Truncated Dream nicely played by young, fresh cast
A Midsummer Night’s Dream Shepperton Cricket Club and touring
★★★★★
There has been an abundance of Shakespearean fare online since lockdown. When it comes to flesh-and-blood performances, though, it’s as if we’ve been barred from the Bard. Although the RSC has presented some excerpts in Stratford, it has largely let the sudden hardball opportunity of outdoor performances slip through its fingers. And the Globe seems to have been stumped by the crisis too; next to nothing doing on Bankside.
With the big beasts confined to the sidelines, on to the vacated field have stepped the young, the keen, the unknown. An actor called Max Hutchinson had the wizard (or should that be Wisden?) idea of contacting a few suburban cricket clubs. Before you can say “Howzat?”, he bagged the use of their wide open spaces for a touring A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the comedy classic without which no summer is complete.
Even the worst of this week’s stormy gusts didn’t stop play on Wednesday – the sheer fleetness of foot of this truncated version minimises the risk of the event turning into a soggy saga. Given the running time of an hour, you’ve barely bedded down in front of the humble playing area – on demarcated seating patches, almost like picnic spots – before it’s time to pack up for home. Joseph O’malley’s production is more of a power nap than a long reverie.
Still it’s eminently restorative (and at a tenner a pop for adults, very affordable; the accent is firmly on family friendliness rather than scholastic seriousness). Led by Hutchinson, the six-strong troupe, garbed in cricket whites, bound zestfully about, diving behind a sight-screen to embellish their attire as required (garish sunglasses for the fairies, fronted by Sally Cheng’s Puck). An array of instruments (including violin, guitar, xylophone) fill the air with sounds dulcet enough to offset (at Shepperton, just west of London) the passing drone of aircraft – and there’s perforce a fair bit of bellowing to boot.
After a speedy synopsis, we dive straight into the lovers’ entanglements in the forest; Aaron Sidwell’s scornful Demetrius initially wards off Tricia Adele-turner’s over-enamoured Helena with a cricket bat, while Joseph Prowen’s self-involved Lysander, sweater slung over his shoulders, lets Clare-marie Hall’s Hermia slowly topple under the weight of a massive backpack. (There are a lot of nice visual gags like that, especially during the Mechanicals’ scenes.)
Was I bowled over? No, but I loved it all the same. As Theseus affectionately says: “Never anything can be amiss/ When simpleness and duty tender it”. Well played, nicely pitched.
Until Sept 6. Tickets: cricketdream.org