Lucy Phelps owns this appealing but languid production of Shakespeare’s bucolic fantasy, as a skittish, tactile Rosalind. Emotions scamper across her face and send her jerking into paroxysms of affection or embarrassment. Her relationships with Sophie Khan Levy’s comically childish Celia and David Ajao’s gallant Orlando feel urgent. It’s a performance of great physical precision and emotional truth, the most arresting Rosalind I’ve seen for years.
Around Phelps, director Kimberley Sykes conjures an Arden of reflective, dappled calm. It’s a pleasant place but not very exciting when the heroine is absent. Some roles have been gender-swapped and the goatherd Audrey is played as deaf by Charlotte Arrowsmith, which all works fine, frankly. Stephen Brimson Lewis’s set consists of a series of inclusive circles which recall the original and current version of Shakespeare’s Globe. He springs a great coup de theatre towards the end.
Antony Byrne is a genially appealing Duke, Sophie Stanton a subdued Jacques who lets the character’s two great speeches trickle out. But oh god, I wish directors had the guts to cut or downsize the comic roles they don’t find funny, rather than turbocharge them with ‘zany’ comic business. Sandy Grierson’s Touchstone is way over the top in his costume, accent and clowning. Where Phelps’s physical comedy enhances the show, this detracts.
In rep to Jan 18 (020 7638 8891, barbican.org.uk)
