Don’t tell Will and Kate, but Kensington Palace is a little bit disappointing. The palace itself is perfectly presentable; packed with austere portraits, vast tapestries, sumptuous ceilings and grand(ish) staircases. But this production in its courtrooms, presented by Les Enfants Terribles and Historic Royal Palaces, is a letdown. Les Enfants Terribles are immersive theatre specialists but Queendom is anything but. It’s all rather polite and tidy, peppered with potted bits of history that play out at a respectable distance. We are not entirely amused.
Director Christa Harris talks passionately in the programme notes about reclaiming lost female voices. Queendom, she explains, will paint King George II’s wife, Queen Caroline, and his long-suffering mistress, Henrietta, in bold new colours and show them for the progressives they surely were. Costume designer Susan Kulkarni and hair, wigs and makeup designer Victoria Stride have had a damn good shot, adding flashes of neon colour and even the occasional fairy light to Caroline and Henrietta’s regal costumes. But their story stays hidden in the shadows.
There’s just one genuinely dramatic scene the whole night, in which co-writers Yassmin Abdel-Magied and Anthony Spargo imagine a sparky encounter between the Queen (Miranda Heath, droll) and Henrietta (a mischievous Yasmin Keita), which sees the two women decide their fate together. The other encounters, though, lack impetus and are essentially augmented, and often fairly awkward, audio tours of the Georgian court.
In the gilded salon room, we learn that Queen Caroline once invited Isaac Newton to talk at the palace. In the bedchamber, we’re encouraged to bow three times in front of King George II’s empty throne. There are snatches of music throughout, composed by Patrick Neil Doyle, including some fairly dubious rap numbers. Designer Luke W Robson has created a striking corridor draped in letters and the audience are encouraged to explore their surroundings, but there’s not that much to explore. The palace remains stubbornly itself. Clean. Sealed off. Unreachable as ever.
At Kensington Palace, London, until 30 March.
