Kicking Against the Pricks: The Roaring Girl and Arden of Faversham

Two plays in a day. Always a good idea. All day drinking, and double the fun. Not much to dislike there.

The two plays I saw at the RSC in Stratford this Wednesday worked really well together. Both were analyses of women out of sync. Both were based on real people, who flouted convention in Renaissance England. Both productions were imaginatively directed . . . and both were performed by the same hard working troupe.

Following a theatre’s work day like this was enlightening. Putting on plays is hard work, and the troupe worked their socks offs. Everybody from the stage hands, to the lighting and sound crew, put in a long demanding day. As time went on I amazed at the stamina of the performers -  their ability to remember so much material, and deliver it with such verve and wit. From the first words of Geoffrey Freshwater at 1.30, through to the last smiling sentence by Lisa Dillon at 10.45 that evening, the players were in make-up, onstage or waiting in the wings. Some of the actors had highly demanding parts in each play. Keir Charles, for instance, was rarely off stage in both productions.

Had I not seen both plays in the same day, I would have missed this - and the stamina of these remarkable performers. Had I seen only one production, I would have missed the transformation of the theatre, from Arden’s warehouse to London’s cobbled streets. As I sat down to the evening show I literally couldn’t believe I was in the same theatre.

Arden of Faversham centres on a real life scandal, which happened 41 years before the play was published. Arden was a self made business-man who acquired the former lands of Faversham Abbey, which had been dissolved by serial killer Henry VIII. Though legally owned by the Church, much of the pasture had been common to local farmers, and Arden’s enclosure marked the dispossession of the villagers. Arden’s wife, Alice, was rich, spoiled and bored, and embarked upon an affair with a low born local, Mosby. Together they plotted to kill rich hubby to gain control of his wealth. They were, however, rather incautious in their plans, involving Arden’s servants, an aggrieved villager and two memorable London hoodlums, Will and Shakebags.

Yes, Will and Shake-bags. Conventionally the play is listed as anonymous, however, there has long been speculation that it was written by Shakespeare. Others have claimed that it was penned by Thomas Kyd, or Kentish lad Christopher Marlowe. I don’t buy the Bard claim - to me, the writing seems too direct, with little of the thorough soul seeking that marks out the Swan of Avon. Marlowe and Kyd are more likely candidates. Indeed, the somewhat modern plain-speak, reminds me of the text of the Massacre at Paris ("Come. Let's go". Exeunt).

That said . . . Will and Shakebags? For some, this is as clear an allusion to the Bard as Rupert Greene’s denouncement of the upstart Shake-Scene. So, if Shakespeare wrote Arden, how likely is it that he secreted his name into his own play? Mmmm . . . well he was prone to overuse the word Will, wasn’t he? OK, how likely is it that the established superstar Marlowe would take a swipe at the new kid on the block? Shakebags was a common term for a thief at the time, so perhaps the name is not quite the shibboleth conspiracy theorists claim it is. The date of the play, pre 1592 is very early for Shakespeare, and late for Marlowe or Kyd. My money’s on Marlowe . .  or maybe a Marlowe/ Kyd production.

At the psychological/ philosophical level the play concerns material greed and lust. Such themes are embedded in wider social/ economic realities, such as the after-effects of the dissolution of the monasteries, the new commerce and commodification, and the brash nouveau riche - of which Arden and his wife were sour embodiments. The other harsh contextual reality, was the oppression of women. Whereas Alice Arden’s accomplices in the murder received death sentences, the judge reserved the worst punishment for her. Burning. At the time, for a wife to murder her husband shook the foundations of the social order, and doing so was the civil equivalent of regicide. It was, in other words, an unthinkable act . . hence the nationwide scandal when this crime was perpetrated; and the episode was deemed important enough to be included in Holinshed’s Chronicles, the historical source for many plays of the English renaissance. Unlike most of these works, however, Arden of Faversham concerned common people - traders, butchers and thieves - and this marks out the work as historically significant in its own right. Here was a revolutionary play on a shocking episode in recent history.

With these tabloid themes, and a script by Marlowe/Kyd/ Shakespeare, this was a sure fire hit, and indeed the play was performed by Shakespeare’s own troupe, the Chamberlain’s Men in the 1590s - perhaps at The Theatre, Shoreditch.  The themes, and the tight modern script resonate today in an England wracked by social change and the commodification of everything. To reflect this money-obsessed spiritual wasteland, director Polly Findlay set the reptilian parvenus in a chavtown in Kent cum Essex. I think Sittingbourne fits the bill beautifully - so close to (now posh) Faversham, but a microcosm of cultureless new millenium entitlement.

Arden is a cold hearted trader, who thinks only of money and his trophy wife Alice. Ian Redford plays the saturnine businessmen as a hollow man, a hungry ghost, who has everything but is never satisfied. As he is musing about his spouse’s indiscretions, she enters the stage - and what a sight that is. Actress Sharon Small totters into the narrative, and never really leaves it, entrancing with her lack of taste, her shallow lusts and problem-page philosophies on life. She is a mesmerising creature, witty and amusing, in a frothy kind of way, but depressingly vacuous - indeed, the embodiment of modern have-it-all celebrity culture. With her husband drifting off stage, Alice talks dreamily about her boyfriend, Mosby, a bit of rough from the wrong end of town. Then in he strides, the uber-chav - cocky, stupid and cultureless, and brilliantly played by Keir Charles - the first of two huge roles he played that day. What a charismatic performer - I feel like I know Mosby, in the same way as I knew, and avoided, Dogsy in the school yard.

Other superb performances stood out. Jay Simpson played the thief Will Black as a thin skinned assassin. Christopher Middleton portrayed the poisoner Clarke as a disgusting sexual predator, eliciting repulsed reactions from the audience. Not the kind of person one would like to encounter - even at a distance. Lizzie Hopley played an aggrieved villager who pursues the dismissive Arden about his appropriation of her land, eventually delivering a memorable curse, that momentarily pierces Arden’s thick skin. Hopley played two memorable parts that day, and they couldn’t have been more different - as you shall see.

On the whole, then, this was a highly creative and powerful performance of a play that speaks volumes to us today. As wealth becomes the only measure of success, and morality, education and spirituality are marginalised or lampooned, the reptiles of Faversham are in the ascendent. This play warns us all, that we should be worried.

Lots to think about there, then - and I did so during a couple of pints before the next play, The Roaring Girl. I returned and entered the transformed theatre, amazing at the industry of the stage hands. Very impressive!

The Roaring Girl was written a couple of decades after Arden, but it too was based on real events. The focus of the play is Moll Cutpurse, actually Mary Frith (1584 – 26 July 1659) who became famous for dressing like a man, publically smoking tobacco and hanging out with street ruffians. She was done on several occasions for minor transgressions, but later, turned into an informant and unlikely celebrity. A very interesting figure amidst Jacobean London, she became the subject of public interest and gained the attention of the entertainments industry. In 1610 John Day wrote The Madde Pranckes of Mery Mall of the Bankside. Unfortunately, this play is lost in the midst of time, but isn’t it amazing that an eccentric 26 year old woman was having major plays written about her in the midst of Jacobean witch hunting?

Thomas Middleton and Thomas Decker were a little late off the mark producing their own play, The Roaring Girl, a year later in 1611. They were obviously fans of the gender bending reprobate, but unlike Day, who dramatised her life, they weaved her into an urban rom com. Incidentally, Thomas Dekker wrote the heartbreaking The Witch of Edmonton a decade later in 1621. He was obviously fascinated by, and sympathetic to, rebellious women such as Mary.

The Roaring Girl  was highly unusual in that it focused on an existing person who was defying convention.  What would the modern equivalents be? Joe Orton writing a play about Quentin Crisp in the 1960s? Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell?

The plot is complex and ludicrous. Sir Alexander Wengrave is dissatisfied with his son’s choice of a bride, because of her lack of an adequate dowry. The emotionally intelligent Sebastian thus hatches a plot to make his father suspect him of having an affair with the infamous Moll Cutpurse. He calculates that papa would be so horrified by this, that he would change his mind and welcome his marriage to the respectable Mary Fitzallard (superbly played by Faye Castelow). So far so simple, except that the narrative then splits into several subplots about marital intrigue among Sebastian’s acquaintances, most notably that involving Mrs Gallipot and the spivvy Laxton; and Mrs Openwork and Goshawk, who whispers that her hubbie has been keeping a whore.

At the centre of this domestic maelstrom is Moll, who dominates, manipulates, mentors and massages the various personalities.  She is quite quite wonderful. At the start of the play, the lights go up to reveal her, slouching cockily on a chair, lustily drawing on a cigarette and surveying the audience with confident, mocking eye. Lisa Dillon’s portrayal of Moll is fresh and energetic. She is in charge. She is the focus, and that’s the way she likes it.  Whereas the original Moll was damned for transgressing gender boundaries, Lisa Dillon transcends them - her Moll, is above all, true to herself. Like everyone else in the audience, I fell in love with this self-actualised being, and towards the end she lasered me with an amused look, took my hand and kissed it. “Thank you, darling” she said, retreating, mockingly mopping her brow. I almost swooned.

She mocked, carped, plotted and flirted. She sang, played electric guitar, acoustic bass, climbed the stage and danced. How could anybody else get a look in?

Surprisingly, perhaps, they did. Although Moll dominated, this was a tight ensemble performance and other characters were brought to life brilliantly. The other scene-stealer of the night was Lizzie Hopley’s portrayal of Mistress Gallipot. You may remember, that Hopley earlier played the decent, timid Mrs Reede, who placed a curse on Arden. Her portrayal of Mistress Gallipot couldn’t have been more different - knowing, flirtatious, mischievous, she toyed with her lines, sparking off and involving the audience. It was a thrilling performance.

Many of her lines concerned her beau, Laxton, played by Keir Charles - who thereby played two major cads in one day. Both were a joy to behold, slightly different in personality, but as manipulative and shallow as each other. Timothy Speyer was terrific as the aggrieved but understanding husband, Mr Gallipot - a very likeable character. Indeed, one of the differences between this play and Arden was that here in London there were streams of goodness, charity, and benign humour - while leafy Faversham resembled a crocodile pit.

Another fine performance was put in by Tony Jayawardena as the slandered Mr Openwork, who loved his wife, and beamed good will throughout. The contrast between this role and that of the brutal Shakebag couldn’t have been greater. Ian Bonar also put in an amazing double shift, with sharply different characters. Likewise, Ken Nwosu did double time in eye catching fashion, stepping in at the last minute to take on the role of the aggrieved Gull.

Of course, as all rom coms do, the couple get married and live happily ever after. At the end, we are left with Mol, who reflects on the events, and announces the appearance of the real Mary Frith on stage at the theatre in the near future. No doubt Mary would have been in the audience at the original play, and may have stood up at this point to receive the applause of the audience. That I would love to have seen.

Leaving the theatre I slipped into a pub to catch the tail end of the Argentina-Holland game. At the table in front of me, I spotted Peter M. Smith, who had played the cross-dressing Bawd in the Shakespeare Institute’s fine production of Pericles last year.  What a wonderful place Stratford is.

Later, as I cleaned my teeth and reflected upon the day’s events. I looked down to my hand. Kissed by Moll Cutpurse. The soap sat by the sink, begging a question.

Henry IV Part One by William Shakespeare. Royal Shakespeare Company, Stratford upon Avon

Henry IV Part 1 is something of a misnomer, as the play is not really about Henry IV at all. This king's rule was founded on rebellion and regicide; and, given the political sensitivities of Elizabethan England, Shakespeare had to be cautious in his portrayal of a successful usurper. The result was that Henry was marginalised in his own two plays.

Before Henry took on the surname IV, he had been called Henry Bolingbroke, son of John of Gaunt and grandson of the mighty Edward III. His royal credentials were thus impeccable; however, so were those of his effete cousin, Richard II, and he had been on the throne since he was ten. Ambitious, alpha male, Bolingbroke toppled Richard in 1399, and had him murdered a year later. Henry thus won the crown, but was thereafter that worst of things - a murderous usurper. A walking PR disaster.

For this reason, any mention of Henry IV at the time of Shakespeare ran the risk of royal rebuke. The first play in the Henriad tetralogy, Richard II, was thus watered down by Shakespeare's theatre company, The Lord Chamberlain's Men; with the vital "seizing of the throne" scene cut altogether. Henry IV Pt. 1, the second in the series of plays, was equally problematic. How to portray the newly enthroned challenger, without justifying rebellion and regicide? Shakespeare's solution was to keep Henry out of the picture for much of play, while concentrating on the other characters - Falstaff, Hotspur and Young Hal, the unruly youth who would go on to become the heroic Henry V. Portraying the youthful antics of a national treasure was safer ground than exploring the personality of a successful usurper.

Shakespeare shaped our understanding of many of the men and women who dominated England from the reign of King John to that of Henry VIII. Because Shakespeare rendered Henry IV as vague and formless, so he remains for most people today. The king's loss of profile was our gain, however; and, instead of a royal lead role we get three inflated characters - one, more inflated than the others.

The story of Henry IV is quite simple. Having disposed of Richard II, Henry was haunted by the murder; and was gripped by uncertainty, and a desire to make pilgrimage to Jerusalem to atone for his sins. Meanwhile, there were rumblings of discontent among influential elites in the North, in Wales and in Scotland. Power was deserting the directionless monarch. On 1st July 1403, Henry received a message from Percy, Earl of Northumberland, demanding twenty thousand pounds in alleged debts to him and his dashing son, Henry, the Hotspur. Percy had been one of the king's co-conspirators in the overthrow of Richard, and this was an outrageous and disloyal provocation. In modern parlance, the King had been dissed, and was well pissed.

The flashpoint in the narrative comes when the campaigning Hotspur takes Scottish prisoners, but refuses to hand them over to Henry. The angry king summons the wayward Percys, and their ally Worcester to assert his authority; but the talks go  badly. Upon leaving, the turbulent noblemen resolve to revolt, and they make alliances with the Scots and Welsh against Henry.

Meanwhile, the king is preoccupied with the general uselessness of his son, Henry, or Hal. He has received continuous news feeds that the youthful prince is partying day and night at the Boar's Head, Eastcheap, with the notorious old scoundrel, Falstaff. Confronted with this political crisis, Henry's rage and frustration are made worse by his inability to rely on his son for support. Hal has shown no interest in - or aptitude for - proving himself in battle. With Percy's challenge, conflict was now inevitable, and here was the perfect opportunity for the prince to earn his spurs. Henry rues the contrast between his wastrel son, and Northumberland's pride and joy, the dashing, chivalric, Hotspur. In once scene Henry wishes his son had been swapped with the headstrong, but more worthy young warrior.

Hal, however, has been learning from his adventures into the underworld. With such a stern, distant father, Hal had rebelled, and found himself a genial, proxy father-figure in Falstaff - one through whom he learned much about life, love, morals and vice. For much of the proceedings, Hal and Falstaff are in playful conflict; and through Socratic cuts and thrusts, the themes of life, honour, honesty and duty are explored.

When the call up comes, the emotionally intelligent Hal is up for the fight, knowing that in order to redeem himself to his father, and the court generally, he will have to excel on the battlefield. This he does, and in the thick of the bloodshed we see young Hal transform into the man who would eclipse his father as Henry V. The young prince leads an army in aid of his father and indeed saves his life. In a climactic scene, he fights and defeats the dashing, uber-warrior Hotspur. Father and son are reconciled.

All then is well, for now.

The text is based heavily on an anonymous play, The Famous Victories of Henry V, which was popular in the last part of the sixteenth centuries, played by troupes up and down the land. On one occasion in 1587, the crack team of the Queen's Men visited Stratford upon Avon, and performed the play; and it is highly likely that Shakespeare was in the audience. Ten years later, the Bard revised and refined the existing narrative and characters to great effect.

In the original play that so impressed Shakespeare in Stratford, there was an outrageous fat old Knight called Sir John Oldcastle, who drank and fornicated in equal measure. In rewriting the narrative, Shakespeare retained the character and his name, but fleshed out the old knight, turning him into a giant, Dionysian presence. Then something happened that changed the play forever. In 1596, the Lord Chamberlain, patron of Shakespeare's acting company died, and was replaced by Lord William Cobham, who took no pleasure in theatre. The new puritan firebrand, had Sir John Oldcastle as an ancestor, and insisted that the name of his saintly, protestant forefather be respected. Shakespeare thus decided to change the character's name to Sir John Falstaff - also a real man who knew Henry V. Falstaff was a famous debaucher who owned a pub cum brothel in Southwark called - would you believe it - The Boar's Head (the name of the inn in the play). Shakespeare toyed with this change in the character's name when Hal called Falstaff  "my old lad of the castle." Oldcastle was the character's original name. The Castle was another notorious brothel in Southwark.

The play is dominated by the rebranded Falstaff, the fat, dissolute old knight of the realm, who - through battles, affairs and gallons of sack (fortified wine) - has perfected a strangely coherent moral philosophy. Comic, wise and disgusting in equal proportions, he is one of Shakespeare's greatest creations, a favourite with audiences ever since. Queen Elizabeth was a particular fan of the genial debaucher, and demanded that Shakespeare write a further play - a comedy about Falstaff, where he falls in love. Shakespeare obliged in the brilliant Merry Wives of Windsor, which included the Henriad's cohort of supporting characters, such as the tart with a heart, Mistress Quickly, and Bardolph, the ruddy alcoholic. Perhaps concerned that he was becoming a one trick pony, Shakespeare killed the roaring libertine off early in Henry V.

The performance at the RSC was of course, quite brilliant. Anthony Sher was mesmerising, as Falstaff roared, chuckled, reflected and philosophised while drinking his beloved sack. This was a life affirming performance, and I loved every second of Sher's embodiment of the libertarian rogue. To play Young Hal to Anthony Sher's Falstaff must be a daunting prospect, but Alex Hassell showed no reserve as he caroused, laughed and teased the old buffoon without mercy. Hal's gradual transformation from partying rich kid to leader of men was superbly realised.

Antony Byrne is one of my favourite actors. I first saw him as Mowbray in Richard II, and loved his alpha, swaggering performance. In this he played a similar character, the Early of Worcester, who betrays Henry. Again the performance was butch and brilliant. Meanwhile, Trevor White played the dashing Henry Hotspur was enormous energy, bringing a danger and unpredictability to the role that took the breath away. The scene with his wife, played by Jennifer Kirby, was hair-raising in its intensity, with the actress matching his brutal energy with finely observed cleverness and guile. Whereas Jennifer Kirby's role was short, her performance of it was as memorable as other more major roles.

Some performances of smaller roles also caught the eye. Youssef Kerkour played the Earl of Westmoreland with authority, and a stage presence that belied the limited lines. Martin Bassindale played Peto with freshness and immediacy; and nailed the key line in one of my favourite parts of the play, "Falstaff!—Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse."

On the whole, then, this was a dazzling, energetic and hilarious production of a brilliant play. Falstaff stole the show of course. That's just how Shakespeare intended it. Having Antony Sher as Falstaff could have meant this role completely outshone everything else. However, Sher's generosity as an actor is such that, as he dazzled and delighted, he allowed the others to shine too.

The only character who didn't fizz was Henry IV - just as Shakespeare, and the fine actor, Jasper Britton, intended. The eponymous lead character was not the lead role after all, making this a strangely radical, imbalanced kind of play. With Falstaff in it, it was bound to be.

Review: Richard II Live, Royal Shakespeare Company, 13th November 2013.

To clap, or not to clap? That was the question posed by a triumphant David Tennant as he bowed deeply after this landmark broadcasting of Richard II into cinemas around the world. Some of my companions sitting in Grantham did, but then came the hush, as confusion reigned over the appropriate response. I see on the Internet that the same question hung over audiences in packed cinemas around the country.

I did clap, for quite a long time - involuntarily as it happens, as this daring event by the RSC deserved something more than mumbling approbations and shuffling feet. I mean, what a gloriously brass-necked thing for the Company to undertake - and what nerves shown by the cast, who could - really could - have cocked up the odd line, scene or indeed the whole event. That's the drama of live drama - and there's nothing quite like witnessing the vulnerable high wire acts required of Shakespeare in the flesh.

Richard II is a fine play about the assumption of power - in the sense of taking-it-for-granted - and the assumption of power in the sense of snatching it from one who already has it. Richard had been King of England since the age of ten, and Tennant's Richard is quite used to the trappings of wealth and favour, wafting from court to court with a snobbish disdain of mere terrestrial squabbles. This graceful arrogance hides the not inconsiderable qualities of the man, who is flawed and petulant - yes - but cultured and genuinely patriotic. Richard has an unshakable conviction in the divine right of kings to rule. However, ruling on a dispute between the macho Henry Bolingbroke and his rival Hereford, Richard oversteps himself when he banishes both from his domain. Bolingbroke's father, the old hero, John of Gaunt, pleads for his son, but Richard, in a flash of regal pique, merely extends his son's ban by a year.

Through this act, Richard alienates powerful courtiers, who sympathise with Bolingbroke, and  support his regrouping and return to England. Nigel Lindsay's Bolingbroke is a swaggering, brutish alpha male, who shows no real sympathy for the floundering King. Director Gregory Doran highlights Richard's bemusement and incomprehension as Bolingbroke's strength become irresistible. I felt genuinely sorry for Richard, as he drifted, rudderless, from crisis to crisis, resulting in a heartbreaking goodbye to his queen, played skilfully by Emma Hamilton.

This is a seriously heavyweight cast, and the performances were all characterised by depth and intelligence. Michael Pennington's John of Gaunt as a depressed shadow of his former self, was edgy and uneasy, especially in his "this scepter'd Isle" speech, which is widely misrepresented as a triumphalist rabble rouser, rather than a sad lament for a broken country. Jane Lapotaire as the Duchess of Gloucester is perhaps the story of the production, having not acted for years after a brain haemorrhage. Her one and only speech, right at the beginning, exposes the rotten roots of Richard's reign. The inclusion of this harsh soliloquy is an act of bravura by Shakespeare. Its delivery, by Jane Lapotaire, is an act of grace, courage and personal redemption.

From these stark, dank beginnings the play grows and engages, and during the second half, one is lost in the pain and bewilderment of a King who knows nothing but being King. His death comes as something of a relief for him, and leaves us facing another - arguably less able - man in his throne. At the end, the shadow of Richard hangs over him; as it has done all morning over me. I can't wait to see how Richard's nemesis, Bolingbroke - I mean Henry IV - gets on in the next broadcasting event by the RSC. If it's anything near as good as this, I will indeed clap at the end - and loudly.

Review: Titus Andronicus Blog Event at the RSC, 27th June 2013

This week, I was thrilled to be at the RSC for the Blog Titus event, and sat mesmerised as the players wove a blood-spattered tale from threads of revenge, duty, honour, terrorism, and - fascinatingly – high humour amidst hellish brutality. Afterwards at the Q&A, the genial, intelligent director Michael Fentiman talked easily about the development of the play. Though Titus was enormously popular in Shakespeare’s day - “a hit”, as he called it - it gradually fell out of favour, reaching a nadir in the Victorian era when it was rarely performed; and, to add insult to injury, for years the authorship and quality of writing were called into question, with some notable critics casting Titus out of the Shakespeare canon altogether. With the unprecedented brutality of the 20^th century, however, Titus Andronicus became more accepted as it became more relevant. Key in this was the post war Olivier production of 1955, which reinstated the play among the first order of Shakespeare tragedies. In the midst of our 21st century wars on terror Titus now seems current, authoritative.  As Fentiman observed, every play has its day, and Titus, once so denigrated, now reads like a landmark movie script.  

The actress Katy Stephens talked incisively about her role as the captive Goth queen Tamora, suggesting that her cruel manoeuvrings were actually carefully plotted acts of resistance against her captors. At the beginning of the play, the victorious Titus Andronicus sacrifices Tamora’s eldest son, in spite of her pleas for clemency – an act reflected later in his own  daughter Lavinia’s desperate pleas for Tamora to put a stop to her impending rape. Tamora famously refuses and gives the go-ahead for her sons to proceed with the assault. This is revenge served cold – an act so shocking and politicised that Stephens characterised it as an act of terror. Chillingly, she conjectured that Tamora may also have been raped – possibly by Titus himself.  As I listened to the actress speak, I was doubly impressed with Shakespeare’s vision and humanity. Every year, untold numbers of women endure rape as an act of terror and revenge, but little is done to redress this. Through the disfigured, bloodied, Lavinia, and the radicalised, hate-filled Tamora, Shakespeare forces us to confront these issues head on. Here is a very modern morality play.

Titus’ daughter, Lavinia, is a difficult role to play, but Rose Reynolds performance powerfully captured the transformation from beautiful patrician virgin to dismembered, traumatised, wreck. In a wonderful insight into the acting process, Reynolds spoke last night about the techniques she used to portray the horror of her butchery – including lying on the ground and raising her straight legs above her shoulders so that the muscles spasmed, and she shook involuntarily. She used this muscle memory, shaking coldly throughout much of the performance. Reynolds also described a friend who had lost a finger, who experienced pain whenever she lowered her arm. Lavinia thus kept her hands raised when discovered by her uncle, Marcus – a posture so ugly, so awkward that it conveyed the roaring pain in her bloodied stumps. 

When asked what he thought were the lessons of the play, the Director, Michael Fentiman, mentioned the dehumanising effects of war, particularly on Titus Andronicus himself. Stephen Boxer, who played Titus with wit and depth, reflected upon the man, whose return to Rome – and expected retirement - exacerbated the brutalities of Roman politics. Boxer discussed how the escalation of his woes led eventually to his breakdown and transformation. When asked why he laughed in the most appalling of circumstances, Titus replies that he has no more tears to cry. Once Titus passes through this breaking point into something resembling madness, Stephen Boxer plays with the text to great comic effect. At one point he raised the plastic bags holding the heads of his sons, to listen to what they were saying. Explaining this grotesquery, Boxer smiled and said, “it is actually there in the text”. And yes, I suppose it is. With such humour, you are reminded of cinematic portrayals of walking wounded from 20^th century wars, carrying their own limbs, laughing. Hell must be full of laughter.  

Not there for the Q and A sessions, unfortunately, was the wonderful Kevin Harvey, who played Aaron with authority and wit, suggesting again that his were acts of resistance, rather than evil. His Liverpudlian accent worked well in marking his difference from the patrician Rome in which he found himself.

Richard Durden was a masterful Marcus – genial, wise, realistic, disappointed. His key moment came on discovering the mutilated Lavinia. Marcus’ speech has frequently been cut, as many modern directors and critics found it flowery and inappropriate. As Director Michael Fentiman explained, however, the passage was kept in as the burbling mutterings of a man presented with something so shocking that no words are adequate. With the bloodied Lavinia at the front of the stage, staring incomprehendingly out at the audience, Marcus stood way behind her- one was thus transfixed by the trembling Lavinia, as the balmy words flowed over her.

Mention must also go to Ben Deery, who stepped into the role of the Emperor, Saturninus for the night, in a well judged, balanced, and at times hilarious performance. Perry Millward and Jonny Weldon were terrific as Tamora’s terrifying sons, Demetrius and Chiron – played with verve and gusto, rather like a demonic Ant and Dec. The appearance of them lurking on BMX bikes was a dark, threatening touch. 

Overall, then, a delightful evening. One I will never forget. Certain things will I know stick in my mind about this highly inventive and satisfying mash-up – the unexpected  invasion of the storm-troopers on the hunt, the thud of Titus’ sons’ heads being dropped on the floor, the utter sexiness of Tamora at the height of her powers, and the knife being wielded by Hal Hewetson as the Young Lucius.

Shocking? Yes. Brutal? Yes. But so is life out there in the real world. As Stephen Boxer concluded, Shakespeare, as always, holds a mirror up to us. And this time, in 2013, the vision is terrifying.

My thanks to Dean Asker and Amy Belson for organising this Blog event, and thanks to the Director and actors for giving such an interesting insight into the production of this unsettling play.