National Bath-Night

A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Antony and Cleopatra
The Olivier, Royal Shakespeare Company
The Observer

A Midsummer Night’s Dream, transferred from the Cottesloe to the Lyttelton, ends well too; in the last scene Bill Bryden’s production moulds a folk-play of all moods and all periods, the mortal and fairy worlds thoroughly interpenetrating. The mechanics’ play is far funnier than before, Derek Newark’s Bottom having slipped the leash with no loss of dignity. Robert Stephan’s Oberon is more arrogant, less mellifluous, than Paul Scofield’s; Susan Fleetwood is a superb Titania, whose impact on the seasons is thoroughly believable. 

There is some careless verse speaking on the way through; though less than in the RSC’s Antony and Cleopatra (Pit), which has some small-part playing of school-play standard. Adrian Noble’s production has surprisingly little spark; characters stand on a featureless upper level gazing determinedly into space. There is intelligent detail, though: an intimate, sycophantic atmosphere to the Egyptian court, and a final implicit clash between the ruthless Caesar and compassionate Dolabella; maybe what Mrs. Malaprop meant by an allegory on the banks of the Nile. 

Michael Gambon as Antony truly looks like an imperial relic, and he rises to every large moment: of fury, generosity, abandon. But he cannot avoid monotony int he long trudge through defeat. Helen Mirren’s Cleopatra excels in emotional quick changes, most notably at the the end; in a full-scale production this might be a great performance. 

Bob Peck’s Enobarbus is satisfaction guaranteed, though no great departure for him; there is interesting minor world from Penelope Beaumont, Ken Bones and Albie Woodington. Set against this a self-consciously sinister treatment of the Clown who brings Cleopatra death in aspic.