Pop-up Globe: Summer of Love
While no two productions are comparable, it would be remiss not to acknowledge the differences that separate two works when presented in repertory by a company with such a specific experiential ethos as the Pop-up Globe. There have been many numbers flaunted since the inaugural season in 2016; tickets sold, actors hired, performances given (I have no doubt there is a record somewhere of how many litres of fake blood have been used), however, while such success is relevant to a commercial enterprise, and while numbers do bring me an odd sense of satisfaction, I have not, until now, found myself terribly moved by the Bard in this purportedly “authentic” form. More often than not, my discernment quickly turns to disheartenment, and eventually disengagement, to where I’ve often found myself with an unexpected hour to kill in the parking lot. It is a definite shame that we are about to lose such a revered space, one that has no doubt given theatre virgins and school children a newfound lifelong love of Shakespeare, and yet I doubt the loss will shake my internal theatrical landscape to any dramatic consequence. Launching their fifth and final season, The Summer of Love, Artistic Director Miles Gregory tackles “the greatest love story ever (re)told”, while David Lawrence remounts the 2018 production of Much Ado About Nothing, originally directed by Miriama McDowell. Tragedy versus comedy. DiCaprio and Danes versus Branagh and Thompson. Another Freudian-level phallic farce of mind-numbing unoriginality versus a palpably poignant and passionate protestation of love.
While the 2020 production of Romeo & Juliet is certainly removed from PuG’s inaugural season (directed by Ben Naylor), both suffer from the same symptoms; tonal incongruity and absent emotional content. The leading spectacle is, once again, Alexander Holloway’s fight choreography (although one particularly brutal knife throw is used twice in almost the exact same way, minimising its effect), however, we are also once more exposed to “spectacular Jacobean costumes with edgy contemporary street action”, as if somehow putting a corset on stage next to a tracksuit is interesting let alone makes any fucking sense. If I hear that it’s “so post-modern” (that’s not what post-modern means) one more time, I think I’ll head-butt the utterer.
Stephen Lovatt
The trick to making a play that has been performed for literally hundreds of years feel new is not through forcibly layering a gaudy exterior, but by identifying and reflecting the universal commonality of the material through a communal and singular artistic lens. And herein lies the problem. Aside from Stephen Lovatt’s outburst as Capulet (mirrored, as are many roles in the season, in Much Ado, and which I have only seen convincingly portrayed once before) I don’t know what anyone on stage thinks or feels about what they’re saying. Every line and every action feels like a carbon copy of a blueprint to which only Gregory is privy. Therefore, nothing stirs within the actors. Even the veteran Greg Johnson is barely able to mumble his final lines as Montague. The only originality comes from Rutene Spooner and Tom Wingfield as Mercutio and Benvolio respectively, however, their comedic offerings are not founded on anything other than a “wouldn’t it be funny if I did this?” redundancy that has permeated every PuG production and makes me want to literally yell obscenities from the audience.
The death of Mercutio marks a clear divide in tone between the two acts of Romeo and Juliet, comedy followed by tragedy, but the farcical degree to which Gregory forces the former is ridiculous. I don’t doubt Gregory’s knowledge of Shakespeare, but I highly question his understanding of actors or their process. His lack of specificity in direction to even the simplest of means has the entire cast rushing through their dialogue – a common symptom of actors who are not confident that the audience is interested in listening to the words – and resorting to performative gesture, which borders on mime, to a near insulting degree.
Then there’s Gregory’s obsession with cocks, which is enough to make Arabelle Raphael seem modest. Yes, Shakespeare wrote dick jokes, but not every fucking line is an innuendo. I am definitely not above sexual humour, but I’m not paying with laughs when you try to sell me a two-bit joke.
Tom Wingfield
Admittedly, it takes a lot to get me to laugh in a theatrical setting. To clap, stomp, or sing along, is nearly impossible, so I literally and figuratively applaud Wingfield and Darcy Kent as Dogberry and Verges for having me on board the moment they began their pre-show shtick in Much Ado About Nothing. Whenever I’m about to see a show by a company whose previous work I’ve not appreciated, I tell myself “This is the one. This is the one where they prove me wrong.” Finally, it happened with the Pop-up Globe.
The comedy in Much Ado is utterly ridiculous – and I loved every stupid second of it. Shakespeare was written for aural audiences, but we’re far more visual today, and Lawrence and McDowell know it, employing physical gags to Stooge-level idiocy. The difference, however, to Romeo and Juliet is that the comedy in Much Ado is derived from the action within the scenes. Meanwhile, at the other end of the spectrum is the merry war of banter between Benedick and Beatrice. Spooner and Renee Lyons prove themselves masters of such wit, delivering blows with not only an intelligibility, but also a rhythm that survives the lengths of Shakespeare’s often overdrawn lyricism.
The Pasifika setting (is it just me or does the term “flavour” being bandied about seem reductive?) brings a truly communal aspect to the production – a vital component to ensemble pieces. It also creates an idyllic atmosphere that reflects the post-war events and isolated Messina that allows the audience to suspend their disbelief further into the more extreme theatrics of the play.
Rutene Spooner
Most importantly, however, is that the actors are genuinely invested in and care about this show. Comedy is often mistakenly seen as “easier” than tragedy. Easier for an actor to perform and easier for an audience to receive – and even remember. In that respect it is often belittled as “frivolous fun” in comparison to the more emotionally cathartic tragedy, and yet, I still find my eyes well up, and my breath catch in my throat, as I recall Benedick’s declaration of love to Beatrice. “I do love nothing in the world so well as you.” It is one of simple lyricism, yet Spooner imbues it with more emotive content than all the poetry in Romeo and Juliet.
It’s somewhat astounding that one company can produce such different productions, yet it appears (for the first time) that a director (Lawrence, by way of McDowell) has been able to escape Gregory’s perniciously risible thumb. For the first time in five seasons, the Pop-up Globe has presented a piece that not only respects the Bard, but also its audience, because while there is plenty of slapstick humour, Much Ado doesn’t rely on it or use it in lieu of telling the story. As always, the groundlings have much more fun than those seated, so save some coin if there’s no legitimate need to sit. If you want to save even more and need to make a decision between the two, it’s safe to say that Much Ado About Nothing stands out as one of the Pop-up Globe’s most original, entertaining, and enjoyable productions. You can also look into the Pop-up Globe’s final production, Emilia, directed by McDowell, while you book.