Honoured to be at this Twelfth Night, I thank my lucky stars

The illuminated dome of St. Paul's loomed over the horizon like a rising full moon.  It was only the brightest of the eye-catching monuments on the other side of the river.  The wedding cake tower of St. Brides, the neoclassical river frontage of Somerset House, the familiar bulk of the BT Tower.  The South Bank was quiet, aside from the cathedral's sonorous bells tolling 11 given counterpoint by the gentle lapping of the Thames on the beach below.  And the hushed but excited conversation of little groups of people around me, all talking about the same thing.  The amazing performance at The Globe we'd just finished watching.

The minute it was announced last spring, everyone knew it was going to be one of the hottest tickets in London.  Mark Rylance, making his return to The Globe after last year's much acclaimed performance in Jerusalem, to take the role of Olivia in a traditional (all male) production of Twelfth Night.  If that wasn't exciting enough, Stephen Fry as Malvolio, in his first London stage role since the notorious episode in the mid-90s where he disappeared off stage and into a nervous breakdown.  Fortunately my friend Hillary pounced on the tickets almost as soon as they went on sale.  Thus we were amongst the privileged few spilling out onto the South Bank last night, agog with the wonder of what we'd experienced.

First came the magic of a full period recreation, in that most perfect of settings.  From the exquisite Jacobean costumes to the Renaissance players providing music in the balcony above the stage to that riot of garlands, swags, urns, goddesses and jewel tones that is The Globe, it was a night Shakespeare himself would have recognised.  Of course, that meant men playing the women's parts.  But, unlike Macbeth earlier this summer, you forgot these were men.  The weren't camping it up, nor were they so ridiculously disguised you couldn't tell their sex.  Simply, the costumes were good enough and their acting so compelling that it didn't matter.  Perhaps because of that, I've never seen Viola's gender bending played so well.  The period costumes also played their part.  I doubt men's fashions have ever been more feminine than at the turn of the 17th century.  (Check out the Earl of Southampton's portrait at right to see what I mean.)  Using these costumes, and emphasising Viola's line about dressing like her brother to honour his memory, Viola and Sebastian were indeed almost identical.  That made the mix up between the two siblings more believable than I've ever seen it, and added a wonderful, comedic sexual tension.

Then there's the play itself.  Magnificently clever, side-achingly funny, yet with its poignant moments.  Characters you really care about, and a delightful ending.  The fool here is one of the wittiest of Shakespeare's creations, with dialogue so rapid fire that at least half must have gone over the heads of the original audience, who heard it in their vernacular.  With 400 years of linguistic evolution it's even harder to grasp the wordplay, but you get enough to appreciate its sparkle.  Oh, for a video version of this production so I could recline in my sitting room with text, play and rewind button, to get it all.  It's far more than the words, however.  Marvellous stage direction, shrugs, screams, pratfalls and capering eked out even more comedy than I realised was in the play to start with.

Peter Hamilton Dyer gave Feste, the fool, a calm, almost elder statesman demeanor beneath the wordplay, and the incorporation of the Renaissance music, with him a singing bard rather than just a fool, brought a sweetly melancholic touch to proceedings.  His words made it a comedy, his subtleties reminded us there were some serious themes to attend to.  The rest of the supporting cast was equally strong, and a few carried very familiar faces.  Samuel Barnett, who played Sebastian, printed himself on our brains in The History Boys.  And after spending all evening wondering why the mincing, hysterically funny Sir Andrew Aguecheek looked so familiar, a web search revealed that the last time I'd seen actor Roger Lloyd pack he'd been a megalomaniac madman inventing cybermen in Doctor Who.

Although it was a balanced and universally strong cast, Rylance and Fry delivered on their starry promise.  We all know Fry's voice is a wonderful combo of honey and power; what I'd never have guessed is how beautifully it would fill that wide open space.  His Malvolio made us laugh, but without going for the absurd or the easy caricature.  Here was a man who dared to dream above his station, whose pride triggered his fall, but whose pain we feel.  And Rylance as Olivia?  Extraordinary.  I'm not sure I've ever seen love at first sight done on stage so well.  Again, he avoided all the obvious cliches.  It was Olivia's mood swings, her uncertainty, her stammering awkwardness in her love's presence and her gauche attempts to win him that felt so painfully real.  Rarely have I seen an actor use his full body to the effect Rylance does.  Every shrug, wave or inclination of the head equalled a line of dialogue.  And to watch him glide across the stage, as if there was machinery rather than legs under that farthingale, then do a precise three point turn before sitting down, was worth the price of admission.  (And told the story.  The way she moved at the start told us Olivia was in precise control.  Before she let her heart go.)

There's a lot of great theatre in London, but this was the first time I actually felt honoured to be in the audience.  It wasn't just a play.  It was an experience.  It kept the audience hanging on every word, and wrapped us all in delight and wonder.  Leaving us all giddy with the poetry of it as we wandered home along the Thames.  Just as audiences have been doing for the past 400 years.

I smiled across the river at St. Pauls and wrapped my coat a bit tighter around me.  After all these years in the UK, there are still nights of wonder like this.  Nights when I have to pinch myself that I'm awake, and I really live in this magnificent place.  Zounds ... as The Bard might say ... but I am a lucky woman.