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Red cheeks, cricket whites and swirling gowns are the order of the day in the RSC's current production of Love's Labour's Lost. The tale of the wooing of a French princess and her ladies by Ferdinand, King of Navarre and his lords is not, truth to tell, one of Shakespeare's finest. Patchy, and lacking the poetical inspiration of his better known romantic comedies, this play needs a production of real merit to prevent it from showing its faults too obviously. Which is exactly what Ian Judge has delivered - set in the English countryside early this century, what emerges is a colourful portrait of rustic gaiety. Yet it is clearly nothing more, shown to poignant effect as, at the play's conclusion, the lords vow to wait a year for their loves, and the shadow and sounds of the trenches become apparent in the distance. This perfectly echoes Shakespeare's inconclusive ending where, "Jack hath not Jill", and he keeps the question open as to whether his characters live happily ever after;. Judge, on the other hand, leaves us in no doubt as the face of Europe is to be scarred by terrible war, so the world of Ferdinand will change permanently, and for the worse.
However, most of the evening was jollity itself, pervaded by a marvellously evoked sense of the pastoral. Foliage threatened to overrun the walls, and liberal use was made of John Gunter's vivid sets which captured the essence of the rural atmosphere. My personal favourite of these was the picturesque little train station, where a large dose of dry ice suggested with remarkable realism the recent departure of a seam train, although the single, high-backed wooden bench of a village pub where the locals were to be regularly found downing pints ran it a close second.
Judge's strengths lay in the sharp definition of each character, which yet blended together to create a strong ensemble. This is particularly important in a work which contains long stretches of convoluted word-play between several people at a time. In this he was considerably aided by Nigel Ness"' excellent score, which underlined the action to sometimes magical effect? The scene in which each lord sings a verse about his new-found love, each more sentimental than the last, culminating in Dumaine cuddling his teddy and crooning in gentle half-voice, was wonderful - a glorious nocturne for Saint Cupid.
Of the cast, Richard Garnett's cynic-turned-man-of-passion Berowne stood out, bursting with energy and wit. Richard O'Callaghan also provided a marvellous caricature as don Adriano de Armando, a preening Spanish fop. Yet, notwithstanding a certain inappropriately statuesque quality in Kenny Agutter's French Princess, all were strong in a troupe of real distinction.
My only quibble is with the use of large picture frames to accentuate the theme of the characters' frolicking as temporary soon to be painted over in bleak colours. This theatrical device rams home the point rather obviously, and anyway is scarcely original. nevertheless, the effervescent production's jollity, its celebration of youthful high spirits and unfettered aspirations proved infectious - an uplifting evening indeed.
Many thanks to Emma for providing this review.
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