Antony and Cleopatra

Bell Shakespeare here repeats the familiar device of characters randomly lounging around the set before slipping out between the chairs and into some action.    

It aids the speedy scene changes of this play, which leaps between Rome and Egypt, but it’s repetitive and, in this production, drearily reductionist.  After her mafia hotel lounge for Richard III, designer Anna Cordingley here does retro, pastel chairs and ottomans, surrounded by transparent curtains (expressively) coloured by Benjamin Cisterne’s lights. 

But inside, this epic of heroic fates and empires, this clash between brutal politics and Egyptian allure, becomes a smart-hotel squabble between executive girls and boys in suits.

Sport for Jove and other companies, including this one with Richard III, show how a contemporary, even “conversational” reading of Shakespeare can shine – and with relish for the language and high drama.   

But director Peter Evans fails here to draw strong voices from his cast, and so the language is lost and with it the story-telling and emotional power. Most crucially, there’s no chemistry between the two leads, no heart in this otherwise moving exploration of middle aged love.  

Johnny Carr’s Antony is a rambling, bearded millennial who fails to ignite our empathy – or Cleopatra’s – even in his long slide to ignominy. Catherine McClements has considerable spark, but still lacks the gravitas and strategy of the Queen she plays. 

They are pushovers for the conquering Octavius, played with chilly discipline by Gareth Reeves. Lucy Goleby is a commanding (female) Pompey and Jo Turner a diplomatic Lepidis while Ray Chong Nee grows into Enobarbus.  

Max Lyandvert’s sound finely conjures drama but the cast’s weak vocal dexterity fails to answer it.  It’s a problem for our leading Shakespearean company.

Martin Portus 

Photographer: Heidrun Lohr.