Merry Wives doesn't make much of an argument for Shakespeare's talent as a comedian. Essentially, it's a barrage of weak jokes at the expense of fat people, the incomprehensible Welsh and the pompous French, firing within a cruel-minded plot that seeks to hurt and humiliate its central character as much as possible. No wonder Christopher Luscombe's production – first seen at the Globe in 2008 – never relies on the text to elicit laughter. Instead, he offers up a more physical comedy of outlandish gestures, exaggerated facial expressions and squirming bodies.
While the Falstaff of the history plays caroused with royalty as well as rogues, the preening knight who swaggers into Windsor is surrounded by suburbanites living unexceptional lives. Ford, Page and their wives are pillars of the community. But Falstaff's presumption in attempting to woo Mistresses Ford and Page transforms them into cheeky schoolgirls performing pat-a-cake, and Ford into a grotesque contorted by jealousy.
It takes a while for the comedy to grind into action; once it does, Luscombe's production becomes delightful. An essay in the programme makes the case for Ford as an inspiration for Basil Fawlty, and Andrew Havill in turn takes his cues from John Cleese, stammering and squawking Ford's fury at his wife's imagined dishonesty, visibly clenching every muscle when required to contain himself. As the merry wives, Sarah Woodward and Serena Evans have a fine line in melodramatic over-acting every time Falstaff is "caught" in their company. And Christopher Benjamin has such a twinkle in his eye and a flourish in his gait that his Falstaff, despite lacking any discernible redeeming features, is a pleasure throughout.
