(Rated 4/5 )
The Tempest – thought to be Shakespeare’s last play and possibly written by him for his last performance in a lead role also – is a play I had not read or seen yet wanted to for some time. I had heard it described variously as weird, fantastical, surreal and probably Shakespeare’s most autobiographical. I recall seeing a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at The Globe Theatre, on a night of high winds and rain, and, of course, in the open air. One of the people I was with commented that, on that particular night, it was a more appropriate setting for The Tempest! Perhaps The Dream, with its themes of fairy magic and fantastical happenings, is the closest of Shakespeare’s other plays to The Tempest. And yet in fantasy land there can live greater truth than in reality. It would seem that the attention to detail and study of events, which Shakespeare used in most of his other plays, was let go in this instance. He seems to come so much more from feeling/emotion than clever wit. There are very few, if any, plot tricks and devices: No real sense of the tools he uses time and again of mistaken identity and multitudes of settings and scene changes. We have one setting in real time in accordance with the oldest ‘rules’ of Aristostlean drama.
All that matters here is to understand how this man – Prospero – feels about his isolation for twelve years on a desert island with his daughter in the environment he has created for himself; his plan to take revenge on those who banished them – including his own brother – and plot to marry his daughter with his brother’s son; and in order for all this to occur, how he uses his magic and employs the spirits to create the tempest, shipwrecking those on whom he wishes to take revenge and carrying out tricks upon them. As is common in Shakespeare we have the villainous brother and the clowns, including the King’s fool, played by Nicholas Lyndhurst in high comedic form.
In the end this is, unusually for Shakespeare, a simple surreal psychological journey of one man, setting free the daughter he adores, letting go of revenge and learning to forgive. And in this whole process letting go of his magic and tricks. And herein lies the autobiographical element – was Shakespeare processing the loss of his creativity in writing and performance before his own end in a kind of drama self-therapy? Perhaps symbolically, as Prospero releases his hold on his daughter to the care of another man, her cousin, so Shakespeare frees his written offspring to be adopted in performance by his fellow actors of the time, and, as he sadly was never to know, by many generations of actors since. His creative children have grown up in ever so many different ways as his characters are embodied by different actors, and plays taken under the wings of numerous production teams and interpreted by such a variety of directors.
For me the feelings and emotive forces in this play come through stronger than from all his other work. The drama involved in the likes of Hamlet, Othello and King Lear, is more complex, more compelling, certainly more intelligent and exceptional, yet I felt the truth pouring out of this play in a deeper, more profound way. Aren’t writers advised to write what they know and is that not usually the best of their work? Shakespeare’s research and insights into humanity cannot be flawed, but no research is required to write that which comes directly from the heart and in that, there is a pure freedom of expression. The other main, and highly significant, contributor to this feeling is the performance of Ralph Fiennes as Prospero. His embodiment is so gentle and powerfully moving. As he put on his magic coat at the beginning of the play, I felt a comfort and serenity, and during his epilogue my goosebumps had goosebumps.
In spite of years of study of Shakespeare in school, and feeling the need many times, as an audience member, to have some understanding of the script beforehand, in this case I did not. Though I did not understand all the intricacies of the dialogue, I got the essence of it and that was good enough. In a way, as with all accomplished acting, the power of the meaning; the subtext, comes across beyond the text, and in a sense, focussing on the text itself can get in the way of that. Unfortunately, I did not have the same experience when I went to see Kevin Spacey’s Richard III. That was in no way due to poor acting. One aspect had to do with the importance of the detail of the - as we now know – falsified history of Richard III; who he was created to be and what he supposedly did. It is a play – like many of the histories in my opinion – that requires prior knowledge of the events and characters involved. It is also important for me to be able to see the emoting of the actors involved. The Old Vic is too big to allow that for those in the cheap seats. When broadcast on screen at one point, Kevin’s emotionally expressive facial nuances were as clear as crystal and so varied – at various times scary, amusing and touching. Without that, for me, there is a lot missing from my the theatrical experience. This inspired me to buy a lovely set of 1940s opera glasses, so that, even if disabled by sitting far back ‘in the gods’, I can still spy on the minutiae of an actor’s emotions on the stage far below. That is, if they hold their heads up! One complaint – and the only one – I have regarding Ralph’s acting of Prospero, was that he bowed his head on some occasions.
In some ways it’s bizarre to even think of comparing the calm, magical Prospero and the tyrannical Richard. Whatever his vengeful acts, Prospero is all about his growing understanding of what it is to be human and forgiving. (Alongside his story, Prospero’s daughter is literally also learning how human beings are as she encounters others – aside from her father and the island’s native Caliban – for the first time. Through her experience and the contrast Shakespeare draws between humans and spirits/fairies, we also learn more about ourselves along with the human characters in the piece.) Shakespeare’s Richard is an inhuman tyrant, who may show moments of doubt and guilt, but was in contrast to those labelled as tyrants today, directly involved in the acts of terrorism and death he was instigating. In his case there is no learning of compassion and forgiveness. At the end of their respective plays both Prospero and Richard are set free, as are those under their influence. Richard’s death ends his cruel reign. Prospero asks for our indulgence to set him free and for ‘spirits to enforce and art to enchant’. This feels like the spirit of Shakespeare entreating to us never to forget him though his ‘ending is despair’ at the loss of the magic of his creative ability.
William Shakespeare, in my humble opinion, it is certain that as long as this world still exists, with producers still to produce your plays, actors to embody your characters, and audiences still to witness them, your spirit will reign supreme and your art enchant for evermore.
P.S. The Theatre Royal is a lovely old ornate theatre, but for those with disability of the lower limbs I would advise taking someone to lean on as you make your way to your seat: The stairs are small and awkward and there is no handrail to hold on to. As already mentioned the size of The Old Vic can lead to visual disabilities that have nothing to do with actual disability of the audience member. I have also experienced it to be far too cold as a result of over-enthusiastic air-conditioning. However it is not the only theatre with that problem.
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