"Out of this wood do not desire to go": A Midsummer Night's Dream at the Shakespeare Institute

Prior to Friday night, my last visit to the Shakespeare Institute had been about a month ago, catching up with an Institute friend after an interview elsewhere in Stratford. At that point, the set for this week's performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream was just being put together. Consequently, I found myself sitting in on the construction of a huge and bizarre object out of odds and ends of wood. As interesting as things looked, however, I could never have anticipated how well the finished set would come together.

The Shakespeare Institute Players' production of A Midsummer Night's Dream, which finished yesterday evening, was a complete design triumph. Though the company's previous performance of Edward II in November featured some impressive acting, it was the additional attention to detail in this production – the time and care taken over the look and feel of the show - that lent it a more professional edge. Even before I'd seen the play, the very pretty poster design had already promised much, and the show itself did not disappoint. The wooden skeleton I had watched grow from the roots up had now been transformed into a beautiful tree, hung about with shimmery ribbons for an extra fairy-like, magical look. The woodland set indoors seemed almost to merge organically with the Institute's gardens - the back doors, through which players made many of their exits and their entrances, opening straight onto these. As the audience came into the room, frogs croaked and crickets chirped behind us, transforming the room into a forest alive with activity. And perhaps most impressive of all were the beautiful make-up and costumes designed, respectively, by Laura Nicklin and Red Smucker, the Fairy Queen.

Hair and Make-Up: Laura Nicklin
and Red Smucker

A Midsummer Night's Dream is definitely one of Shakespeare's most straightforwardly entertaining plays, a comic fairy tale with an almost Disneyesque quality. This production got fully into that light-hearted spirit, excelling in the timing and execution of its comedy. The mechanicals were, quite rightly, laugh-out-loud funny, the actors' tireless energy betraying their genuine enjoyment of their roles. José A. Pérez Díez in particular was hilarious as the hapless, hopeless Bottom, and matching his enthusiasm was Laura Young as Snug the Joiner, who took to her lion's part with an almost child-like pleasure. Louis Osborne also made a very pretty Thisbe, hamming it up with lots of girly shrieking and swishing of his long, flowing locks. On the less flamboyant side of the party, I really enjoyed John Curtis' attempts to flatter and conciliate as Quince, the Prologue, and Thea Buckley's wonderfully dry “Wall”.

Laura Young as Snug
the Joiner

Almost as funny were the four lovers, especially Kat Twigg as the miserable, spurned Helena. Michael James' fight choreography was fantastic, playing up the slapstick as both he (as Demetrius) and Tudor Reece (as Lysander) ran around in and out of the room, crashing into doors and giggling gleefully at each others' mishaps, before dropping like flies as they were put to sleep by Puck.

Despite all the comedy elsewhere, a more unusual directorial decision had been made with regards to the fairies, and Puck in particular. Cecilia Kendall White presented us with a much darker and more sinister version of this character than we're perhaps accustomed to seeing – less happy-go-lucky trickster and more powerful, moody and malevolent force. I was reminded a little of the take on the character of Loki in the recent Thor and Avengers Assemble films, a similar kind of mischievous figure turned into something more serious and threatening. I'm told that one of the directors (the programme insists there were many), has a particular interest in mortality and magic, and it's from this that the production's darker interpretation of fairyland stems. It was an interesting take, though one I'm not sure entirely fitted in with the lighter tone of the rest of the production. Nevertheless, the fairies' performances were consistently strong. As Oberon, Peter M. Smith was the play's most commanding stage presence, really convincing us of his power to control and manipulate mortal lives.

Taken as a whole, the quality of this production exceeds anything I've yet seen at the Shakespeare Institute, seeming to fly by in a matter of minutes, the pace slowing only slightly right at the very end, as the monologues became longer. The show has really set a standard that won't be easy for future productions to follow, and both cast and crew should be very proud of themselves. I look forward to seeing what the SIP do next! 

Titania and Bottom: Red Smucker and José A. Peréz Díez

Special thanks to Louis Osborne for help with the photographs.

Prepare for the Zombie Apocalypse: Dominic Mitchell and Jonny Campbell In The Flesh

First, there was AMC's TV adaptation of the recent US comic book series, The Walking Dead. Next came Isaac Marion's Warm Bodies, a teen zombie romance novel, quickly snapped up by Mandeville Films for a big screen adaptation. The latest in this line of rejigged zombie horror is Dominic Mitchell's new BBC drama, In The Flesh, coming on Sunday to a television near you.

Just as Warm Bodies has lurched in to pick the bones of Twilight fandom, so In The Flesh is set to take over the Sunday night drama slot on BBC Three, relinquished yesterday by another vampire/werewolf fantasy/horror series, Being Human. So zombies, it seems, are the new vampires.

Not that Mitchell could reasonably have been influenced by any of these other zombie stories: In The Flesh, he explained in the Q&A I attended on Thursday, has now been in development for five years. That's three years before The Waking Dead was first broadcast in the States, and three years before Atria Books acquired the publishing rights to the Warm Bodies novel. It's really interesting how these things seem to run in cycles almost completely coincidentally - though of course, what's already selling will naturally influence what gets commissioned. But then, neither is In The Flesh in any way unoriginal or faddy: far from it, in fact. Mitchell approaches this fantasy/horror genre from a completely novel angle, describing his work as a kind of kitchen-sink-zombie-apocalypse story, inspired as much by the likes of Ken Loach and Shane Meadows as by gory horror B-movies. Having been treated to a special preview showing of the first episode I can tell you that all of these influences definitely show.

At its heart, In the Flesh is a domestic drama, telling the tale of a teenage boy returning to his family after an extremely traumatic experience. In the Q&A session, Mitchell explained that the idea for a zombie series had come to him whilst working on another script about a boy's experience of returning home after a psychotic episode. During this episode, terrible things were done, so naturally, not everyone in the local community is altogether enthusiastic about his homecoming. Thus, in In The Flesh, this theme of mental illness is conveyed through the metaphor of zombie-ism (or Partially Deceased Syndrome) and surfaces repeatedly in a variety of ways. Before his reintegration into society, Kieren must first go through a period of extensive counselling and observation in a heavily guarded medical institution. For the rest of his life thereafter, he must take strong medication through painful injection every single day. Intermittently wracked with guilt about what he has done, filled with fear about how his family and community will react to his return, and cut-up with resentment about what he must now endure on a daily basis, Kieren is briefly tempted by a friend to seek escape through the use of powerful, mind-altering drugs, only effective on PDS sufferers. PDS is not, however, the only form of mental illness that features in the show: pay close attention to hints at the initial cause of Kieren's death.

In spite of this central focus on family experience, however, Kieren's return - and the reintegration of PDS sufferers into society more broadly - has much wider repercussions for his local community. Kieren's home town of Roarton is an isolated, rural working class society, highly conservative and fearful of change and otherness. It's also a stronghold of the Human Volunteer Force, an anti-"rotter" organisation, set up to "protect" the human community from the partially deceased, clearly mirroring anti-immigration organisations such as the National Front or EDL. The series resonates powerfully with gritty realist dramas like This Is England, not only in subject matter, but also visually, having been filmed on-location in similarly desolate, run-down areas. In comparison to its otherwise most kindred drama, Being Human, In The Flesh tackles socio-political and religious issues with much greater sophistication, integrity and maturity. Where Being Human's second series showed a disappointing a lack of real interest in or sensitivity towards the Catholic elements it incorporated largely for effect, In The Flesh's right-wing, evangelical Christian community is central to the story and entirely convincing, showing the damage caused by bigotry and prejudice, yet still managing to remain, to some degree, sympathetic and just to all of its characters.

Aside from zombie apocalypse movies and kitchen-sink dramas, I did notice some other unacknowledged influences, most obviously Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and various film adaptations thereof. Like In The Flesh, Shelley's novel details the quest of a reanimated corpse to become accepted into human society, and the difficulties he encounters in his ultimately fruitless attempts. Particularly striking for me was the similarity between the zombie make-up in this series and that used on Christopher Lee in the 1957 Hammer film The Curse of Frankenstein, with characteristic pasty faces and glassy, inhuman eyes, though of course a greater degree of subtlety in make-up is achievable today. It's brilliantly done, even down to the make-up actually used within the story by PDS sufferers: Kieren returns home a little orange, having apparently gone slightly overboard with his foundation, prescribed to allow him to blend in better with other people, in much the same way as wigs are currently provided for cancer sufferers. 

Not only is In The Flesh penned by an exciting, innovative new screenwriter, who has just made the transition from theatre to television, but it also features a whole host of brilliant young actors like Luke Newberry (Kieren Walker) and Harriet Cains (Kieren's sister, Jem). Even the series' more established and better known cast members are not, as Mitchell and Campbell themselves pointed out, the sort of people that "you see in everything". It's always good to see fresh talent being actively sourced in this way, and really encouraging to anyone just starting out themselves. One great piece of advice for aspiring scriptwriters that I gleaned from Mitchell's talk is to create a series bible: even if this includes lots of information you don't actually use in the show itself, it helps you to know your characters thoroughly, and to judge how they might react in different situations, as well as setting clear parameters for the world that you're creating. This is particularly important in a fantasy series: one must set firm rules and be aware of what is and isn't possible in order to maintain an internal logic and keep up the audience's suspension of disbelief.

In The Flesh airs Sunday 17th March at 10pm, and from what I've seen so far, it's gonna be fantastic! Don't miss it!

Further Thoughts on Dancing on the Edge

Because second thoughts are never a bad thing.

I'll be honest - I was pretty wrong about Dancing on the Edge. Not only did the series get considerably darker as it progressed, but the writing quality also got considerably worse, with the exception of the final episode. In the interests of fairness, I'll start with the good and concentrate on that last and best episode first.

It is true to say that the plot got stronger and more gripping towards the end of the series, with the final part being properly edge-of-your-seat exciting. It was much more plot driven, dispensing with all the standing around saying inane and pointless things that had got in the way of the story earlier on. It also saw some of the series' best acting (though that was a consistent strong point throughout): there were fantastic performances from Anthony Head as the cold and dangerous Donaldson, and from Tom Hughes as the increasingly disturbed and disturbing Julian.

More than any other, this seemed like Julian's episode. For much of the story, he is pretty far gone, dancing on the edge of madness. He carries a gun around with him, and in one fantastically creepy moment, we're afraid that he's about to murder two little girls in cold blood. Yet, there are several moments of clarity, and it is in these that we really get an insight into Julian's world, and start to understand what has made him the way he is. Alone and miserable in his loveless family home, he discovers a gun inside a huge chest (a chest that could almost be an old-fashioned toybox) prompting comments on how the house is "full of guns" and perhaps hinting at the threat of violence with which he grew up. Later, he expresses his disgust at his inability to effect a change in his life. He sees that his actions, along with those of the rich men with whom he socialises, are not allowed to have consequences - at least not consequences that directly affect them. Appearances must be kept up, and these people have the power to weather any storm, even when they are the cause of it. For Julian, this means not a carefree life but a powerless one, plagued by feelings of guilt, disgust, and a strong sense of how little he deserves the life he has.

Despite a brillaint and poignant finale, however, the rest of the series mostly got worse as things went on. The quality of the acting and strength of the plot were the two things that kept this series afloat and watchable in a sea of bad writing and mediocre direction. Stephen Poliakoff has shown he can tell a good story, but I suspect that what he really needs to help him make a great TV series is a good editor. The most striking indication of this was the clumsy dialogue. Some things were said far too often, becoming repetitive and irritating ("since my sons died", "my son would have loved this", "it can't have been Julian" "it's weird doing this being watched by photgraphs"), some things were said in unconvincingly direct ways ("I need to do something to really impress her", "this is part of my grieving process"), and others just didn't really need to be said at all ("they had sex on the train, you know").

In addition to this, there was also an issue with "staging". Though perhaps not so obvious a problem as what was spoken, the way certain scenes were set gave the impression that Poliakoff doesn't fully understand television as a medium. Occasionally, there were some great little bits of TV direction, such as the cut from the car carrying the fugitive Louis to the one arriving to collect Julian - it's often this focus on striking visual images and editing that really makes a film or TV show stand out. Unfortunately, there were far more scenes which felt as though they had been written for the stage. For example, the scene in which Rosie and Mr Masterson are shouting across a room at each other, and earlier the scene in which everyone is dancing outside in the hailstorm together both seemed to require more space than a television screen could possibly afford them. Further, not one of the sex scenes was remotely convincing. As such, they seemed unnecessary.

Nevertheless, I'm not sure that this means that they were terrible pieces of writing. As a theatre-goer, I could easily visualise how certain moments might look performed live, and how effective they might be under different circumstances, with a different kind of connection to their audience. In theatre, we naturally accept a more heightened tone and a greater degree of artificiality. On stage, certain kinds of artifice can actually help us to become more involved, because they allow actors to reach out to an audience that is present with them. But in forcing things into a television serial format that didn't really belong there, Poliakoff squeezed out much of their impact. The subtlety and naturalism of television as a medium simply leaves very little room for self-conscious theatricality.

As a final thought, it would have been nice to have had some closure with regards to Wesley's deportation, which was left annoyingly open-ended. It seemed strange that in the last episode, they should think to remind us of Wesley with a shot of him in Louis's flashback, but still not think to conclude his story properly.

All told though, I still enjoyed it, even if it was mostly the actors that made it. It still beats a lot of other TV drama I've seen lately. I'm also really looking forward to seeing the chameleon-like Matthew Goode go on to star in Stoker, alongside the wonderful Mia Wasikowska. If that film's not amazing, I'll eat my hat:

Mmmm...hat cake.

Got that glitch a villain. Glitches love villains.

Even before I'd seen Wreck-It Ralph, I knew that this film was going to appeal to me on several levels. Not only is this a total nerdfest for retro gamers (I love Sonic, Pacman, and old arcade-style games, even though I'm pretty awful at the vast majority of them), but it also manages to satisfy the fantasies of the weird kids like me by following the one story that has so far been missing from the Disney oeuvre: the story of the villain. I've always loved the bad guys - partly because no one else does, and I like to be perverse, partly because I'm a freaky loner goth who will always sympathise with the social misfits, and partly because they're generally just much more interesting characters (just watch Sleeping Beauty again and you'll see it's really no wonder they've now decided to give the only good character her own film, or watch a few old episodes of Pokémon and tell me Team Rocket aren't the best thing in it). In short, Wreck-It Ralph sounded like it was going to be exactly the sort of brilliant mixture I wish I had been clever enough to concoct myself. And it was. In fact, it managed to be even cooler than expected. The whole thing was just one big explosion of amazingness!

First off, the film has two super kick-ass ladies in it, both of whom are player characters in their own games (see here, for more information about why this matters). One is the main protagonist of her game, Hero's Duty, the hardened, no-nonsense military commander, Sergeant Tamora Jean Calhoun. The other is a gutsy little kid (voiced, incidentally, by Sarah Silverman!) who, like Ralph himself, is something of an outsider, determined to earn back a place in the races from which she has been ostracised. What endeared this second character (and the film as a whole) to me still more, was the fact that little Vanellope was also a glitch.

Similar to bad guys, glitches appeal to me a lot. I'm not going to go into all the arguments I've had with people about why Missingno. is the best Pokémon ever, but at the risk of sounding too much like the internet (sorry), a film about a friendship between a baddie and a glitch would have struggled to be more relevant to my interests.

There's been some interesting discussion online about whether or not Wreck-It Ralph is actually a Pixar film in disguise. Though it's not Disney's first non-Pixar-helmed foray into 3D CGI animation, it is without a doubt their best. The story and characters were wonderful, the visuals beautiful and, like all great Pixar films, it achieved that classic blend of the hilarious and the heartwarming that no one else manages so well. While I disagree with Nathaniel Darnell that there's a big difference between the style of humour, emotion and storytelling between these two production companies, I do think he's got a very good point about the choice of subject matter, as well as about the people involved. Still, it's not the first time John Lasseter's switched camps - or "gone Turbo" as Darnell more appropriately puts it: most recently, for example, he was involved in The Princess and the Frog, which is definitely classic Disney fare by all of his (and my own) criteria. So I think I'd argue that it isn't that simple: the two companies are, after all, inextricably tied together, and there has always been plenty of crossover between the two.

That said, the trailers certainly had me fooled. Even though I hadn't actually read it anywhere, upon seeing all the publicity material for Wreck-It Ralph, I simply assumed that this was Pixar's latest. One thing I will say, however, is that this film's prominent placing of female characters is something that, outside of Brave, has been largely and culpably absent from Pixar films (ok there's Dory, there's Jessie and there's Boo, but they're all essentially supporting cast in films which are ultimately about male friendship or father/son relationships). So however little appreciation Darnell seems to have for "princess movies", both Brave and the array of moody Disney princesses do still serve an important function in the world of children's films: girls remain under-represented in most films, most of the time.

A final note about Paperman, the animated short that preceded Wreck-It Ralph: utterly beautiful, and an instant classic. I wish I could post a link - it did briefly make it onto Youtube, but Disney took it down pretty sharpish. Not that you can blame them. I think I'd be protective, too. Any company that can still make a black and white silent film exciting, fresh, innovative, and appealing to children is certainly well worth its weight in cinema popcorn, at multiplex prices. Just think about that for a while: it's A LOT. I should know - I used to sell the stuff.

Let's Dance: First Impressions

After watching A Royal Affair in Saturday night, I apparently still hadn't had my fill of period drama, since I then turned over to watch the first episode of Stephen Poliakoff's Dancing on the Edge. I hadn't heard particularly positive reviews from other people about it: the general consensus seemed to be that it was a bit dull, but despite it taking it's time, I have to say I personally really enjoyed it.

I'll be honest - it's mostly quite a happy, pleasant sort of story, which I guess could be considered a little dishonest, given its subject matter. Still, maybe it was the fact that I'd just watched something extremely dark and depressing, but I felt like it was nice to see something a bit cheerful on the telly for once. These days, even most of the comedy I watch is basically about how awful everything is.

The series follows the story of a band of jazz musicians in the 30s, and the journalist who helps bring about their rise to fame. Whilst I wouldn't exactly agree with the BBC's own description of the drama as "explosive", there was enough peril for this not to be uninteresting, and to be completely fair, I have only seen one episode so far. Essentially, Dancing on the Edge seems optimistic in tone, promising a bright future for these rising stars and ultimately an end to the acceptability of racial discrimination, the first episode closing with the young English princes dancing with the band's black singers.

There is turmoil: as well as comments about the general racism faced by members of the band in everyday life, the band's manager, Wesley, is under constant threat of deportation back to the US, despite his supposedly being a British citizen, because his birth certificate has gone missing. Worse, if he is returned to the States, he faces trial and possible execution, having got himself into trouble by sleeping with a white woman, leading to accusations of rape. There's also the cloud of suspicion that looms over Sarah and her family, who as émigrés from Russia, are regarded as potential Soviet spies.

Dancing on the Edge doesn't just concern itself with race, however. It's also interested in class and, to a lesser extent, gender politics. The first episode features appearances from members of the royal family and demonstrates how they can do as they please, and everything must always be tailored to suit them: this is an era before royalty were subject to the same kind of press criticism as any other "celebrity" might face. Journalist Stanley is apparently taken in by the airs and graces of the upper class. A working man who's made his own way in the world, Stanley clearly has ambitions to make a place for himself and his protégé, Louis, in the magical world of status and riches of which he is currently "dancing on the edge". Then there's Sarah, who's mistaken for an aristocrat by members of the band, but turns out to be merely Pamela's assistant, choosing her clothes and getting her shopping done for her. Though it's not so clear to the less well-off in this world, Sarah herself seems to insist that its obvious that she doesn't fit in with her wealthy and powerful friends - at least to those in the know. In this way, the series explores the complexities of the British class system, as well as heralding its end through infiltration by American capitalism, coming in the form of businessmen like Mr Masterson. Though things remain hazy and unclear, we're left suspecting a very dark side to the powerful Masterson, when Julian asks Louis for help in tidying up Masterson's hotel room, a task which includes getting rid of a drunk and very battered and bruised looking young girl, about 10 times smaller than Masterson himself. And then there's the fact that Stanley begins ignoring Rosie, who also works on the magazine, as soon as he wins the attention of the rather more seductive and glamorous Pamela.

There's definitely a lot going on in this apparently sleepy world, and it is wonderfully well-acted, which is more than can be said for a great many pretty period dramas. Matthew Goode's talent in particular is phenomenal - I knew I recognised him immediately, but my brain just could not place him. And it's no wonder: this is Watchmen's Ozymandias. Wow! Currently Chiwetel Ejiofor is proving a great front man for the series. It'll be great to see if the show makes some more demands of him as it progresses. It was also quite exciting to spot Sam Troughton as the Prince of Wales, since up until now, I've only ever seen him perform on stage. Finally, John Goodman makes an appearance as the shady Masterson, though as of yet his presence has been limited, whilst at the other end of the "fame spectrum", there are a handful of rising stars to watch out for: Joanna Vanderham, Janet Montgomery, Tom Hughes and Ariyon Bakare all seem promising so far.

All in all then, a lot better than anticipated. More to follow.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes....

Unexpected as many of the award-winners at Sunday night's Bafta ceremony were, I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that Nikolaj Arcel's A Royal Affair was not so much as nominated for the Best Foreign Language Bafta. It's one I watched recently on LoveFilm, not having managed to see it at the cinema while it was out. Such is the way with foreign language films...

A Royal Affair tells the true story of how a German doctor, Johann Struensee, became the effective ruler of Denmark between 1769 and 1772 after being appointed personal physician to the mentally ill King Christian VII. Watching the film, it seemed to be telling such an incredible and important story, that I was amazed I'd never heard about it before - was amazed that so few people internationally seem to know about it. I only hope this period of history is taught to Danish kids at school. During his time as de facto ruler, Struensee introduced all kinds of new laws and reforms, including the abolition of torture, slavery, censorship, etiquette rules at Court and several noble privileges, as well as the criminalization of bribery, the assignment of farmland to peasants, the introduction of taxes on gambling and reforms in universities and medical institutions. I learned loads from this film - not only about Danish political history, but even about medical advances - apparently, Struensee introduced smallpox innoculations to Denmark. I'd had no idea that successful vaccinations were carried out so early.

It wasn't just educational though: this is a brilliantly exciting and suspenseful film. It begins slowly, with Queen Caroline leaving England for Denmark and coming to terms with her new life and her unstable husband. Straight away, we're given an interesting perspective: the story is told in hindsight by Caroline herself, in the form of a letter to her children, which attempts to explain and justify the actions that have led to her banishment. Caroline is shown to be artistic and intelligent, frustrated and stifled by life at the Danish Court. Almost as soon as she arrives, she asks for her books, only to discover that half of them are being returned to England since they have been banned in Denmark. In focusing on Caroline, the film is able to explore how social structures confine and constrain people in different ways - not only do we get to see how the King is rendered impotent by his greedy and powerful council of nobles, and how the middle and lower classes are put down and despised by the aristocracy, but also how women are treated at Court, forced into unhappy marriages and publicly vilified for seeking any kind of love or affection.

Tension rises once Doctor Struensee arrives at Court. Initially disliked by the queen for apparently encouraging her sick husband's foolishness, the two soon discover kindred feelings. Both are great readers and thinkers, have a thirst for change and reform, and share a desire to help the country's unfortunate poor. Eventually, they become lovers. Meanwhile, Struensee encourages the passive and childish King Christian to excersise more power over his Court and Council. Under his instruction, Christian proposes many reforms at Council meetings, some of them his own ideas, others fed to him by Struensee and his wife. As his proposals are repeatedly turned down, however, Christian becomes increasingly frustrated. The council's decision to banish his overreaching friend Struensee is the final straw: in a shock moment, the King decides to dissolve the entire Council and make Struensee his sole advisor, subsequently handing over power by allowing Struensee to sign political bills for him.

From this point onwards, the sense of peril and feeling of what is at stake only builds, both on personal and political fronts. Naturally, the Danish aristocracy hate Struensee, and band together to plot his death. To make matters worse, Struensee turns the armed forces against him by cutting the military budget in order to carry out his reforms elsewhere. Things really begin to look bad when Queen Caroline becomes pregnant, and the likelihood of this baby's being fathered by the King seems to the rest of the country to be slim at best. The press ever loving a scandal, Struensee's anti-censorship law becomes a rod for his own back, with all kinds of pamphlets and caricatures printed detailing his affair with the Queen. One of the things that struck me most about the design of this film was these documents. They looked fantastically convincing, and I'd be really curious to know whether they were original or copied from source papers.

Amazingly, although things don't end well for Struensee himself, the film still manages to provide us with a happy ending of sorts - or at least to end on a note of hope: Caroline's letter to her children apparently works, since we are told that the young Frederick went on to reinstate most of Struensee's laws, even after they were revoked by the Council. I can't find out anything about whether such a letter actually existed or not. From what I've read, it seems as though Caroline's communication with anyone in Denmark was limited after her banishment, and that this was probably just a device invented by the film-makers. If this is the case, however, one is left wondering how on earth the children managed to avoid being poisoned by the rest of the aristocracy. Whatever the case in historical fact, it's certainly true that one of the most wonderful things about this story is that Struensee did not act in vain, but actually left a legacy and altered the course of Danish history. Had he been alive to see what happened next, I'm sure he'd have been proud.

A Royal Affair is a very beautiful film, wonderfully designed and artistically shot. It's also intensely moving, with fantastic performances given all round. It manages to foster sympathy even with initially dislikable characters such as the King, showing us his childlike helplessness and reinforcing this through his insistence upon calling his wife "Mother". The moment when we feel most for him is shortly after Caroline has persuaded the King to come back to her bed and tricked him into believing that her unborn child is his. As soon as she has done what she needs to, however, she tells him that she thinks he ought to start sleeping in his own room again. In response, the Christian tenderly protests that he enjoys being with his wife and child, even if they cannot "be intimate" together: even after we've seen his brutality towards her, and all his going about with whores, it's still absolutely heart-wrenching. In many ways, the film rather reminded me of The King's Speech. The essence of the story is strikingly similar: the system of monarchy has thrown up an ineffective ruler who has no desire for power and would happily hand over authority to someone more capable if only he could. He appoints a doctor to help him with his problems, whose influence over him is then inevitably resented by those with a greater sense of entitlement. One might describe A Royal Affair as basically The King's Speech with consequences: what happened to Johann and Christian, as opposed to what happened to Lionel and George, actually mattered. This is no feel-good film.


What's interesting about that particular comparison, though, is that it brings me right back to where I started. While The King's Speech won masses of Oscars and Baftas, and achieved more nominations for both than any other films, A Royal Affair failed to be nominated even for a single one. And, quite simply, it's a better film, if primarily by virtue of having a more interesting tale to tell. But isn't that, after all, what making a great film comes down to? Unfortunately, the latter happened to be a film "in foreign" (as Mark Kermode would have it), and this will always sorely affect international success. Even those handful of films that do manage to achieve some international recognition (Let the Right One In, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, etc.), are typically remade in English for stupid, English-speaking audiences (and sometimes get ruined in the process). Mads Mikkelsen, too, is a classic example of how few avenues for success there still are for non-English or American actors: he's made it big now, but only because he played a Bond villain. Yep, that's right: even now, foreigners still, by and large, have to play high profile baddies if they want to get noticed. Unless of course you're a woman, in which case it's generally sufficient to be a sex symbol.

Still, perhaps we shouldn't despair just yet. There was, after all, a lot of fuss about the pointlessness of the aforementioned remakes at the time, and Scandinavian crime drama does seem to be becoming increasingly popular over here, both in books and on the telly. So perhaps there is hope for the rest of the (and I can't stress this enough) utterly fabulous cast of A Royal Affair. The winds of change are always blowing....

It is a heretic that makes the fire, / Not she who burns in't.

Seeing The Winter's Tale is always quite an experience: it's a play every bit as mad and magical as you could reasonably expect from lines like, "A sad tale's best for winter: I have one / Of sprites and goblins", and the infamous "Exit pursued by a bear." Perhaps unfortunately, the current RSC Tale team have opted to dispense with said bear (unless you count a passing mention supposed to occur after the event), rather than trying to get around the gnarly problem of how to represent it. Still, there's certainly magic enough in't - this is a really beautiful production, with wonderful costumes, sets and acting. As ever, the reawakening of Hermione was the plays most magical moment: there are, after all, few scenes in Shakespeare more spectacular than this. It's a wonderfully weird scene, and the fact that actresses manage to pull it off at all will, I'm sure, never cease to amaze.

As the programme tells us in some detail, The Winter's Tale is (especially by Renaissance standards) a fascinatingly gynocentric play: the three characters with whom we have the greatest sympathy are all women. That's not to say that all the men are as petty and over-indulged as Leontes or Polixenes: both of Paulina's husbands (Antigonus and Camillo) must naturally prove themselves worthy of her affections, which we can see are far from easy to win. But in the end, it's Paulina herself who steals the show, saving the day with some incredibly bold stunts. It's not difficult to see why a play like this would appeal to a female director, and Lucy Bailey in general does a great job.

Personally I felt there was a slight problem with pacing: for me, the first half felt a lot longer than the second. One of the things I found most annoying about some of the scenes in Sicilia was their tendency towards melodrama. I'll accept that this is probably a problem inherent in the text itself, and not an easy one to get around. Yet, funnily enough, it wasn't really an issue in what are probably the play's most naturally melodramatic moments, such as Leontes' railing and threats to kill everyone who disagrees with him, and Hermione's desperate speech at her sham of a trial. In fact, it was only noticeable when there was less going on onstage - it was most striking when the rest of the cast were called on to respond to pieces of news. Most of all, I didn't like all the silly shrieking and screaming of the other ladies at court whenever a kind of "mass horror" reaction was required. Not only did it feel too much like this was just a way of filling a space and giving those other cast members something to do, but it also crossed the line into ridiculousness, damaging our suspension of disbelief. The only other thing that bothered me slightly about the play was that there didn't really seem to be any consensus on the particular nothern accent that was being aimed at: Perdita sounded quite different and distinct from her adopted family. This may well be because some of the accents were natural and others weren't - I don't know how hard some of them had to work at it - but it's not the first time I've been left wondering whether, in the end, a dialect coach can really teach people very much. The only real way to pick up an accent, I think, is to go to a place and listen to the locals - you do it then almost without trying. But that's a minor quibble, really. It's also worth mentioning that I saw the show very early in it's run, so there's a big possibility that things will still change and improve a lot yet.

On the other hand, there was plenty to like - even love - about this production. I loved the joyousness of the dancing and revelry, and the recasting of the Young Shepherd and his squabbling admirers as holidaymaking chavs. Their singalong with Autolycus was laugh-out-loud funny, his bawdy humour translated into end-of-the-pier style comedy. I'll admit I had been hoping for a slightly stronger musical presence, since I knew about Jon Boden's involvement beforehand, and I'm a massive fan of his, but I suppose it wouldn't have done for the music to take over from the action. The use of costume throughout the second half was brilliant: even as things began to get more serious, once Perdita and Florizel had run away, we were permitted the light relief of the two of them appearing at the Sicilian Court, him with a coat over his morris dancing gear and her with a dress tucked into men's pantaloons and a scarf over her face in an attempt to seem more "Eastern". In comparison to the first half, the second seemed to fly by - I could happily have watched more! As usual, too, the design was fantastic, and I was especially impressed by Leontes' ivory tower-cum-desolate lighthouse.

In terms of acting, Rakie Ayola, Emma Noakes and Tara Fitzgerald positively sparkled as, respectively, Paulina, Perdita and Hermione, and Jo-Stone Fewings made a great job of a far from desirable part. He managed to bring real pathos and powerful emotional shifts to the role, moving convincingly from fury to despair to utter joy at his wife's return. As a character, Leontes shows himself up as such a shallow and callous character early on in the play, that for any actor playing him to then go on and win our sympathies in this way is really no mean feat. Others that I felt stood out were Duncan Wisbey as Antigonus, Nick Holder as the Young Shepherd, and Pearce Quigley as everyone's favourite, Autolycus. I'd actually seen Quigley not too long ago in a Shakespeare's Globe production of Doctor Faustus, so was thrilled as soon as I saw him come on stage: his comic timing is immaculate.

Overall then, a lovely play, just perfect for chasing away those wintry post-Christmas blues.