A Midsummer Night’s Fluid Sexuality Party: Thoughts on the National Theatre’s A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM

Taking a break from books for a second to talk about something equally nerdy, I just barely got in a watch of National Theatre at Home‘s A Midsummer Night’s Dream before Les Blancs replaces it today, and I have so many thoughts. Enough to fill a post, methinks.

I remember reading a few reviews about the production last year when it was up and running, and I remember it sounded interesting and explosive, and then I promptly forgot about it beyond some gorgeous photos of Gwendoline Christie beaming from an aerial silk hammock. And Christie is mostly great in this, but there’s so much more to talk about. So here’s a thought roundup from your resident Shakespeare geek.

But let’s answer your most burning question first: after watching A Midsummer Night’s Dream, does my crush on Oliver Chris remain intact? Yes, dear reader, it does. I loved him in One Man, Two Guvnors, I loved him in Twelfth Night, I loved him in the excellent new film version of Emma, and I really, really love him in this. The guy can make Shakespearean verse sing like nobody’s business. He has a talent for making me notice lines I’ve never focused on before, even in plays I’ve seen and read a gazillion times (like Midsummer and Twelfth Night). He also manages to make me genuinely care about characters whom I usually dislike: he’s still the only Orsino I’ve ever felt even remotely sorry for, and his Theseus is mesmerizing in the beginning and charming at the end. Who the hell is Theseus, many of you might be wondering right now? And well might you ask, because he’s one of Shakespeare’s classic Forgettable Plot Machine Authority Figures. But not when Oliver Chris plays him.

Which brings me to the first scene. I have never, nor probably ever will again, seen a production of Midsummer in which I thought the first fifteen minutes were the most powerful of the show. Usually, Act 1 Scene 1 of Midsummer is a fifteen-minute slog of exposition dump that must be dutifully borne until the Mechanicals come onstage and make us laugh with (hopefully) a lot of physical comedy and (hopefully) that stupid joke about beards cut from the script, and then we get to the woods where things really start cookin.’ Not this time. I loved the Handmaid’s Tale-Gilead-style setup, and while I initially rolled my eyes about Concept Shakespeare Nonsense when they carried out Gwendoline Christie in a glass box, it quickly became clear that the box held a place in this restrictive misogynistic society. From Christie’s expressions and reactions to Chris’ nuanced delivery, Theseus’ opening monologue established that this entire scene was going to have STAKES.

Which it should — Shakespeare’s comedies should always feel like they have life-or-death stakes, that’s what makes the endings land, at least in theory — but this production truly made the stakes punch you in the gut. Not just through Thesus’ and Egeus’ oppressive behavior toward the lovers and Hippolyta, but in Hermia’s fear, that gorgeous silent moment between Hermia and Hippolyta before the former bravely speaks up for herself, in the furtive way that she and Lysander plan their escape, and even in Helena’s fearful reaction to their plans and her flash of jealousy about escaping.

Which leads me, briefly, to Hermia, before I get on with the flashiest part of this production. I’ve seen two professional UK productions of Midsummer now, this one and the RSC’s 2008 production, and I loved both for giving Hermia’s heartbreak its proper weight. Especially once you get to the lovers’ quarrel later on, I feel like too many productions get focused on a slapstick pace and don’t slow down long enough to let her pain land, and that’s not fair to the character or her story. I thought Isis Hainsworth was heartbreaking and hilarious and I’m glad she got nominated for an award.

Okay, let’s talk about the production’s main gimmick, if you will, which is the role-flipping of Titania and Oberon in the potion plot. You know what? After a few initial moments where my brain had to adjust to hearing lines coming out of the “wrong” characters’ mouths, this worked for me! You wouldn’t think it would change that much about the play, or make you focus on how gendered that entire plot arc is, but holy shit does it ever. It had some immediate positives and negatives, though. Positives: hearing Oliver Chris deliver Titania’s gorgeous speeches about climate change, and some fascinating new motivations for Titania’s revenge plot. At least to my eyes, Oberon talking about his beloved dead votaress definitely made it sound as though he had an affair with said votaress–and Titania’s face in the background made it pretty clear that’s what she heard, too. From her perspective, he follows up an argument they’ve just had about adultery with…a story about another affair he had. From my way of thinking, this is the “injury” she wants Puck to help her revenge, as much as wanting the votaress’ son as a new henchman for herself. The fighting-over-a-new-henchman thing has always made Oberon seem like such a spoiled manbaby, and definitely NOT a good reason to roofie your wife into beastiality so you can shame her into giving you something you want (not that any legit reason for that behavior exists). So, points for a new motivation. Negative: since Chris gets to speak Titania’s most famous text here, it wound up feeling like Gwendoline Christie wasn’t left with much to do except be a powerful presence on stage — which, you know, Lady/Ser Brienne of Tarth can definitely pull that off. I went in to the show so excited to watch her perform, and so tuned in to her performance, that it ultimately highlighted for me how much the character of Oberon is really just an exposition machine masquerading as a diabolical genius.

And okay, yes, now it’s time to talk about my biggest issue with this production. First, I want to preface this by saying that I really loved Hammed Animashaun’s performance as Bottom the Weaver (he also very much deserved his award nomination). His version of the role was fun and goofy and unusually sweet, and I found myself rooting for his Bottom during the play within a play, rather than my usual thoughts of “Stop stealing focus from your scene partners, you jerk.” That being said, regardless of whether Oberon’s playing the love potion prank on Titania or Titania’s playing the love potion prank on Oberon, the entire prank revolves around disgust. The victim is supposed to fall into a loving relationship they would normally find abhorrent. Retooling the show so that said relationship is a same-sex one on top of a beastial one is already tricky to navigate: I think this show just managed to dance around it by making it clear that there was genuine attraction and affection between Oberon and Bottom the Weaver (sorry, I’m immature so in this particular context calling him simply Bottom makes me gigglesnort). Just barely. But Animashaun is a BIPOC actor, or at least a black-presenting actor, and this is one of those productions where the costume designer has decided that his “transformation” will only be a pair of ears on a fancy headband, leaving his face fully visible. So what the audience sees is basically a black man in modern dress being called a monster, being called a fool, being called an animal, and being forced to stay in the woods by a white man who holds all the power and wants to have sex with him. I noted that they removed Titania’s (here Oberon’s) line “My eyes do loathe his visage now” once the enchantment wears off, but still. Even before the recent BLM context of 2020 came to the forefront of our conversations, that was…yikes. Not okay. Did that come up in the rehearsal room at all? I’m so curious. Again, the actors sell it, because in Animashaun’s portrayal there is true consent happening in response to Oberon’s proposition, and their scenes together are so damn charming, heaven bless both of these men. But at least in the U.S., there’s an undeniable power dynamic at play between white faces and black faces that you can’t just ignore in a storyline that’s already fucked up when it comes to consent issues, whimsical fairyland rules or no. (I love A Midsummer Night’s Dream, you guys, it’s one of my favorites, but it’s got some issues.) I’m not trying to say that a talented BIPOC actor should never play Bottom the Weaver opposite a white Titania (or Titania/Oberon hybrid) ever again or anything, but…casting directors really, really need to think that particular pairing through for a while.

OTHER RANDOM STUFF I LOVED:

• Aerial work. I’m a sucker for it.
• Along those lines, Puck’s physicality was incredible. Not entirely sure what was up with his vaguely tweaking-drug-addict vocal tic though – maybe it was supposed to match the punk costume he was wearing? It was clearly a deliberate choice, because he delivered his final speech without any of the vocal tics and it was so lovely and I screamed “Where has this been?!” at the TV.
• Gwendoline Christie in THAT DRESS. YOU KNOW THE ONE I MEAN. Of COURSE that woman is the Fairy Queen. Duh.

• Gwendoline Christie’s face acting. She speaks volumes in that first scene while barely speaking a word. When she finally gets to be witty during the play within a play scene, it’s such a rush.
• Another thing both British Midsummers I’ve seen have done: they really go for that dirty “kissed thy stones” joke during the play within a play and I am here for it.
• Another thing I’m here for: Hermia dropping an F-bomb in ad-lib. Normally I find modern speech ad-libs in Shakespeare productions annoying, but this time I enjoyed them. Puck had some great ones, and Theseus’ “Oh, it’s a hat” about the Lion costume broke me (and Gwendoline Christie, too, from the looks of things).
• The “Give me your fist” joke with Mustardseed. I died. Normally that scene is so boring — and I say that as a Shakespeare fanatic — but they made it work.
• Puck’s response to having to fetch Helena for Titania. And his gag about losing the flower. If I ever play Puck again, I’m so stealing that flower gag.
• All of the lovers were strong. It’s nice when that happens.
• I loved Starveling. She was so over it. Or maybe just pissed that she wasn’t playing Thisbe? It does make the cross-dressing joke more difficult if you have a mixed-gender group of Mechanicals and still insist on having Flute be male-presenting.
• Just when you think the play within a play can never show you something new, Thisbe summons Hermia, Helena, and Hippolyta onto the stage within a stage for “O, sisters three,” and it’s a gorgeous moment.

other random stuff I didn’t love

• I thought most of the costume design was…just, why? Except for the Gilead stuff at the beginning. And that dress. You know what, who are we kidding, all anyone is going to remember about costumes in this show is THAT DRESS, and possibly Oberon’s matching overcoat in the final scene.
• I love the whole “the play was Theseus’ vision quest to learn about the importance of love and renounce hetero misogyny” thing, but the moment where he remembers his own dream was waaaaaaaaay oversold. As soon as the sound system started playing flashbacks of his own voice speaking words of love to Bottom the Weaver, I cringed and put my hands over my ears. Just fly the bed across the stage with a magical sound effect and let Oliver Chris and Gwendoline Christie do their brilliant acting. The audience is not stupid. Stop treating us like we’re stupid.
• About Christie: I loved her as Hippolyta and she was an imposing presence as Titania, but did anyone else get the feeling she’d been directed to deliver her Oberon-reassigned-to-Titania lines, like, REALLY BIG AND LOUD WITH BIG, GRACEFUL ARM GESTURES? She obviously knows her way around Shakespearean text because there were plenty of lines she delivered with beautiful nuance. But there were also parts of her lines that she played as overexcited (“there the snake throws her enamell’d skin” was one, I remember) for seemingly no reason. It felt like a director’s choice made for pacing purposes. It was weird, and I don’t like directors who make my beloved Gwendoline look like anything other than the absolute goddess of everything that she is.

• The same-sex kisses during the lover’s quarrel were, I’m guessing, meant to soften some of my objections above, by not making Oberon/Bottom the Weaver the only same-sex instance in the play, and painting the woods as a place where sexuality is a fluid thing to be joyfully explored? Which is a great idea, and would have worked much better for me if the staging of those moments hadn’t been so rushed.
• Similarly, maybe it was impossible to shoot properly and you just had to be there, but the “up and down” chase sequence staging was…awkward and confusing? Having all four lovers end up tangled on a tiny bed might work for your visual metaphor but it doesn’t work for the scene. And the scene should always win.

There’s more, believe it or not, I’m sure there’s more, but I’ve already written more than I wrote for some of my college papers so I’ll stop there. If you made it this far, congratulations. In summary, watch National Theatre at Home every week and donate money! They produce beautiful, thought-provoking stuff and while it’s not the same as being there in person, the recordings are fantastic and give you a better seat for free than you could get for under the equivalent of $200.

Back to youth literature next time, promise!