The Tempest - Shakespeare's Globe ★★★★★

In the candlelit warmth of the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse, here is The Tempest, interpreted in ways that may surprise you. Directors Tim Crouch and Justina Kehinde utilise the magic of voice, stage and storytelling to create a metatheatrical adaptation of a colonial play. It is a story of power and control: how one loses it and how one grabs it back. The company works together to create all the metaphor, madness and melancholy it takes to pull off such a bold adaptation.

The 17th-century version of The Tempest follows artful, ‘white’ magician Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan, and his sheltered daughter Miranda. They have been exiled to an island for 12 years after Prospero’s brother Antonio usurped his title. With only his books and a magic staff, Prospero enslaves this island’s sole inhabitants, Caliban and Ariel. Caliban labours for Prospero while Ariel carries out his magical commands, including shipwrecking the Milanese and Neapolitan courts on the island so Prospero can get his revenge. Prospero plans to confront his enemies, marry his daughter to the Prince of Naples, and leave the island with more glory than ever.

So, what makes this version worth seeing? Of course, it’s not the first time that The Tempest has been re-imagined in a postcolonial light – but it’s more than this. It’s the atmosphere the entire company creates. Everybody works as one in this production; the company operates as a singular organism, putting on a captivating show. It may be the nature of The Globe, but the company deserves praise for modernising and experimenting while keeping the production inherently Shakespearean. Fools perform crudities, some actors sit in the stalls, singers waltz around the Playhouse, shutters close to mimic ‘lights down’, and everything is candlelit.

Crouch also ensures that this is an immersive production, and no character obviously holds the spotlight. Some actors even break the fourth wall and drop character at times to let the politics of The Tempest resonate; this is both exciting and poignant. In a further Brechtian manner, the four islanders are on stage constantly, watching. Naomi Wirthner (Ariel) has an omniscient presence, and though she doesn’t have as many lines, she is impossible to look away from. She embodies an all-seeing mystical figure, sitting by the back wall knitting on the floor, cross-legged, shoeless – until it is her turn to fulfil Prospero’s wishes. To further isolate the characters from their humanity, Crouch’s version shows no storm, no shipwreck, and no magic. Nobody leaves the island, and salvation is not achieved. Instead, actors simply tell a story, aided by a magical set and clever direction. The islanders open and close the performance with the same, stunning, machine-like tableau, symbolising the laborious, cyclical nature of imperialism.

Joshua Griffin (Ferdinand) and Sophie Steer (Miranda) have wonderful chemistry, and their dynamic makes you question the gender roles of traditional Shakespearean lovers. Steer is as Miranda is – inquisitive and childlike, but never naive. Her take on a young, sheltered, infatuated Miranda is refreshing and modern. Upon the lovers’ first meeting, Ferdinand lies face down on the floor to kiss Miranda’s feet – Miranda ties up her hair in awe. Their love is immediately equal, symbolised with thoughtful gestures. When Ferdinand is held captive after being deemed untrustworthy by Prospero, he is banished to the stalls, where he watches the performance unfold with everybody else. Every action in this production makes a statement; it is so clever and watchable. In Crouch’s Tempest, all the world is truly a stage.

At points, the experimental nature of the show is pretty intense but is offset by moments of well-executed comedy and music that really make the show. Mercè Ribot (Trinculo) and Patricia Rodriguez (Stephano) act their foolish roles with full enthusiasm and relentless jokes. This pair works with shedloads of energy; they are truly dedicated to their comical craft. Another fantastic pair are Emma Bonnici and Victoria Couper. They are tasked with delivering haunting spells in the form of song, becoming the live soundtrack for the 150-minute play. The first song comes out of nowhere, an a cappella onomatopoeic rhythm that turns into a melody of pleasing and dissonant harmonies. Though there are no spellbooks or magic staffs, there is true magic in Bonnici and Couper’s vocals.

Mechanical wings, a spinning toy ship, and King Alonso in a cycling helmet. Rachana Jadhav’s design is innovative, holistic and mesmerising. With the help of a costume team supervised by Florence McGlynn, Jadhav designs striking costumes made with all kinds of materials. Feathers, wool, canvas and cottons create eclectic costumes for each islander – the shipwrecked lords looking far more clean-cut in their suits and scarves. This fusion of aesthetics in a play about the mixing of global identities represents politics through fashion and identity. Enslaved labourer Caliban (Faizal Abdullah) remains in a ragged football shirt, pink cut-off tracksuit bottoms and flip-flops. The unrepentant Duchess Antonia (Amanda Hadingue) appears in a silk chiffon blouse, tweed trousers and stilettos! Meanwhile, King Alonso (Jo Stone-Fewings) shuffles on stage with a cycle helmet clipped to his waistband. Jadhav’s keen eye for detail means her designs further symbolise The Tempest’s colonial themes in a way that speaks to modern audiences.

Prospero’s iconic monologue begins the end of the play, directly addressing the audience and The Globe, claiming all will be dissolved. It’s Crouch’s apathetic yet sombre delivery of this monologue that truly pieces things together. It’s an existential take on The Tempest, one where the focus is on what version of history one chooses to remember. The play’s closing scene is visually the same as its opening, with Prospero’s final line being ‘Ok. ‘I’m ready to start now,’ as the islanders prepare the initial storm. Crouch’s adaptation decentres power and deconstructs Shakespeare so The Tempest can live on with newfound meaning.