Downing College’s Howard Theatre provided a disheartening welcome: as is the case with many of these college auditoria, the atmosphere of the lecture hall hangs in the air and lends an unfortunate school-play vibe to the whole thing.  On top of this, it was difficult to get fully into the earlier scenes, plagued as they were by unnecessary, if thoughtful, scene-setting contrivances in the form of clumsily elaborate suitcases loaded with mini-backdrops, leading inevitably to a host of awkward scene changes involving the flaps of Orsino’s palace flopping into Olivia’s garden.

But, as it turned out, this device proved only to demonstrate that the actors were in fact perfectly able to retain excellent comic pace, even when forced, as they sometimes were, to stand in orderly lines at the front of the stage.  (Just a chair might have helped.) Pacing proved to be the production’s driving force, allowing most flaws to fall away in the face of (wait for it, Shakespeareans): a real sense of Festivity. It was, in fact, one of the funniest performances of the play (possibly even of any Shakespearean comedy) I can think of.  The larger scenes in particular displayed an ensemble of supreme comedy actors, for example the nearly-fight between Cesario and Sir Andrew and the climactic recognition scene. This was explicated to exactly the right degree by the stylish screwball milieu which, though presumably aiming for Noel Coward (who I don’t like) ended up rather more at Howard Hawks (who I do). Genevieve Gaunt’s alabaster Olivia was a particular joy in this regard, each of her lines delivered with a truth and subtle hilarity which infused the character with Grace Kelly grace.

 

Accordingly, the scenes between Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Maria emerged as the production’s warm and tipsy soul.  The three actors effected the play’s greatest chemistry, rebounding off and balancing each other whenever overplaying was threatened. This made up for a lack of real feeling in the more ‘serious’ storylines.  In particular, many scenes between Viola and Orsino seemed a mere recitation of lines in the single heightened tone of ‘emotion’. Curiously, however, the weaknesses in both performances were now-and-again shot-through by brilliant comical flourishes of delivery or body language on the parts of both.

 

Even Malvolio was surprisingly played down, made neither tragic nor absurd, but with a subtlety most people forget can exist in the role.  If (and here’s a proper complaint) there was vast costuming opportunity sadly lost in turning yellow stockings into a sort of longslung-Topman-jodhpur affair (I’d call them ‘tasteful lemon’), Danny Rhodes’ performance provided any comedy that might have been lost, and in a genuinely original way.  It was a perfect illustration of a sharp, delivery-driven festival of a production.