Voldemort and Rodney Trotter do Shakespeare's The Tempest.

My earliest recollection of delving into the world of Shakespeare was sat in the front row of third year English while my teacher at the time, Mr Nicholas, bumbled through trying to dissect Macbeth for the understanding of our thirteen year old minds. Unfortunately, for my younger self, his attempts were nothing but futile due to 1) his constantly having to reprimand my classmates, more interested in looking at girls and generally messing around 2) my, said, teacher, seemingly not having any grasp whatsoever in what he was teaching, and 3) well, there is no three, its odd as I thought there was, but I was interrupted and have now forgotten, so, for now, its just going to be two points, but points well worth mentioning I feel. While I do remember, though, I was also interested in looking at girls, but, due to the location of my seat in class, it made it much more difficult. Just wanted to clear that up.Anyway, it goes without saying, that my first foray into the work of the Bard was nothing other than baffling.
I wish that it could have been different, I really do. Obtaining knowledge and gaining insight into the English languages most prominent literary figure at an early age, I feel, is the best time for it. At a time when your mind is ripe and thirsty for learning, like a sponge, ready to soak up all that is thrown at it, and not, as I have to say now, in my (ahem) thirty-third year, a little slow and sluggish. But all this would have meant travelling back in time, passing my 11+ exams, and, therefore, giving myself a shot at attending a better school, with a higher standard of teaching, instead of the hideous feakshow that I ended up at.
This is not to say, of course, that I am, in any way, as you may be thinking, past my sell-by date, it has more to do with, oh, I don't know, a selective mind, these days. Give me a gripping crime caper or an interesting biography then I'm as happy as they come. I've even started taking steps into the world of fantasy fiction, something, not to long ago, that would have been unheard of. But, Shakespeare, well, after that disastrous start, I never came back to it.

That is, until now.

When I was asked by my Fiance if I fancied tickets for the new West-End production of The Tempest, I have to say that, due to the information pointed out in my earlier ramblings, I was, obviously, a little apprehensive. I found myself mulling it over for a few hours, forever delaying my answer, until, finally, with a 'what the heck' attitude, I said yes. So, on Saturday, off we trotted to the Theatre Royal, where the bright lights awaited us, to see Trevor Nunn’s latest.

The thing, I have to say, that helped sway my decision, was the cast. Ralph Fiennes as Prospero? Yes please. James Simmons as Alonso? Why not. Nicholas Lyndhurst as Trinculo? Oh go on then. Having notable and established actors, who you would otherwise associate with mediums such as Television and film, helps, to me anyway, and whether silly or not, to bring a familiarity, which, to this uneducated boy, is a huge bonus.

Despite the ridiculously uncomfortable seats, that caused me to fidget for the nigh on three hour duration, my initial opinions, I'm happy to report, were good. Certainly with respect to Fiennes, who, perhaps unsurprisingly, makes the production shine. Speaking verse like it is his natural tongue, he is completely believable, portraying a commanding Prospero, a man to be feared and obeyed, yet, tender with it. 

Elisabeth Hopper makes an innocent, childlike Miranda. A tiny bit annoying and whiney at times, with a little too much teary-eyed hand-wringing. Nevertheless, she is quite charming, with a winning smile so full of unbridled joy, it’s hard not to warm to her and her character.

One thing I wasn't warned of, however, is that there is a fair bit of singing involved. Something that, and I'm hoping that I'm not alone in this, I hate! The need to chuck in a few songs, seemingly, just for the hell of it, to possibly jazz things up a bit, is totally and utterly pointless, and makes no sense. 

While the odd song might get your feet tapping, most of them are pretty dire. Ariel’s spooky, flat, falsetto warblings are enough to haunt my dreams, and Stephano and Trinculo's bland and tuneless ramblings should have been left, as it were, on the cutting room floor.
The rest of the production is, in equal parts, dark and brooding and a tad twee. In one scene, a fairy actually slides down a rainbow, slides down a rainbow! The spirits, who rarely appear on the stage unaccompanied by the light tinkling of bells, as though to signal the approach of Father Christmas, are actually quite ungainly in their attempts at grace. On more than one occasion I was on the edge of my uncomfortable seat, as they dangled, awkwardly, mid-air, swaying slightly on wires, like in a bad school play
While Ariel’s, and the rest of the fairies, aerial feats were a little farcical, some of the circus-style rope-work was far more effective. In the storm scene, that opened the show, actors were seen tumbling slowly, head over heels, down ropes, as though being plunged into a swirling sea, an illusion aided by Paul Pyant’s beautifully evocative lighting design.
Though, for the greater part, the production was technically polished, I found it somewhat lacking in passion at times. It’s far longer than it needed to be, at three hours, despite the fact that this is, as I'm lead to believe, one of Shakespeare’s shorter plays.
But, despite this, and cynicism aside, I found the whole thing to be rather good, and, despite the seats, I will definitely be keeping my eyes open for some more Shakespeare