the performers (and future arts funding bids) than a premium ticket cost and empty seats?
Tickets range from £13.75 for the groundling area (no seats but a great price and you’re in the middle of the action, as characters tend to wander down and through the audience!) to £65.95 for the “I’m here with the Queen” section. It’s admittedly a good range of prices, so take your pick, but don’t let this unique opportunity pass you by. Unlike the walls that you haven’t walked upon yet, The Rose won’t be here forever.
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