Midsummer Night's Dream in what feels like the bleak mid winter! Gregory Doran's production, designed by Stephen Brimson Lewis, is just the tonic for flagging spirits - an enthusiastic, exaggerated, even risque take on Shakespearean comedy, chock full of verbal and visual pyrotechnics. The story's three, interactive narrative threads are entwined with sophisticated sleight, yet each holds their own with subtle shades of staging.
      The curtain opens upon a violent sword fight between two armoured figures in an empty, featureless space. In a nice twist, they turn out to be none other than Theseus, Duke of Athens and his betrothed Hippolyta - who is, after all an Amazon. Miles Richardson and Bridgitta Roy deport themselves well as ruler and beloved. Touched with aristocratic grace and glamour, they are quite convincing as munificent figures of authority whenever they appear. The equilibrium of regal Athens is further underlined by the stark, minimal stage which accompanies this section of the tale.
      In contrast, the four bright young things at the action's heart, call to mind Oxford undergraduates in their garb and attitude. Indeed, Hermia and Helena are positively Sloaney, as portrayed by Sinead Keenan and Caitlin Mottram. This is not a problem for the rather endearing Mottram, who had us in stitches with her spurned spaniel routine over Oscar Pearce's fickle Demetrius. Alas this was not the case for Keenan, when attempting to deflect Pearce's attention she had a tendency towards shrillnes - although this was modified a little as the evening wore on and might be attributed to nerves.
      Unable to attain the blessing of her father Egeus (who favours Demetrius) or the Duke for her marriage to Lysander, Hermia resolves to elope that night. In a misguided attempt to curry favour, Helena relays the information to Demetrius who promptly pursues - and is in turn tailed by the unlucky messenger - into the woods.
      At last we are in the fairy realms of poesie and lest we are in any doubt, the stage is transmogrified into another dimension. Here real fire burns, winged Barbie dolls fly and gigantic shadows loom. Particular credit must to to Tim Mitchell for the lighting which is integral to the numinous atmosphere. The clever use of a projector creates an illuminated screen behind which supernatural silhouettes make mischief. We meet an awesome Oberon (Joe Dixon), omnipotent much as Prospero would later be. Jealous of Titania's changeling child (a puppet baby in the manner of Mingella's Butterfly) he resolves to play a trick on her. Amanda Harris' buxom doxy queen is less fey than one might have wished, but her turn is adequate. As for Puck, Jonathan Slinger channels Boris Johnson for a bravura performance as the her husband's familiar. This Robin Goodfellow bungles his master's magical machinations (enchanting Titania but mistakenly muddling up the lover's affections) but ensures that all's ultimately well in both worlds.
      Finally, a team of artisans produce a play within a play (Ovid's Pyramus and Thisbe from the Metamorphoses), and the weaver Bottom (Malcolm Storry, over-acting to the delight of many) is bewitched. Titania becomes enamoured of him, despite his ass' head. We are met with supermarket trolleys, flying bicycles and much lewd innuendo - which can be trying if overdone. These players form a sort of Shakespearean 'Wheeltappers and Shunters Club' of yesteryear - integral it might be, but this subplot has a tendency to subvert the luminous poetry of other scenes.
      Up to a point, Bottom and co. are a crowd-pleasing trope: however, the real magic of this production is the interweaving and delineation of two distinct universes and their skilfull portrayal - for Shakespeare defined the mythic realm of the so-called little people for generations to come. Furthermore and perhaps more to our purpose, I am happy to report that the cast seemed to be having as good a time as the audience! 
Caroline Kellett Fraysse