Play is at the centre of this performance. The set is a patchwork sheet, rife with sewn-on shapes of coloured fabric, and this isn’t a bad representation of the play itself: simple, colourful, slightly mismatch, but very effective. The inventive staging of cross-dressing allows, like the sheet, many pockets within the play. The fantastical pockets see characters constantly utilising hidden depths to extract props, in the same way these actors reach within themselves to serve up an array of often unexpected identities for us to enjoy. After a slightly shaky first few scenes the actors, and the audience with them, seem to find their feet. This show is a prime example of where actors can make or break a performance: in this instance, the cast and their show shone.

The play pivots on relationships, tracking the highs and lows of Valentine and Proteus, a pair of friends who set out, one to seek fortune the other love, and end up fighting over the same woman. So it is unsurprising that the staging is slap-stick; the hyperbolic waving of Maria Pawlikowska as Speed wobbles on the edges of caricature, almost passing into chaos, but never quite. Laura Jayne Ayres is a sensation, waggling across the stage with breaches thrust forward as Lance, the next minute reserved and composed as the awkward Turio. Lauren Hutchinson as the Duke is a triumph.

The delivery is at times incredibly touching, with Charlotte Quinney as Valentine and Olivia Emden as Proteus beautifully portraying the complexities of male friendship, Emden in particular delivering lines with ease and unwavering conviction. Sam Curry as the virtuous Silvia – the object of their competing affections – makes a brilliant blushing maid, fan-flapping gasps and all. Similarly Will Peck’s fretful hair stroking as the scorned but brave Julia is touching, as is Freddie Sawyer’s continual cooing as Lucetta and Eglamour. Each character excels in the small expressions, the sideways glances, the grimaces, the cheeky winks. Every one of the cast is wonderfully aware of their presence on stage, not merely individually but as a troop, revelling in a story that tests human relationships in all their forms.

It’s unnerving how well the cast slip between roles, the eerie naturalness of the gender switch illuminating the power of actors and the stage itself. This power is most evident at the start and end of the play, the actors dressing on stage, singing to themselves, trading clothes. At the end, as they slip off their identities, the cast burst into a jaunty song and dance in true Shakespearian style. To act is to transform, and these actors prove that with real acting it shouldn’t matter which gender you’re playing, recasting Shakespeare in style.