TWELFTH NIGHT
St Paul’s Church Covent Garden
★★
“The physicality is wonderful, yet there is a creative laziness that obstructs the romanticism, and the magic”
There are worse places to be, during this current heat wave, than sitting on a garden bench under the trees in the gardens of St Paul’s Church, tucked away behind the cafes and shops of Covent Garden. Known affectionately as the Actor’s Church, there are memorials to stage and screen legends, including Charlie Chaplin, Vivien Leigh and Boris Karloff. The home of candlelight concerts and theatrical performances, its Portico façade is also the backdrop for the renowned street performances that attract crowds from around the globe. The churchyard can only be reached via the recessed, inconspicuous gates on the other side. A van selling cool drinks is parked close to the steps, while theatre goers slowly find their seats. The sun has dipped behind the skyline, but the day’s heat still rests on the grass, and the church bells strike seven, heralding Nonsense Theatre’s take on Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night”.
Their entrance is a touch subdued, diffident even, in contrast to their promotional pitch which promises a mix of Monty Python, Robin Hood, Pirates of the Caribbean, the Princess Bride and a Knight’s Tale. Not just a blend of influences but, in their own words, the ‘lovechild’ of this orgy of absurdity. A grand claim. There is a fine line between nonsense and lack of meaning, however, and this company err towards the latter. Too many references evoke a lack of thought rather than any cohesive decision making. They are on a mini tour of country gardens, halls and castle grounds, but the luxury of the peaceful, English countryside hasn’t prepared them for the bustle of the metropolis. With no amplification, they struggle to be heard above the buskers in the piazza and the street sounds. With only a couple of exceptions, the eight-strong cast appear to find no need to adapt to the acoustics, nor – as it happens – to make particular use of the surroundings on offer. The show has the air of a group of friends pitching up in somebody’s garden to throw ideas around.
Niamh Handley-Vaughan directs (she also plays Maria) but there are all the hallmarks of a collaborative effort. Albeit one with little time, or budget, to consolidate the melting pot of ingredients. Too many cooks is a phrase that comes to mind. We are shipwrecked on the ancient and dream-like kingdom of Illyria, where the natives sing Irish sea shanties as well as modern pop songs. Olivia (Jericho Taylor) is dressed like Guinevere but elsewhere there is little to suggest medievalism – unless you count the clacking of coconut shells to conjure a horse’s gait. Malvolio is Malvolia (Chloe Orrock, who doubles as Antonio… renamed Antonia) but, although the gender is also switched, Tobi (sic) Belch (Kitty Mason) is still a ‘sir’. Blind casting is stretched to the limit when it comes to the twins; Viola and Sebastian. A brave decision to subvert the notion of physical resemblance, which could enhance the comedy of errors wrought by mistaken identity, yet it fails to buoy up our suspension of disbelief.
Despite the occasional gender-flips, the subtleties of Shakespeare’s homoeroticism fall flat. But then again, so do many of his lines. The bizarre soundtrack barely reaches the front row of the benched seating, played by various cast members like teenagers tentatively strumming in their bedroom. Projection appears to be an alien concept to this troupe. Although Orrock’s Malvolia stands out, injecting some much-needed midsummer madness into the evening. But even so, the comedy is a touch contrived.
It’s a long night. By interval the church clock is striking nine. The shadows are stretching across the lawn as dusk dims nature’s lights. This could become a magical moment, but aside from the church’s own festoons, the company plough on without rhyme, reason or lighting design. There is plenty of energy, and also plenty of audience members who reward the performers’ enthusiasm with genuine affection. The physicality is wonderful, yet there is a creative laziness that obstructs the romanticism, and the magic. And, yes, it could be shortened. We should be left wanting more by being offered less. But ultimately, we were left hoping that the curtain call precedes the ten o’clock chiming of the church bells. It does, but only just.
TWELFTH NIGHT
St Paul’s Church Covent Garden
Reviewed on 9th July 2026
by Jonathan Evans
