The sparse setting appropriately reflects the importance of Elizabeth I (Madeleine Withington), to both Shakespeare’s intention of immortalising her greatness, and her own spectacularly successful performance as Queen. The dramatic energy seems to flow from the centrally placed throne at the rear towards an upraised stage as the players enter, ascend, descend and exit. As scene follows scene, from tragic Rome to enchanted forest, from bloody battlefield to the mystical Temple of Diana, each contextualised by the discreetly placed narrators (George Ogilvie and Jennifer West), realisation of the playwright’s marvellous capacity to create rich and strange worlds on stage must be acknowledged.
Appropriately, the selection begins with the crowning of the first Tudor monarch, Henry VII, formerly Earl of Richmond (Patrick Cullen), in which Shakespeare indirectly pays homage to his Queen as “true succeeder”, and acclaims the benefits of “smooth-faced peace”.
The selected excerpt from Julius Caesar shows both a deeply troubled Brutus (Jacob Warner) and an overweeningly ambitious Caesar (Cullen), in conflict with their wives, Portia (Chantel Leseberg) and Calpurnia (a moving Samantha Ward). Portia’s complaint that she has ceased to be her husband’s confidante suggests that Brutus feels a disquieting shame at his involvement in the imminent assassination, and Calpurnia’s apprehension suggests that Caesar’s fate is of great import for the whole of Rome. Caesar, as Elizabeth I, desired enlargement of power, and both had the capacity and greatness of spirit to exercise it. In the opening scene of King Lear, an elderly King (Tel Benjamin) who has the capacity to command, hands over his peaceful kingdom to lesser individuals, despite the restraint advised by the loyal Kent (Mansoor Noor), and, as a consequence, to war. Society is fragile, vulnerable: the exercise of power necessary to preserve its peace and prosperity must be in the strong hands, the public and not the private figure.
Between these commentaries on the nature of power and good governance, the players present scenes from comedies. Often the action in Shakespearean comedies is set in motion by cruel laws or abusive conventions, administered either by dukedoms or patriarchies. The charming drollery of mistaken identity from a Comedy of Errors is typified by the selected scene in which a Courtesan (Mia Corsini Lethbridge) accosts Antipholus of Syracuse (Alex Chalwell) and his servant Dromio (Michael Wood) demanding Antipholus return a ring, which she gave to his identical twin brother the previous evening. The play, however, begins with the imminent execution of Antipholus’s father, unable to raise the ransom required to save himself from execution. The genuine hilarity of the quarrelling lovers (Hermia/Emma Harvie, Helena/Cecilia Morrow, Lysander/Edward McKenna, Demetrius/Christopher Vernon) set at cross-purposes by the mischievous and unsympathetic elemental, Puck (Chalwall) and his dramatically costumed King, Oberon (a striking Rhys Keir), has its origins in a law permitting fathers to demand the sequestration or even execution of daughters who refuse their fathers’ choice of suitor.
Again, in an excerpt from As You Like It friendship is tested when Duke Frederick (Tom Nauta) demands that Rosalind (Eliza Reilly), the inseparable companion of his daughter, Celia (Stephanie Anna), be banished from the court. The decision of Celia to flee with her friend, and their plan to adopt disguises and new names, is presented with a delightful freshness, as is the love of Viola/Cesario (Lauren Rowe) for Orsino (Alex Hardaker) and Olivia’s (Hayley Gibson) passion for Cesario/Viola in the selection from Twelfth Night. Pericles, Prince of Tyre, rounds out our voyage. The cast, in particular Marina (Amy Hack) and Pericles (Matt Longman), both of whom undergo prolonged suffering as a consequence of the abuse of power by traitorous rulers, breathe life into a difficult scene, conveying a profound sense of restoration of all that had been lost.
The strategic use of group singing and the individual songs (Lisa Shouw, singing teacher), in particular, the songs of Twelfth Night (Christopher Vernon, Tom Nauta and Eliza Scott) and Marina’s song in Pericles, and the use of processional movement, added to the atmosphere and intention of the chosen scenes. Overall, the linking of the scenes through the narrative gave form and meaning to what otherwise would be a cleverly costumed medley (a sash, for instance, with tail ends over the arm effectively suggesting a toga), and the placing of the narrators on either side of the performance area, and their alternating voices, gave a sense of appropriate balance to the whole.
More than a sum of it parts, Journeys with the Bard is an affectionate and respectful acknowledgement of the greatness of a dramatist, performed with infectious enthusiasm.
