As a company dedicated to reinterpreting classic work for young people, Pilot can be depended upon to apply a fresh perspective. In the case of William Golding's Lord of the Flies, it was to add a thudding techno soundtrack. For their first venture into Shakespeare, directors Marcus Romer and Katie Posner submerge the stage in flowers so that the actors are ankle-deep in wilting bouquets. The image is reminiscent of the cellophane shrines that have become increasingly ubiquitous since the death of Diana, Princess of Wales; though it might equally be said to resemble the bins round the back of a florist's, or the fragrant aftermath of a Smiths concert.
The abundant flora provides a useful source of props: Chris Lindon's Jack-the-lad Mercutio uses a long stem to illustrate his lecture on Queen Mab; while Richard James-Neale's combat-fatigued Friar Lawrence is seen rubbing opium seeds along his gums. There are some ingenious swerves round the inevitable anachronisms – "My naked sword is ready" will now always be associated in my mind with a beery yob urinating in the street.
Rachel Spicer's Juliet cuts an engagingly tomboyish figure in a flannel shirt and lace-up boots, and has an impressive instinct for chopping the lines into the sardonic cadences of a stubborn teenager. Oliver Wilson's Romeo kisses by the book; unfortunately, he tends to recite from it as well. He is an amiable enough character, but lacks the ability to re-animate the language from within.
It is a fine attempt overall for a company negotiating its biggest challenge to date; but fluent verse-speaking is an elusive art, which ultimately proves you cannot say everything with flowers.
