Romeo and Juliet

There’s a kind of roughhouse, ad hoc, spontaneous, let’s-put-on-a-show quality to Barden Party’s version of Romeo and Juliet.  It’s a calculated effect – or they’ve made a distinct virtue out of necessity.  They wander about, welcoming us as we wander in.  Relaxed, informal - as if it’s a party about to start.

But then this very talented troupe of eight does something near amazing with Shakespeare’s play.  They interpolate a heady mix of songs – mostly Bluegrass – that replace large chunks of the text and quite a few characters.  All of the cast play musical instruments – or if they don’t, it looks as if they do.  They do a bit of gender-blind casting.  Nurse is played so touchingly by big Māori guy Wiremu Tuhiwai, creating a real and detailed relationship with Juliet – and wonderful comedienne Tara McEntee cuts charismatic streetfighter Mercutio down to size. 

Co-director Laura Irish plays barefoot Juliet as a spunky little number, and co-director and adapter Ollie Howlett plays Romeo as a bit of a dweeb with a mournful demeanour.  Benvolio is banjo and guitar playing wheelchair riding Criss Grueber.  Caleb James is our Narrator and a very butch Paris.  As for Mercutio, some people – less moved by adolescent love - say that once he’s dead, the play’s just about over.  Too bad that here, once he’s dead, Tara McEntee is sidelined.

Meanwhile, very tall, gangly Hamish Boyle is the most lively, scarcely religious Friar I’ve ever seen: his supplying the sleeping potion seems like it’s no more than a bit of a wheeze.  And elegant Julia Guthrey plays mean Lady Capulet almost straight and her grief over Tybalt’s death has that suitably sexual hint...

And yet, despite all this and more, plus comic high jinks and some slapstick, the Barden Party’s version of the tragedy leaves the key elements of the plot intact and, most impressive of all, somehow retains the essential drama and emotion of the original.  They not only retain those things but they’re able to switch in a blink from a song or some low comedy back into them. 

When the young lovers are dead in the crypt, the rest of the cast line up for a Māori lament and it is very moving.  It’s the kind of switch that shouldn’t work, but it certainly does.

The Barden Party’s intentions are not satirical. If there’s a point to what they do, it’s experiment, it’s what if, and it’s play.  While they might be fooling around, or modernising Shakespeare’s play, they’re not mocking it, not sending it up, and they’re not making it politically correct.  In their way, they respect it – and show us in passing how resilient and adaptable the Bard is. 

At the same time, their show is totally no frills.  There are minimal concessions to costume changes – although Juliet’s in a frock and Lady Capulet’s in a floral wrap.  The rest in their slightly rumbled jeans and sneakers looks as if they just came in off the street.  There are virtually no props.  In fact, a tenet of the company is that they can carry all their instruments and props on and off the stage – and from theatre to theatre.  They’re travelling players.

The Barden Party (combining ‘bard’ and ‘garden’) company was born in New Zealand during the COVID lockdown.  Director, writer, wonderful actor and comedian Laura Irish stood in her back garden and thought, hey, we could do a show outdoors...  And so, they did, and have, over and over, in outdoor venues all over NZ and in the US.  In fact, as Caleb James remarks at the end, gesturing to the ceiling, being in the Chapel off Chapel Loft theatre is a wee bit constraining for them. 

Maybe there’s a bit too much singing, especially when the plot picks up pace, and, being habituated to outdoor performance, there’s a bit too much shouting, but the Barden Party’s Romeo and Juliet is completely absorbing, very funny and yet, as noted, very moving.  As I write this their season here in Melbourne (where they know no one) is almost over before they attempt the mighty leap to Edinburgh Fringe with their other show, their version of Macbeth (click here to read the review).  

Michael Brindley