Nothing stormy about Trevor Nunn's Tempest

Despite evidence pointing to the contrary, the name Ralph Fiennes is not synonymous with that of Lord Voldemort. Fiennes, who made his name at the Royal Shakespeare Company, is in fact a seasoned Shakespearean actor and proves his worth playing Prospero in Trevor Nunn’s production of The Tempest.

In an earlier time the Duke of Milan, Prospero is now confined to an island with his daughter Miranda. Bringing to the island his enemies by means of a tempest, Prospero schemes, with the help of sprites and spirits, to give his daughter in marriage to the King of Naples’ son, whilst plotting revenge on his usurping brother. In the end, everything is forgiven, although perhaps not forgotten.

The Tempest, comical though it may be, is also light and ethereal and melancholic. The magical creatures populating the play are beings whose presence should lull the audience into a state of wonder. Prospero’s final monologues articulate the mind of a man whose life is perhaps not over, but is certainly close to the beginning of its end. With this, as well as the beauty of the text in mind, one would think The Tempest sturdy enough to survive almost any production. And yet, it can barely lift its head under the drudgery and vulgarity of Nunn’s production.

One must thank Fiennes for the lift... that he gives to this production

Music is vital to any staging of The Tempest, driving much of the action and present in many of the scenes. Of no recognisable style, Nunn’s choice of music can only be described as kitsch in the worst sense of the word. Costumes belonging to human characters were simply boring; anyone expecting any magic from the sprites was to be sorely disappointed by their garish garments. Even the slave-sprite Ariel, played with passion, albeit rather squeakily, by Tom Byam Shaw, was grounded, metaphorically speaking of course – there was copious flying involved – by his shiny turquoise outfit.

There was plenty of magic, swordfights and love affairs taking place on stage, but somehow the actors struggled to find, and maintain a pace, crucial to the successful outcome of any play. Fiennes in particular, was disappointing in the first act; he was rarely able to relate to his co-actors and appeared somewhat lost, for want of a better word. His second act thus came as a pleasant surprise. Perhaps borrowing from Prospero’s powers, Fiennes delivered his monologues with a sombre aplomb and tragic nuances, his powerful voice rising and falling smoothly. The rest of the cast were as good as the directing permitted. Nicholas Lyndhurst as a very lanky Trinculo was particularly hilarious in his drunken scenes with Clive Wood, who played an equally drunk Stephano. They provided comic relief from a boredom that was felt too often.

The Tempest has now reached the end of a successful run at the Theatre Royale – and one must thank Fiennes for the lift, both on stage and off, that he gives to this production. Although this leaves us without the chance to watch yet another famous actor on the West End stage, it will hopefully make way for something better.

The Tempest has since finished