The Tempest is a strangely insubstantial comedy of shipwreck, magic, revenge and colonialism. One could almost call it a revengers comedy where revenge is not only a dish served cold but also without much appetite. No wonder then that contemporary directors focus almost exclusively on the play's implied critique of colonialism (this reading has become almost a cliché) often at the expense of enchantment. I say implied because Shakespeare is far too complicated to yield one simple meaning and Caliban is an ambiguous, and at times, incoherent monster, rather than any noble savage.
       The good news is that Janice Honeyman directs the play with great rambunctious flair and dramatizes the island's enchantment to the full. Illka Louw's stage design is a massive flattened tree on a sandy beach with rocks and groves, the tree has limbs like legs wrapped in bandages and Ariel, the athletic Atandwa Kawi, springs to the tree's uppermost branches with considerable skill. Enchantment is given a powerful focus with the incorporation of Zulu creation myths into Prospero's spells: huge many headed serpents battle it out in great pools of water and in this production the storm which brings Antonio to the island is dramatized by a terrifying segmented serpent that rides the tropical winds. The puppeteers brilliantly bring to life Ariel's imprisonment by the witch Sycorax in a pine tree when he is clasped between a gigantic pair of long -nailed hands. Cleverly the play's themes of enslavement are shown both in Prospero and Ariel, the latter chafing at his bonds while Prospero is infatuated by Ariel's physique, tracing his hands over the surface of his body but never touching. The play's message is at its clearest in these scenes when we see how the angry dispossessed become by some inexorable law the dispossessor.
       Enchantment aside I was slightly underwhelmed by Anthony Sher's low-key Prospero, a difficult and unsympathetic character. Too often he was just a bad-tempered old man pouring over his book of spells in stained white cotton. He will have his revenge on the men who usurped his throne and the problem may lie in the play itself where there is never any contest between the shipwrecked Antonio and Alonso, The King of Naples. At all times these men are rendered powerless by the island spirits, conveyed by giggling and whispering Zulu sprites eavesdropping and influencing the action. Prospero never reliquinshes his authority until the end when Ariel has carried out his plans.
Honeyman brings the colonial symbolism up to date with her parallels with apartheid; Prospero in white hat and sandals lays about the disinherited black Caliban with a staff: this son of the mighty witch Sycorax has been brought to heel by European violence, reduced to collecting wood by a white bully. Caliban is played with great dignity on two tottering sticks by John Kani, who is happy to share all the resources of his island with the drunken sailors but his willingness to worship is a weakness: he is merely exchanging one state of servitude for another.
       The play ends on an optimistic note with Prospero leaving and Caliban throwing down his sticks, realising he no longer needs such props to stand on his own two feet. Elsewhere virtue triumphs over violence with Ariel removing the sword from Prospero's hands.
       The real revelation in this performance was Tinarie Van Wyk Loots as Miranda. She was played as a wolf-child: a wild Mowgli skittering about in animal skins, grooming Ferdinand by picking lice from his hair. She has gone native, incorporating enlightenment values (she's a good chess player) with an unalloyed Wordsworthian exuberance towards natural beauty. When she grabs Ferdinand she almost knocks him over with her strength.
       A special mention must also be made of the wonderful Trinculo played by Wayne Van Rooyen and his drunken friend, Stephano (Elton Landrew) who conducted himself with incredible campness as they planned to take over the island, wearing enchanted costumes with many medals. Here in miniature was a nice allegory for the absurdity of the colonial experience; two men, one naturally becoming subordinate to the other, weaving titles and dominions out of airy nothings.
Daniel Jeffreys