Right royal theatre

Press, 24 May 1977, Page 6

Right royal theatre

By

HOWARD MCNAUGHTON

“Shakespeare’s People,” devised and directed by Alan Strachan, performed by Sir Michael Redgrave and Company, presented by the Otago Theatre Trust. Theatre Royal, May 23-26. Running time: 8.15-10.45.

The Theatre Royal, as every theatre-goer knows, owes its nomenclature to the collapse of the “patent theatre” system in London, which happily coincided with the colonisation of New Zealand. No longer were two theatres, favoured bv royal patronage, to monopolise legitimate drama — and a profusion of aspiring “theatres royal” was generously sprinkled around the globe. Until last night, however, I am doubtful whether any of Christchurch’s three Theatres Royal properly earned its title: without descending to hyperbole, the brilliance of David Dodimead, the versatility of Rosalind Shanks, the dyhamics of Rid Willmott, the scintillation of Philip Bowen, and above all, the magnificence of Michael Redgrave, earned the theatre its royalty on a scale that I cannot match

within the last decade in Christchurch.

The evening started with the ominous announcement that the props had fallen victim to the North Island’s notorious furious winter’s rages, which came as divine sanction to wholists like my former self who believe that if you bring five top English actors out to the Antipodes you might as well bring a whole cast. So imagine the feelings of the first-night audience when the curtain rose to five actors settling their denim-clad posteriors into the most Shakespearean furniture that the stately homes of Christchurch could muster — unworthy scaffolds, indeed, for the full panoply of the Shakespearean barrage that was to follow. Rod Willmott gave a memorable early rendition of Morley’s setting of “It Was a Lover and his Lass,” and throughout the evening delighted the audience with rich, sonorous versions of the songs (though not all of the arrangements were in character with the whole programme). Philip Bowen rose to a splendid Oberon, and Rosalind Shanks, the utility female, gave a delightful j Titania, the obverse of an ex-! cellent second-half Lady Mac-’

beth. David Dodimead, the comic pivot of the programme, was hilarious from start to finish: it would be impossible to pick his Falstaff his Benedick, his Malvolio, his Macßeady in America, his Enobarbus, his Bottom, or his bear scene from "A Winter's Tale” (with Philip Bowen at his best) as the comic peak of the evening. And yet, Redgrave dominated it all. His Richard 11, his Henry V, his Hamlet, his Macbeth, his Lear, his Prospero — all were superb, but his greatest contribution was in terms of atmosphere. Even when his incredibly resonant and highly-inflected voice was enjoying a much-needed rest, his bowed head, folded arms, and blue cardigan presented an eminently paternal figure, as devoted to Shakespeare’s greatness as he was committed to the young actors. Sir Michael Redgrave does not need to be here, nor does the rest of the cast; they simply believe in Shakespeare and the theatre in a wav that greater Christchurch demonstrably does not. Another half-full house, and I will give my reluctant blessing to the bulldozers which are hovering to turn the Theatre Royal into a shrine to obdurate plutocracy.