An alarming and enthralling bout of gymnastics on ropes dangling from the immense height of the Roundhouse accompanies the opening storm, the ropes serving as rigging on which sailors swarm in their futile attempt to prevent the splitting of their ship. The suddenness of the storm, and its inexorability, amaze the crew; their aristocratic passengers show only irritation at the crew's alarm. But in the ensuing hours ashore, as the King of Naples mourns his son, and the son his father, and Prospero orchestrates his revenge, and the subplots of murder unfold to bring the two bands of plotters to their reckoning – Antonio and Sebastian plotting against the King of Naples' life, and the drunken band of Stephano, Trinculo and Caliban plotting to kill Prospero – the drama of the wrack itself quickly pales into insignificance, and the magically unsplit ship and its sleeping crew wait to take all the inhabitants, long-term and temporary, back to Italy in their proper array. 
      Michael Boyd has given us a fast, powerful Tempest, using the large space of the Roundhouse to excellent effect in both lateral and vertical directions. A delightful Ariel, swift and sprite-like, flying about the space as if truly in the air, is the connecting web of all the diverse action, and at the centre stands Prospero, a large, weighty, powerful presence, anchoring the threads of the web thus spun to his design. It is a puzzle how The Tempest was staged in Shakespeare's own day, and for long before stage contrivances could answer the text's demands for cloud-capped towers and spiritual displays; but in this production the revels commanded by Prospero for the betrothal of Ferdinand and Miranda are simply and amusingly performed by a Widow Twanky pair of drag goddesses, Juno and Ceres, who provide as much fun as the drunken butler sequences. 
      By reason of its pace and mobility this Tempest works beautifully, and the performances by Malcolm Storry as Prospero and Kananu Kirimi as Ariel are outstanding. Given the wonderfully high standard of RSC acting, that is praise indeed; for the rest of the cast is faultless, each part being fully inhabited and fully realised, a matter of importance in Shakespeare where a part small in its number of lines can nevertheless be large in significance. Alan Turkington's Ferdinand is a case in point. It is, relatively speaking, a small part, but not a minor one; its player has to be a Prince, has to manifest proper royal pride when affronted by Prospero, genuine devotion in carrying logs to earn Miranda, and filial sorrow in grieving for the loss – as he believes – of his father; all the while being attractive in deportment (and, as in the present case, in looks) so that Miranda falls for him on the instant. That is demanding. The same applies to Gonzalo and the rest of the King of Naples' party; and not least to Miranda herself, who is in a sense the earthbound equivalent of Ariel, meant to be magical in her natural beauty and charm, and even closer to Prospero's heart than the sprite whom he loves next best of all things. This Miranda, played by Sirine Saba, manages it by sheer force of acting, not being a natural Miranda in other respects. 
      There have been three very good RSC Tempests in the last decade. It is pointless ranking them: each is its own excellent thing. Like its predecessors, this one is worth seeing again and again.
AC Grayling