★★★★★

“The emotional stakes reach the treetops in the park. The magic shoots for the stars. It is innovative, funny, cheeky, camp and degenerate.”

I’ve never really been sure where Illyria was geographically, but walking away from Regent’s Park, as the moon rises and the lights twinkle through the greenery, the urge to pinpoint it on the map is great. It seems to be somewhere between Montenegro and Croatia. But what a fabulous holiday destination it would make. Not for the sun and the sea, mind. But the locals. According to Owen Horsley’s louche version of “Twelfth Night”, there’s a little harbour café, named after its eccentric owner, Olivia. Its décor as unprincipled as the people that gather there, full of debauchery, music, liquor and queerness. It is Olivia’s world. Played by the tremendous Anna Francolini, Olivia grandly presents herself, channelling Norma Desmond, veiled in black lace and bluesy piano chords in five-four time. Belting ballads and clutching her brother’s ashes, Francolini sets the tone. Loud in her grief, silent in her longing, and always self-mocking.

You just want to go there and while away the early hours with this motley crew. The bar has seen better days. And so has Sir Toby Belch. Michael Matus, as off-duty and off-his-head drag queen, is a loveably licentious Toby, smeared in campness and lipstick. Matthew Spencer’s Andrew Aguecheek is a foppish travelling salesman type. A sofa-crasher, teetering on the verge of outstaying his welcome. Anita Reynold’s Maria is on hand to out-mischief her mischievous colleagues, while Julie Legrand’s Feste is primed with wistful wisdom, ready to out-sing her hostess. Weaving himself into the throng is Malvolio, a deliciously prim Richard Cant with sinewy self-righteousness, flexing his indignation like a haughty schoolmistress.

The band of musicians add merriment and melancholy in equal measure. Late night jazz adds magic to the twilight while a saxophone cries to the moon. The intended queerness that Horsley is unearthing from Shakespeare’s text is less a celebration than an extra layer. What comes across more is the eccentricity and the camaraderie, the joie-de-vivre and the affectionate rivalry. Shipwrecked, and stumbling into this mayhem, Viola (the brilliantly sassy Evelyn Miller) surprisingly takes it all in her stride. Mind you, she has just run into the dashing Orsino (a thoughtful and commanding Raphael Bushay), so her mind is on other matters. Dressed as a boy – Cesario – she is reluctantly despatched to persuade Olivia of Orsino’s unrequited love. But damn it all – Olivia swoops out of her veil to pop her lusty eyes on the alluring amorousness that Cesario/Viola exudes.

Interestingly, the secondary plotline explores the unrequited love more convincingly. Antonio draws the short straw, always the one left alone at the end of the play. Nicholas Karimi is a potent symbol of loyalty, also subtly conveying the shadowed buds of love for Sebastian. Andro Cowperthwaite (a dead-ringer for Miller’s Viola), while returning the affection has the thankless task of being too easily seduced by Olivia. We never lose sympathy, but the haste with which the happy couples all come together is a flaw which dents our empathy. Similarly, the cruelty towards Malvolio fails to come across sufficiently, and his vow for revenge resembles a telling off in an unruly classroom. What is achieved, however, is a novel and refreshing sense of forgiveness, which steers us towards a finale steeped in affection and fellowship.

The emotional stakes reach the treetops in the park. The magic shoots for the stars. It is innovative, funny, cheeky, camp and degenerate. Again, if only this bar could be found in a holiday brochure. I’d be there like a shot. You just want to spend as much time as possible with these characters. Well – actually – you can do that by going to the Open Air Theatre in Regent’s Park. And I strongly urge you to do so.

THE DIVINE MRS S at the Hampstead Theatre

★★★★

“A delightful mix of the traditional and the contemporary.”

In her time, Sarah Siddons was known as the Queen of Drury Lane, renowned for her roles in Shakespeare tragedies – especially her Lady Macbeth. She hung out with the top dramatists of the time, including David Garrick and Samuel Johnson. She had the leading artists fawning over her, desperate for her to be the subject of their paintings. Yet this powerful woman also personified the powerlessness of women at the time. It is the tail end of the eighteenth century. Women were deprived of money, couldn’t own property, and had no real legal rights. No control over their children – nor even their own bodies.

April De Angelis’ play “The Divine Mrs S” takes us backstage, shedding light on the personal tragedy behind the grand ‘tragedies’ portrayed under the spotlights. Sarah Siddons’ acting career was under the direct control of her imposing brother (actor and manager John Kemble), and it was her husband who received her fees and signed her contracts. She was shunted off on a provincial tour when it looked like her acting would upstage her male counterparts. All the while her children appeared to be dropping like flies all around her. But De Angelis, whilst highlighting the dreadful state of affairs, steers well clear of worthy polemic or earnest tragedy, and instead dresses Siddons’ fight for self-expression and self-determination in a couple of hours of very fine comedy.

The language has a contemporary feel while harking back to Restoration Comedy, French Farce, and even touches of Commedia Dell’arte thrown in. De Angelis pokes fun at all the right characters, but doesn’t let righteousness intrude. In occasionally breaking the fourth wall, a charming self-deprecation is allowed to colour Siddons’ earnestness as she conspires with the audience, commenting on everyone’s foibles – including her own.

This mix of feistiness and fun is in no better hands than Rachael Stirling. The sharpness of Stirling’s delivery of Siddons’ words matches the biting wit De Angelis has given those words. Set mainly in the confines of the dressing room it encapsulates the whole world of the theatre. Dominic Rowan neatly conveys the lecherous misogyny of theatre manager Kemble, hamming it up to ridiculous heights when called upon to actually ‘act’ on the stage next to his far more talented sister. Anushka Chakravarti shines as Siddons’ all-knowing maid, dresser, personal assistant and ultimately counsellor. Meanwhile Eva Feiler, Sadie Shimmin and Gareth Snook multirole in excess to bring all the other characters onstage, in the right order and in the right costume. Most notable of these is Feiler’s Joanna Baillie; the writer who has to conceal the fact that she is a woman otherwise her plays will not get staged. When Kemble discovers her true gender he pulls her play, even though it is the most successful production he’s had for a while.

Even that contentious issue is dealt with in good humour. They say that if you want people to listen to you, the best way is to make them laugh. And there are even more laughs in the second act. And also more pertinence. The concept gets trickier, but the message gets clearer as Stirling more frequently steps out of character, allowing her to cast a contemporary perspective on the eighteenth-century restrictions imposed on the woman she is playing.

“The Divine Mrs S” can’t really be labelled a comedy or a tragedy. But it encapsulates both, and addresses serious issues – serving them up as light entertainment. Historically that would classify it as a ‘Problem Play’. But I have no problem with this one at all. A delightful mix of the traditional and the contemporary.

TWELFTH NIGHT at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre

★★★★★

“The emotional stakes reach the treetops in the park. The magic shoots for the stars. It is innovative, funny, cheeky, camp and degenerate.”

TWELFTH NIGHT at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre

Reviewed on 9th May 2024

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Richard Lakos

Previously reviewed at this venue:

Twelfth Night

Twelfth Night

THE DIVINE MRS S at the Hampstead Theatre

★★★★

“A delightful mix of the traditional and the contemporary.”