“Stagey trash of the lowest melodramatic order,” was George Bernard Shaw’s opinion on Shakespeare’s late romance. In fact, Cymbeline often works best when directors embrace the strong pantomime element of the play. The Globe’s director designate, Emma Rice, proved that in her 2006 free adaptation for the RSC, which emphasised the fairytale nature of the story.
The play is an undeniable hotchpotch, featuring stolen children, an evil step-mother to rival Snow White’s, poisoned draughts, a headless corpse, a mini Iago, a cross-dressing heroine and a marked inability of everyone to recognise each other despite the lightest of disguises.
Sam Yates takes the low comedy, high return approach in a likable, entertaining revival that never shirks the absurdity of the situation and on occasion – the descent of a transvestite Jupiter from the heavens, for example – seems to have one eyebrow raised. Pauline McLynn’s Queen is quite clearly a bad lot from her emphasis on “piss” when pronouncing the name of Posthumus’s loyal but sensible servant, Pisanio (an excellent Trevor Fox).
Although the intimacy of the candlelit indoor playhouse works well for some scenes – in particular the bedroom scene, in which Eugene O’Hare’s pervy Iachimo assaults Innogen with his eyes – the production often feels constrained by the venue, as if aching to burst in full pantomime splendour across the main stage. Calum Callaghan’s Cloten is not quite the clownish clot he might be if given the chance.
There’s also not enough chemistry between Jonjo O’Neill’s decent, banished Posthumus and Emily Barber’s Innogen (the more commonly used Imogen is a misspelling), and the production’s comic emphasis fails to make you feel moved by Innogen’s journey from love to heartbreak, before her restoration in the insanely delightful final act. But it’s a merry excursion.
- At the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse, London, until 21 April. Box office: 020-7401 9919.
