01.10.11 (10.00 a.m.) Pocket Comedy of Errors (Propeller at the Hampstead Theatre)

It wasn’t just the text that had been exquisitely cut to fit into an hour’s traffic on the stage, the set had also had to accommodate itself to the main production (No Naughty Bits). Against the backdrop of a bright blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds, two large blue bins, stuffed and overflowing with last night’s rubbish, flanked a single graffitied corrugated steel door. Appropriately, it was as if Propeller was squatting for a bit of guerilla theatre, adapting superbly to the constraints of the time and space available. The company also adapted to the younger audience, for many of whom this was probably their first encounter with this play, and possibly with Shakespeare. Judging from their enjoyment of the show and the many intelligent questions in the Q&A afterwards, Propeller have again proved their versatility. This is a show that’s aimed at kids that grownups can enjoy. Indeed, I think it was Kelsey Brookfield who confessed they had left quite a bit of the filthy innuendo in to keep the mums and dads amused (although a nun in a miniskirt thwacking a riding crop doesn’t leave much room for an innocent interpretation). For blogs on the full version see Propeller at Norwich and Propeller at Hampstead.

There was a smaller cast to match the reduced set and text, with three of the six players from the full-length production. The one thing that wasn’t cut down in any way was the talent, and the energy and clarity they packed into this performance. As the audience assembled, half the cast was on stage, getting into musical character, half hidden by sombreros. Dominic Tighe was patrolling the aisles as the strict Hispanic Officer, sadly lacking the squeaky leather trousers since he was doubling up as Antipholus of Syracuse, whose costume was purple trousers and a lurid tropical shirt. “Your iphone will become my phone” was his novel take on the usually officious announcement.

There are not many interludes in the action, with so much to pack into a single hour, but one thing I liked was making room to focus on a speech. For example, for the drop of water speech Tighe comes forward and addresses the audience directly, which both spelled out an important detail of the story as well as showing us all how well blank verse can  convey a beautiful image:

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. He that commends me to mine own content
Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
I to the world am like a drop of water
That in the ocean seeks another drop,
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself.
So I, to find a mother and a brother,
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.

It’s not long before we get back to some funny business, as he reasons

They say this town is full of cozenage. . .

while three creep up behind, with whistly things, and he puts hands over eyes: “Mother always used to say, close your eyes, they’ll go away.”

Instead of Luciana unpeeling a banana, on mention of possible “troubles of the marriage bed” one of the characters holding a bunch of flowers lets them droop, exactly the kind of adult-orientated symbol that (I hope!) would pass by without meaning for the children in the audience.

There’s plenty of knockabout that’s comprehensible by all, as the epistemic comedy gets going. Antipholus thinks his (real) servant Dromio is jesting - “Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth?” - when he’s remembering giving gold to the other Dromio (he has a highly justified false belief), and the multiple stage directions - “Beating him” is very common - are accompanied by a range of slapstick whistles and bells and bangs. Huge fun, and a philosophical illustration of the problem of knowledge. The combination produced a big reading on the GB dial.

When Adriana appears, and (mistakenly) recognizes them, they look puzzled, and it’s nothing to do with her being played by Jonathan Livingstone in tiger print tights and a gaudy yellow jacket.

How can she thus, then, call us by our names,
Unless it be by inspiration?

This version keeps the suspension of action as Antipholus unclasps himself from Adriana’s embrace as well as the suggestion of action as Antipholus reclasps himself to Adriana (”I’ll entertain the offer’d fallacy”). Again, that adults-only meaning is layered on the more obvious “this is the fairy land” expressions of wonder and mystification. A rousing When the Saints Come Marching In is played on the trombone, and two traffic cones double up as megaphones for the two Dromios’ closed door scene. The fart joke is kept (of course) and played up a notch, with a machine gunning mime. Tam Williams as Antipholus of Ephesus, is as flummoxed as his yet unrecognized twin, but for different reasons: he can’t get into his own house, and neither can his servant. The scene ends in chaos as the alarm is pulled from the door (a comedy unspooling to reveal an unconnected lead), an alarm that seems to have a life of its own, a swing of the crow that knocks out a tooth from poor Dromio.

Luciana puts a remarkable question to Antipholus of Syracuse and follows it with a remarkable piece of advice:

LUCIANA. . . . Shall, Antipholus,
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?
. . . if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth

The unmarried (younger?) sister is herself looking for a husband, and cannot help flirting a little even with her sister’s husband (as she thinks, mistakenly). On “Gaze where you should” Kelsey Brookfield as Luciana remembers herself and pulls her tiny white cardigan across her (hairy) chest.

Richard Frame as Dromio of Antipholus gets to do his spherical speech, a routine that worked perfectly in the full-length version and was ready made for this kind of production. When he later encounters the other Antipholus, there is the usual uncomprehending exchange:

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage.
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Thou drunken slave! I sent thee for a rope;
And told thee to what purpose and what end.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. You sent me for a rope’s end as soon
You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I will debate this matter at more leisure,
And teach your ears to list me with more heed.
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight;
Give her this key. . .

Even though Antipholus has just had good evidence that his servant has either gone mad or is playing the fool, he hands him the key and sends him on a crucial errand. This struck me as odd, perhaps simply demanded by the plot, and yet it’s psychologically plausible on two counts: Antipholus hasn’t got much choice but to trust his servant, and it’s very difficult to dislodge a highly justified belief (think how difficult it is to dislodge religious beliefs, and their justification is on much weaker ground than the direct evidence of your senses).

Given the growing evidence of madness, it’s not surprising the quack Doctor Pinch is called upon. (That famous invocation “packetofcrispus” has already failed to work.) He has the (supposed) power to heal the body and cleanse the spirit of all those imaginary demons he persuades you are real. His zha-zham works on selected believers but not on Antipholus of Ephesus, who remains unmoved, until he is bundled into a wheelie bin along with one of the Dromios. A nice touch was the credit card machine to take $500 payment for his “cleansing” services.

The duke, essential for the resolution, is a lisping, white-bathrobed hedonist sipping a cocktail, who has to make sense of the story. Since changing costumes at this point just isn’t possible, the expedient of simply holding up the costume on a hanger solved the problem of presenting the character. The duke might well say, “This is stwange!”

The mayhem makes way for a series of moving meetings between four pairs of characters who each thought they would never see the other again, a real TJ, culminating in: “Embrace thy brother”. Silence, eyes closed, the rest of the cast leave the stage to the two Dromios, who open their eyes in wonder as they see themselves reflected in another human being, as if in a mirror.

Q&A

Lots of good questions, including why an all-male company? According to Tam Williams, it was an accident arising out of Edward Hall’s gathering a particular group of friends – who happened to be male – for a production. There was no political agenda. Another good question about how to play a woman, and I think Jonathan Livingstone said there’s the main problem of playing another character, and the fact that the character is of the opposite sex is just one more layer. One of the cast said it was all a bit of a “head fry” (actually a better expression than the unexpurgated version).

One girl asked who wrote it? Shakespeare, was the simple answer, and the question complimented this production, since it obviously came across as relatively modern. About 97% was original Shakespeare.

Why wheelie bins? The company’s interpretation of the “dark place” the two characters are taken to – I think this was a real “Ah-aah!” moment for the questioner, and goes to show how important this kind of work is, to develop these ways of thinking about theatre and story telling and so on.

Any teachers wanting an introduction to Shakespeare, this kind of Pocket production is a no-brainer with a company as talented as Propeller, precisely because it stretches the brain as far as it can go. Brilliant.

(A bonus in the bar afterwards, bumping into Tony Bell, who played Dr Pinch in the full version. Like the cast of The Belle’s Stratagem, I got the feeling the cast really enjoy working together, and that comes through in the quality of the show.)