Clearly, the cast of the Birmingham Repertory Theatre's Twelfth Night has been carefully following the instructions given to the Players in Hamlet to "Speak the speech . . . trippingly on the tongue". This sparkling, highly entertaining and beautifully staged 1940s take on Shakespeare's comedy of gender-bending and mistaken identity both complements and informs the dark human tragedy of its imaginatively apt companion piece.
From the claustrophobic shadows of the Danish Court, director Bill Alexander and his gifted production team bring us into the blinding light of Illyria in winter, where the stylish Olivia - Jayne McKenna resplendent in Dior-style New Look couture - mourns her dead brother and falls hopelessly in love with another girl, whose brother is also believed dead and whose identity she assumes with overwhelming success.
The knockabout humour of the evening is provided with panache and flourish by Andy Hockley's Sir Toby Belch, Anna Nicholas's Maria, David Hargreaves's philosopherclown Feste and Jamie Newall's tow-headed, silly-ass Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Balanced against their daft, drunken antics is the vexed, triangular love affair, sensitively portrayed by Pal Aron as Orsino, McKenna as Olivia and Rakie Ayola as Viola/Cesario, much more relaxed and controlled than she appears as Ophelia in Hamlet. And bringing together comedy and tragedy in a single, sometimes problematic role is the busybody Malvolio of Gerard Murphy, all mincing Ulster camp and pursed, disapproving lips, his final pathetic confinement in stark contrast to his earlier, outrageously horrible vision of yellow-stockinged, cross-gartered self-delight, which Eurotrash on a bad night might consider to be in the worst possible taste. This is a Twelfth Night which will amuse, touch the heart, "give delight and hurt not".