The costuming adds an eccentricity to the whole. The mortal courtiers of Athens are in modern dress, and the whole panoply of royals, fairies and mechanicals look as if they have raided a vintage shop for late 20th century casual fashions, including nods to mods, punk, and new romantics.

The plot of the young lovers chasing each other around the forest is delivered at a frantic pace and with extended bouts of energetic physical scrapping, at the expense at times of clear speech. That said, I did appreciate Ryan Hutton and Nicholas Armfield’s clear characterisations of Lysander and Demetrius respectively, especially as the two men can seem almost indistinguishable in Shakespeare’s script. Here Demetrius is an emotionally uptight yuppie, complete with check shirt and Barbour jacket, while Lysander is a more common, looser lad, who Hutton imbues with inexhaustible physical energy and posturing. In fact, one of the distinctive joys of the production overall is the precise choreography of movement. Every gesture and gait are precisely patterned, with characters mirroring each other’s rhythms and shapes, and the mortal characters evoking the pull that the fairies have over their bodies, which reaches it peak in the wonderful sequence where Puck magnetically leads the four lovers on a merry dance through the woods.

Boadicea Ricketts as a sultry, put-upon Helena, and Dawn Sievewright as a feisty Scottish punk Hermia, give high-octane performances as the two lovers who are in turns adored and spurned by their men, and find themselves in their own snarling fight. At times the volume and intensity of their altercations came at the expense of clarity in their delivery of the lines.

Katherine Pearce’s Puck is an earthy, teenage rebel, who extracts much comedy from her physical performance and sly mockery of her master. Her coarse attack on the language lacked clarity, however, or a sense of the sprite’s mischievous intelligence, except in the moments when she sang, or ultimately when she slowed down to deliver the play’s famous epilogue.

Several performances in the smaller parts stood out. Helen Monks as Rita, rather than Peter, Quince, provides an hilarious parody of musical direction in her underscoring the chaotic play-within-the-play on her keyboard. And Adrian Richards took full advantage of his brief moment introducing the court entertainment to milk the comedy and register his disdain. Emily Cundick almost steals the show impersonating the wall in the irresistible fiasco that is the mechanical’s performance of Pyramus and Thisbe in the final act. Her barely contained deadpan response to what passes through her “chink” in the wall is a joy to behold.

Indeed, ironically for all the pyrotechnical creativity in the design of this production, it is the simple, inventive stagecraft of the amateurs delivering their hapless rendition of Pyramus and Thisbe that brings the house down. Which in a way is as it should be, because the play is partly about the magic of theatre.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream finishes its run at the Barbican on Saturday 18^th January, so if you’re able to pick up a last-minute seat, there is much to enjoy.

And for a more serious survey Shakespeare’s first great comedy, don’t miss my fascinating conversation with Shakespearean scholar Emma Smith in episode 64 of The Play Podcast.

All production photos by Pamela Raith