Tim Crouch’s brave new adaptation of The Tempest is a delightfully confusing production, sure to determine once and for all where the fourth wall is, and how long it can every really stand.
When it comes to audiences, Tim Crouch is a master manipulator. Throughout his career, with works like An Oak Tree, the question that Crouch asks the most through his work is surely; what are the lines between performer and spectator? And how can these lines be reworked so change the landscape of theatre? Now Crouch brings his signature style of the intimate grandeur of the Sam Wannamaker playhouse, with this new production of Shakespeare’s The Tempest, a play that deals with the themes of colonialism, love, power and enslavement.
Crouch approaches these themes in vibrant ways. The play begins with the characters of Caliban (Faizal Abdullah), Ariel (Naomi Withner), Miranda (Sophie Steer) and Crouch as Prospero, sitting around, recounting the story of their arrival on the island. The speeches have largely been divided between characters, and there is a sense of community built, albeit with Prospero as staunch governor. Through puppetry and illumination, the four start building the narrative and atmosphere together, little by little, until at once there is a sudden snap of focus. From here the play evolves into something unique, as the lines between audience and performer are shifted. From here, nothing is certain, and through twists, turns and hilarious interludes, the narrative tangles itself with the kind of meta-theatricality that is to be expected of its director. The audience are forced to keep re-adjusting their perspectives, as the question of what is play-real and real-real becomes the norm.
The cast have fun with this ambiguity. Patricia Rodriguez and Merce Ribot excel as Stephano and Trinculo, their energy and slapstick tomfoolery bringing a much-needed lightness. Sophie Steer’s Miranda is suitably childlike on the one hand, but she oozes ambition and cunning. Faizal Abdullah gives a very nuanced performance as Caliban, the islander who is usurped into enslavement by Prospero. Abdullah brings both warmth and anger to his portrayal, and the sense that he is wrestling with his identity comes across well. In this production, language is an important theme, and Abdullah marks his liberty through this, shifting between English and his native Malay, again breaking down the conventions that we know to expect. Conversely, Crouch’s Prospero is resigned and grumpy, aware perhaps of his own rewrite.
The ensemble of cast-aways, Colin Michael Carmichael as Sebastian, Amanda Hadingue as Antonia, Tyrone Huggins as Gonzalo and Jo stone-Fewings as Alonso, are all suitably confused as the island plays its tricks on them and deliver their characters with oomph.
Florence Mcglynn’s costumes make the king’s company into sharply dressed businesspeople, Amanda Hadingue especially, who brings a capitalist cut-throat Vigour to the role of Antonia. For the islander’s, the costumes are well-worn, as though found discarded on the beach. Caliban wears a retro England football shirt and Prospero wears dirty imperial dress, the remanence of a faded empire. The stage design too has an antique rust to it, mechanical and cold, the heavy use of dull gold which is perfectly suited to the playhouse’s candle lit aesthetic.
Then there is the music, provided for much of the production by Emma Bonnici and Victoria Couper, two vocalists who, by the sheer power of their voices, create the sounds of the island. Appearing in different spaces throughout, their harmonies are the magic that the characters confront, and can be playful, eerie and joyous in the change of a note.
This is a production that poses a great deal of ideas but never feels rushed or stretched under the weight of its ambition. There is a knowing wink to everything here, and even in the most jarring moments, illumination and warmth are brought through by the cast’s dedication to the bit, and the unwavering of Crouch’s vision. This is a truly unique adaptation of a well-trodden story, and it sure to light candles in the minds of all who see it.