This year has been a succession of things in the Swan that have ranged from very good (City Madam) to superb (Cardenio). But the other Shakespeare I'd seen --- if we can all agree that Cardenio is mostly Fletcher --- was the Antony and Cleopatra re-mix, which although very enjoyable, and a fantastic farewell by Katy Stephens to this segment of her RSC career (she'll be back), had had such a difficult birth it was difficult to take it purely on its own terms. Measure for Measure I came to absolutely fresh: I'd barely seen a review beyond a few paragraphs by Lynne Barber, it's a play I'm not sure I've seen before, Roxanna Silbert is a director I've not seen doing Shakespeare before --- although I thought Dunsinane was impressive --- and owing to some domestic chaos I arrived panting from the chip shop having rebooked it from a couple of weeks ago.
And it's great. Perhaps I had too open a mind, and was too ready to be impressed, but it was one of the most straightforwardly enjoyable productions I've seen in several years. For a start off, it's amazingly well spoken: I don't think I missed a word; although the rhythm of the verse was there, it was not at the expense of absolute clarity of word and meaning. With that basis, the production is completely lucid. I didn't know the play beyond outline, but no-one could possibly have failed to follow not only the plot but the interplay of the characters.
There are some things to cavil about. There's some rather pointless S&M symbolism early on, quietly forgotten as the play proceeds, that appears to have escaped from a student production circa 1995: whips! gas masks! edgy!. Someone needs to tell Roxanna that women in fetish wear being used as standard lamps is awkward if it's meant to be funny and pointless if it's meant to be serious. Some of the men's costumes bear an uneasy resemblance to the garb of Oswald Mosley at his peak, which I'm not sure illuminates much: Angelo may be redolent of 1930s fascism if you're writing an undergraduate essay, but it's hard to see how Duke Vincentio can be seen in that light, a problem compounded by Angelo here being reminiscent of the over-promoted head prefect at a minor public school. Indeed, Roderick Spode in his footer bags came to mind. Claudio is rather ineffectual, a problem as much of the production and the text as the excellent actor; you wonder quite what he's done to secure the love of a rather feisty (and rather lovely) Juliet, even if she wears a somewhat inexplicable pair of silver lame horns throughout (I'm guessing it's something to do with cuckolding, but it's not clear whom she's supposed to have cuckolded). For some reason Isabella has a Yorkshire accent, which if it's the actress's own is rather charming, but if it's the director attempting to use an accent different to everyone else's to show her essential innocence is a little regionalist. I'm not entirely sure that the Duke's magic tricks --- given City Madam got there first --- work after the first time he produces a letter from up his sleeve, and some of his knowing looks to the audience smack of Deadringers' Tony Blair ("sincere eyebrows, manly armpits, firm stare"). And although Mariana speaks well, plays her part convincingly and provides a charming musical introduction to the second half, she's cursed with the most unflattering green dress the world has ever seen and either needs a meal and good foundation garments or a better tailor.
But those are minor cavils. There's good movement, good music --- John Woolf in person, in fact --- good singing and a really tight sense of ensemble. The comedic sections are genuinely funny, and Pompey, Elbow and Lucio all manage to avoid outwearing their welcome, which is rare amongst the "comic" parts in the comedies. The set makes effective use of the Swan. And as I said, it's spoken brilliantly, by a cast who belie the fact that they are mostly in their RSC debut seasons.
It wasn't full last night: most of the B row of Gallery 1 was available, and Gallery 2 was pretty patchy. It's running until March, and I wholeheartedly recommend it. It's not the best thing I've seen at Stratford this year (that accolade goes to Cardenio, I think) but it's the best piece of uncontested Shakespeare.