The Royal Shakespeare Company's Adrian Noble should pay a visit to Bristol. Andrew Hilton's unsubsidised Shakespeare at the Tobacco Factory outfit is now in its third season, and once again proves that you don't need star names to make Shakespeare seem essential. Hilton has two aces up his sleeve: an intimate, non-traditional theatre space that makes you feel the story is being told directly to you, wherever you are sitting, and a group of actors who make acting seem as simple as drinking a glass of water. The actors are cross-cast in the two productions that the company undertakes each season, and a core of them have participated in all three seasons so that they seem like old friends. This is a prime example of the ensemble principle that the RSC seems so keen to ditch.
I tend to find that Shakespeare slips down more easily with a little sauce; Hilton, though, is a plain cook, whose unadorned approach - no concept, the barest stage possible, music used sparingly - pays dividends, largely because the acting has a telescopic clarity. Every emotion seems magnified, particularly in this production, in which laughter and tears mingle and the losers as much as the lovers take centre stage. This is comedy with an ache in its heart.
There are some great performances here: Esther Ruth Elliott's Viola, bereft of her brother and hopelessly in love with Orsino, hugging her secret sorrows to herself and damming up what threatens to be an ocean of tears. John Mackay, consistently good at this address, is a memorably shock-headed Sir Andrew Aguecheek, who would be scared by his own reflection in the mirror. And David Collins is an excellent Malvolio, his mincing self-importance pricked by genuine tragedy. You feel this is a man who will never recover from the trick played upon him. He will be maimed and twisted for life.
Hilton's production is, as ever, superbly detailed. Olivia is actually weak-kneed after meeting Cesario, while Valentine clearly resents the youngster's advancement at Orsino's court. And there is no doubting Antonio's love for Sebastian: his eyes follow the young man like search beacons. This is an evening that illuminates the play, revealing its sunny jokiness, but also the dark shadows at its heart.
Until April 27. Box office: 0117-902 0344.
