Old Play on Broadway

Twelfth Night (by William Shakespeare) opened the Old Vic's Broadway engagement* delightfully. For all its beauties and graces, Twelfth Night is seldom so obliging. Too often in the theater the Illyrian glamour, the lovely songs, the immortal lines, the great bard himself, dissolve and leave but the plot behind. Now girl-in-boy's clothing palls, now which-twin-is-which proves wearying, now Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguecheek help explain why "carouse" can be one of the most shuddersome euphemisms in the reviewer's lingo.

This Old Vic Twelfth Night could hardly be brighter. To expect the plot to sprint, the jokes to put on new leaves, the performing never to be mannered or coy would be unreasonable. Illyria still keeps its Old World tempo, and the plot its tollgates. But the poetry dances in and out of the prankishness, the air is brushed with light, the carousing invokes no shudders and provides some laughs. Richard Wordsworth's Malvolio is grandly absurd in the letter scene, and in his yellow stockings and cross garters, really funny. Jane Downs's Olivia, Judi Dench's Maria, Dudley Jones's Feste, John Neville's Sir Andrew all bring something personal to their roles, and Barbara Jefford's Viola is attractively girlish whether in man's dress or woman's.

The Old Vic can perhaps thank its stars not to boast any; this Twelfth Night, as directed by Michael Benthall, gets its fine effect from its ensemble effect. Actors who know how to speak Shakespeare, to do wonders with an intonation, know also how to join hands. Desmond Heeley, with his charming costumes and simple set resembling an old, delicately drawn tailpiece or design, knows how to achieve a background. There is for once in the theater the sense of letting something deathless prove its mettle and not of belaboring something lifeless to move its limbs.

* Other scheduled plays: Hamlet, Henry V.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.