A Midsummer Night’s Dream

‘You can find me later on Linkedin!’ calls Helena to her departing ex-sweetheart. Such a thing is permissible in this version of Shakespeare, which mixes modern quips with some heavy Elizabethan verse-making. Glenn Elston, director of Melbourne’s Australian Shakespeare Company for no less than 35 years, has mastered this mixing trick. Here he comes up with a fresh and convincing directorial take on an old and oft-told story.

March is hardly the time to advertise the benefits of outdoor, let-it-all-happen theatre, but I suppose it’s warmer in Sydney’s Centennial Park than in Melbourne right now. I would still recommend you take three jumpers, a sou’wester and a raincoat.

This slick visiting company is led by Hugh Sexton as Oberon/Theseus and Nicole Nabout as Titania/Hippolyta, two excellent actors who do all they can to set the show alight. His vocal range is extensive, as is her fashion display. It’s the first version of ‘The Dream’ I’ve seen to be dominated by the Court.

Helena (Larissa Teale) makes her entrance in full soccer gear, dressed as a Matilda. Her friendship with Hermia (Olivia McLeod) becomes, thanks to fairy intervention, a loud and raucous matching with both Demetrius (Tane Williams Accra) and Lysander (Alex Cooper). The four bicker and roar extensively, while Puck (Jonathon Freeman) goes round the moon and back, doing a job for Oberon. 

The mechanicals’ let’s-put-on-a-show crowd have their time cut out to keep up. Under the firm, if wavering, hand of Peter Quince (Madeleine Somers) the would-be actors work on their play, starring the over-confident Bottom (Elizabeth Brennan), Snug (Henny Walters) and a troupe of others.

It’s here that modernism lets us down somewhat. The first female Bottom I’ve seen (ahem!) can’t quite make it, and the famous play-within-a-play, usually a certainty for the Weaver, is taken over by the others. No matter to this audience: they laugh delightedly.

I haven’t mentioned everything that happens in this magical setting: the energetic fairies that dance about, and the car/truck that regularly comes roaring onto the stage, nearly knocking actors and actresses right, left and centre. 

But I do remember Hugh Sexton’s rich and fruity tones as he leaves the big amphitheatre stage. ‘Puck,’ he declaims, ‘Off!’

Frank Hatherley