In an article published in Varsity last week, Daniel Fulvio wrote engagingly about the parallels between 1990s Russia and the England of Shakespeare’s Richard III: both Vladimir Putin and the Duke of Gloucester took advantage of governmental instability to seize power for themselves; both intimidated and/or assassinated their political opponents; both presided over bloody wars. It was both surprising and disappointing, then, that these similarities were barely perceptible in his own production.

There is very little to indicate to an audience with no prior knowledge of the concept that we are in Russia at all, let alone 1990s Russia. The signs that there are are tokenistic and abrupt: in particular, one bizarre interlude which sees a topless Fergus Blair Cossak-dancing on the coffin of King Edward to what sounds like Russian pop music, all whilst - you guessed it - drinking vodka. For all his knowledge of Russian political history, Fulvio has managed to reduce Russia to a vodka-drinking, fur-wearing caricature of itself.

Not only this, but Fulvio’s attempt to transpose the play onto a Russian setting is remarkably inconsistent: though much of the costume and props suggest we are in a very much modern world (though I’m not sure how iPads made their way into the 90s), Clarence is put in iron manacles and murdered with a dagger.

Similarly, though gender-blind casting can be powerful, not to mention expedient in a male-dominated play such as ‘Richard’, the way this is executed is often confusing: Richard’s hired assassins, for example, are played by women (Amy Howlett and Sophie Williams), dressed as women, treated like women - ‘I like you girls,’ says Richard devilishly, in a bizarre sexing-up of the script - they are consistently referred to as men.

Where Richard falls apart, however, is in its title role: Tristram Fane-Saunders was more gormless naif than cold-blooded killer, though certainly some of the self-loathing which motivates Richard’s homicidal tendencies came through. His wooing of Claudia Grigg-Edo as Lady Anne not only lacks chemistry, but even much movement: as he edges his stiff frame towards hers proffering a kiss, the awkwardness is palpable.

Surprisingly, the character who most stands out is Queen Margaret, the widow of King Henry VI. Sandra Birnie’s command of the stage and intense delivery were superb, and at least temporarily forced her fellow cast members to up their game. Other high points are the rather poignant monologues given by Adam Kirton and Sophie Williams - both appear more distraught at their situations than Richard himself, worryingly unfased by infanticide, fratricide or the prospect of his own mortality. More than its inconsistencies, it was this emotional emptiness at the very core of the play that most lets Richard III down.