The Stage
27 February 2003
By John Thaxter
Picture: Tristram Kenton

Four young men of Navarre fore-swear the company of females until confronted by four appealing young women of the Aquitaine court, whereupon they break their resolve. But death waits in the wings, casting the chill of mortality over the gaiety of youth.

Departing Trevor Nunn's last labour of love is this enchanting production of Shakespeare's most poignant comedy, set in a sylvan glade dominated by a giant beech tree, designed by John Gunter. And like his Summerfolk four years ago he makes masterly use of the wide Olivier stage, peopling the dappled space with listening figures to focus the action.

But the production is framed by noisy skirmishes as though the Great War has reached Navarre, with Joseph Fiennes as subaltern Berowne, wandering wounded among leafless trees before escaping to an idyll of word-intoxicated love, a crown of leaves capping the trees to create an Edwardian summer of picnics, prosperity and a golden future.

Nunn's first staging of this play displays his characteristic attention to text allied to telling detail, starting with a beautifully articulated avowal scene as Simon Day's Ferdinand explains his austere plans while enfolding each of his friends in a long cloak of academe. The more sceptical Berowne is also the most committed to the privations, unlike John Barrowman's Dumaine, pigging out on their al fresco meal.

Also telling is the discovery scene, with Berowne high up in the tree spying on his weak-willed companions, who sing their love sonnets – most of the cast members also appear in Anything Goes – until he too is brought down by Costard and Jaquenetta with his misdirected poem to Kate Fleetwood's wilful Rosaline.

By the time this review appears there will be only 18 more performances of this exquisite production with its clusters of clowns and lovers. But do catch it if you can.