What a week! To top off seven days of sleep deprivation containing not only Halloween but also most of a semester’s worth of theatre (and a film!) we have the reopening of the StAge in a lavish production of the first of two Shakespearean comedies from Mermaids,
A Midsummer Night’s Dream. As much of a fanatical Shakespeare girlie as I am (or maybe because of my fanatical Shakespeare girliehood) I think it’s sinful for us to be having any Shakespeare plays per semester, let alone two, but if they keep being as much fun as this I’ll keep my grumbling to a very low volume.
So! This is probably the most widely known play in the entire world. You’ve almost certainly studied it; I certainly did, and it was also my Year Six Play – I played the role of Bottom (cue laughter), which my mum insists to anyone who asks was a truly inspired casting choice: which has haunted my life since.
Dream’s universal fame is useful, since in my experience the reception of Early Modern plays in this town is directly related to how many people have studied them and therefore know what the boring slightly mumbled monologues in the middle (as possibly occasionally happen here) are about, and are prepared to be suitably awed by the Great Speeches delivered compellingly by actors who’ve put a lot of thought and practise into them (as definitely happens here). The play therefore received a standing ovation (I participated) – time for an extravagantly long review.
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ID: Iha Jha. Credit: Amelia Thompson.
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Walking in through the door that says ‘The StAge’ and not the one saying ‘Club 601’ you are slightly concerned to see Iha Jha’s Puck patterned all over in green body paint, contorted on all fours in centre stage, but fear not! They soon begin a slightly creepy dance that turns into a ceilidh and then dissolves into chaos, bringing on and showing off the Lovers, the Fairies, and the Rude Mechanicals – a fun little microcosm of the play, well-executed and serving a clear purpose. I got to chat with the Director, Heather Tiernan, the Producer, Aradhana Kiran, and the Costumer Kate Nolting before the play, who stress the importance of the distinction and then intersection of these groupings of characters, made here into ‘three worlds’.
Heather explains ‘I’m non-binary and I’ve not really seen a lot of non-binary rep within theatre here – there’s gender-blind casting where you’re like that could be non-binary but it’s just someone cross-dressing without ever actually having it get addressed, whereas here I wanted to actually look at it and just go what does that actually mean? … For the humans we’ve gone very much hyper-gendered, we were casting specific to gender, and then for the fae we just opened it up to anyone … for the mechanicals, instead of the humans being gendered and the fae having no gender at all, we still play gender in a weird way, changing the gender of the characters to the genders of the people that are playing them … With the human world we do a lot with the costumes and we’re doing stuff with the lighting, trying to make it feel rigid, like you’re stuck within the confines of things, whereas when you get to the fae side it is more chaotic – you have licence to do whatever – and I’ve tried to keep the three worlds distinct in how the actors move and interact with each other, and how their direction is compared to each’. The costumes are a big deal – Kate says ‘for the humans what we’ve done is conform to very old-fashioned gender rules, dealing with a lot of 50s styles to show these kind of antiquated straight gender roles; and then for the fae we’ve done silhouettes and styles which do not conform to any sort of rules, and played with hair and makeup which do the same. We’ve also incorporated a lot of elements of Scottish folklore, since we’re doing the whole thing kind of set in Scotland with the ceilidh dances and the music, and so most of the fabrics are tartans, tweeds, wools, and a lot of things are hand-woven and hand-dyed, to reinforce this idea that the fae are creating their own clothing … The mechanicals in the show are the play within the play … they’re dressed like us, they’re wearing show merch or St Andrews merch as if they’re Mermaids students putting on a show’.
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ID: Mary Kalinski and George Jeffreys. Credit: Amelia Thompson.
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What a big wall of quotes! I didn’t want to edit it down, but I hope you read it all because: it all works! The Lovers are strait-laced and wear boring clothes, the Fairies are much more fun and prettier, and the fourth wall is about as much obstacle to the Mechanicals as the cardboard box which doth present wall in their play (about the size of my notebook).
But first, the fundamentals. Callisto Lodwick’s set is restrained, just a low platform on the upper stage (the play uses the space between it and the audience as a lower stage) with cushions and various-coloured cloths for Titania’s bower, and garlands of leaves hanging from the curtains and down the handrails of the stairs – but the play, appropriately for its metatheatrical implications, interacts with the entire environment of the StAge, all over the various staircases and especially creatively with four stage blocks on the lower stage which slowly shift positions over the course of the play. Lewis Fitez’s lighting correspondingly goes everywhere, lighting the audience up to bring them into the Mechanicals’ scenes, shining green spotlights wherever Puck appears, and turning the lights into Celtic knots for Titania and Oberon, as well as the basics of having a harsh white light for Athens and and a pale green light for the forest.
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ID: Eilidh Read and Buster van der Geest. Credit: Amelia Thompson.
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Buster van der Geest’s Theseus spends most of his time in a thoroughly imposing profile, though he lightens up towards the end of the play and allows us to see the other half of his face; he is counterpointed by Eilidh Read’s Hippolyta in a three-quarters profile and a glittery black veil. Eilidh makes up for her shortage of lines with beautifully severe shifts of the head and quick meaningful eye movements, and quietly dominates her pontificating fiance, including with some very slayful pats and knowing smiles. George Jeffreys’ Demetrius is harshly aggressive in a flat cap, utterly sincere, contrasted with Felix da Silva Clamp’s lively Lysander, lying down playfully on the stage blocks, affectionately teasing Poppy Kimitris’ Hermia, then changing utterly (‘c-c-c-c-c-content!?’) when in love with Mary Kalinski’s Helena. These two are also opposites, with Poppy playing Hermia very straight (and therefore mostly miserable (the inevitable result of straightness)) while Mary directs knowing glances at the audience and monologues centre-stage. The fight between them is glorious, with Poppy snarling out and then shrieking ‘How low am I?’ and Mary jumping on a stage block for ‘Because she is something lower than myself’, gleeful at Hermia’s humiliation, while Felix and George wrestle to out-flex each other. The four slowly gain each others’ clothes over the course of the show, ending up all mixed up and much better-looking – I feel a slightly intense disgust for Poppy’s blue polka-dot 1950s housewife dress, which is of course the point. Script-wise the Lovers are dealt a boring hand, and they make a deliciously engaging melodrama out of it.
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ID: Felix da Silva Clamp and Poppy Kimitris. Credit: Amelia Thompson.
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The Mechanicals are students, which allows for some amusing script alterations (‘Hard-handed students that work in Athens here, / Which never laboured in their minds till now’), but is also I feel exactly what Shakespeare was going for when he was writing this first of his plays-within-plays, with working-class men like him, however much ridiculous stereotypes, earnestly putting on something to be mocked by the aristocratic Theseus – there should always be an element of closeness and self-awareness when the audience laughs at them. The star is of course Bottom, played by Kiera Joyce with brilliant energy and comedic timing, shining at the moments she can draw the audience into her world with extravagant movements and overplayed emotions, and perhaps even a little too charismatic to be laughed when she’s just regularly talking – I truly loved most of all her song and dance overcoming her fear before encountering Titania. When the donkey hat, made of wires and green yarn, appears, it is also a thing of beauty, ears waggling and nose wobbling in a disturbingly fleshy sensuous way. Louise Mountbatten Windsor is an ultra-enthusiastic and aggressive Quince, enough to match and compete with Kiera, with loud throat-clearings and terrifying death threats and a truly impressively awkward and cringe-inducing prologue to the play-within-the-play. Sophie Rose Jenkins’ Snout is so delightfully enthusiastic to be a wall, and Eleanor White’s Starveling is equally passionate about her faulty flashlight being the moon; Fiona McShane’s Snug the Technician is endearingly terrified and Alex Gorichev’s Flute (the only man in the troupe, so the slightly basic jokes about him playing Thisbe stay and work all the better) is glorious shuffling around on his toes. They put on their red St Andrews robes for the play and stand on the upper stage in a harsh white front-light while the Lovers sit in the audience and laugh at them from below (with much more free licence to be critical than I have in these reviews), and manage to be so utterly sweet and charming and funny they threaten to eclipse everything that has gone before.
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ID: Poppy Kimitris and Mary Kalinski. Credit: Amelia Thompson.
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To return to that everything – the Mechanicals and also Eilidh (wearing some lovely white rope wings) double as Titania’s fairies, and beat the ground and chant and dance to cast a protective spell over her bower, lit up in enchanting pink and green. Caroline Kerr’s Titania is all gold and lavish stylishness – though there is almost no suggestion of them competing with Oberon’s power (a conceivable criticism of this production is its lack of significant interaction with the overwhelming victory of patriarchal power dynamics in the original play, all magically resolved in happy marriages – I don’t feel like making Oberon non-binary makes their methods of manipulation of Titania unproblematic), their displays of love for Bottom, and winding around her, are charmingly persuasive. Iha’s Puck, doubling traditionally with Philostrate, is incredibly relatable both in their gleeful joy in chaos (lying on Oberon’s knee kicking their legs!) and slouchy boredom fulfilling Oberon’s orders. The conceit of Puck pulling all the strings, starting the play and ending it, is nothing new, but Iha plays the role to perfection, moving inhumanly, crouching and leaning and making really creepy pulling motions with her arms, then out of nowhere leaping and bounding. Her Puck embeds themself into all of the StAge, appearing from everywhere, crouching against staircases, sliding stage blocks around and peering over the edge of the stage. Still, for me, Orsolya Haynes’ Oberon stole the show. Oberon in this production is pure magnetic (sexy) irresistible power; their victory is absolute. And Orsi’s costume is mind-blowing: red face paint (contrasting with Titania’s green), stag-like branch-horns, a beautiful handmade cloak bedecked in autumn leaves with a threateningly skeletal white tree up the middle, then a flowery corset and black knee-high boots and leggings. Oberon rules over everything with predatory elegance, stalking across the upper stage, slouching arrogantly on stage blocks, swaggering up and down the stairs, all in heels better described as acupuncture needles than stilettos (I have chosen to delete a joke about the provable medical benefits of being stepped on by them). They effortlessly break through Titania’s protection with some words in Gaelic and a perfect little explosion (courtesy of Lewis and sound tech Thomas Jordan); they have one terrifying moment of unleashed fury and a few notes of frustration, but always snap back instantly to sinister control. Watching Titania in love with Bottom they sit carefree on the edge of the upper stage, stroking Titania, disgusted then pitying, then waking them up effortlessly manipulative, drawing them into a dance and then a kiss – however much Caroline’s Titania rolls their eyes and draws away, the seduction of Orsi’s Oberon’s power is inescapable. Problematic queer enemies-to-lovers romance rep! Who says Shakespeare is old-fashioned? The non-binariness of the fairies feels effortless, obvious, as it should always have been, especially for Puck the spirit of pure mischief and Oberon of pure power.
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ID: Iha Jha. Credit: Amelia Thompson.
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One thing I’ve mentioned only in passing is the Scottishness of this production. Heather explains ‘I don’t really see a lot of my Scottish culture reflected here – I’m from the Northern Isles, from the Isle of Lewis, so that is very very heavy Scottish culture. It is Highland dancing, it is ingrained into everything you do there – I grew speaking Gaelic partially, so we’ve also incorporated some elements of that into it. It’s honestly been so fun to share elements of my culture that I haven’t really been able to touch while I’ve been in St Andrews, because the vibes are very different where you are in Scotland, and I can’t really have the same connection I used to have with my roots back home, and it’s been really such a joy to teach people Gaelic, to teach people the dancing, and they really seem to enjoy it which is something that I’ve really enjoyed myself’. The end of the play explodes into an amateur Highland dance, a chaotic, energetic inversion of the ceilidh at the beginning. Green Celtic knots fill the stage and the walls; everyone, even the reluctant Theseus, joins the dance, even Oberon and Titania; the humans go to sleep; Oberon and Titania dance one more romantic waltz; another kiss; then only Puck is left, illuminated in shocking red; they turn out the lights one by one during ‘If we shadows have offended’, ending with only a white light on everyone on the little platform on the upper stage; then darkness. The final message then is of unbridled joy in a chaotic unity of the three worlds of the play, and of tender (queer!) romance, however problematically we’ve seen the romances come to be. I was filled with emotion – this is a long play (2 hours and 45 minutes!) and possibly dragged in the middle, but the end crowns all (to quote a different play).
Heather says this is not ‘traditional Shakespeare, we’re not going for intense artistic vision’ – they and Aradhana agree, they don’t like the word vision, ‘we just like vibes, we very much embrace the chaos’. They give their cast ‘a level of agency in themselves as actors … a lot of the show is dictated by these guys doing things and me going “That’s so cool do it again!”. I’m never quite sure what people mean by ‘traditional Shakespeare’. A lot of the choices in this production seemed to me to be thoroughly traditional, but perhaps that’s because the main ideas – the playing with gender, making the Fairies non-binary, making the Mechanicals students, as well as the introduction of the ceilidhs and Highland dancing – slot in so naturally into the play. To me this was a fun and utterly charming subtle update of
Dream. There are things I might have done differently; there are various mistakes; dropped lines; Oberon’s costume getting amusingly caught on things; but what remains in my mind is the joy and the passion which every actor put into every part, and a thousand lovely little details most of which I have had to cut, even in this absurdly self-indulgent review, even without looking at my pages upon pages of mostly illegible notes. What better play for this collaborative, chaotic directing style than
A Midsummer Night’s Dream?
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