Twelfth Night, or What You Will
Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre doesn’t. Its Twelfth Night, reportedly the most successful show in this acclaimed company’s eight-year history, has received enthusiastic reviews during its U.S. tour, but its popularity seems akin to that of a network news anchor: it’s so handsome, poised, and well-spoken that it’s hard to imagine any argument with it. Tim Carroll’s meticulous, overly deliberate staging effectively transforms the play’s frenetic revelry into muted, well-behaved pleasantry.
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Perhaps the fundamental problem is the leisurely pace Carroll sets: no matter how urgently a scene might begin, it settles into lighthearted complacency. It’s as though the characters were slightly removed from their own predicaments, not lost in them. True, the pangs of sudden unrequited love will appear ludicrous to the audience, but those afflicted onstage must seem to feel the agonies of a lethal infection. Without that life-or-death edge, Twelfth Night amuses when it should consume.
