ONE robed figure controlling, with the deft flick of his baton, all the human and orchestral forces massed around him, the success or failure of the project seemingly resting entirely on his shoulders.
It’s an image which perhaps serves for more than just the opening salvo in this much-anticipated return to the RSC of Kenneth Branagh, acting giant and a man quite used to leading from the front.
As performances go, Branagh’s Prospero is almost exactly what most audiences would be expecting and hoping for.
His ability to make Shakespeare’s text appear both fresh and unexpectedly clear still works. While occasional drops in pace to make every word pellucid can grate after a while, this is acting which is a joy to watch and a lesson in less-is-more.
If there is one criticism it could be that in this case less might be a little on the light side.
This Prospero is affable and conciliatory but with scant evidence of rage or threat, a hint at the chance of wielding such power in anger is absent. The tendency, however controlled, to act the tyrant when it suits is certainly present in most of the world’s more successful conductors.
Any maestro, no matter how forceful his or her personality may be, still needs every musician in the ranks to play well and this is where doubts and cracks appear.
Elsewhere there are a few reasons to relish this production, but many more which leave a feeling, once the now ubiquitous overpowering tech is set aside, of a rather one-paced, perhaps even pedestrian offering.
Ruby Stokes as Miranda certainly shines. Full of wonder while retaining a decent sprinkle of the sassiness modern audiences like to see in all female characters, this is a performance which sits comfortably alongside the presence of Branagh without ever being in danger of becoming overshadowed.
The quartet of washed-up Italian nobles look like a slightly misplaced chorus from The Yeomen of the Guard and drift through the action never quite getting out of second gear. A bit more differentiation and a lot more menace might help.
Amara Okereke’s flying Ariel certainly cuts it on the singing front but seems ironically hampered by the freedom flight allows her. The gradual but telegraphed move toward liberty with a Michelangelo ‘touch of God’ moment is, it has to said, heavy-handed.
Comedy is there in Richard Eyre’s production but, like much else, it struggles to get any momentum going. The comic pairing of Stephano and Trinculo are simply too lacking in snap and pace to make any impression.
The music from Akintayo Akinbode and Stephen Warbeck is good and the songs are pleasingly handled. There is a decent array of fine stage pictures and storm effects to dazzle.
Most eyes in the house will inevitably be focussed throughout this run on the central performance and the confident technique it undoubtedly brings. Whether in a few years time any other memories of this production survive in the mind is far less certain.
