Paris Requiem - Lisa Appignanesi

It would be an understatement to say it’s been a busy couple of months. What with all the Christmas preparation (I have infinite family members to buy presents for), family festivities, reuniting with friends, and the not-so-teeny task of dissertation writing and exam revision it’s been easy to neglect the blog. But I’ve managed to not neglect my reading so much, and it’s been a real treat having Lisa Appignanesi’s Paris Requiem to cuddle up with each night at the end of a cold, hectic (but fun!) day.

Paris Requiem is not a short novel. At about 500 pages it’s not a quick, or easy, read. For me it was happily a slow burner, the thing I dedicated the reading part of my mind to for a good six weeks. I would challenge anyone to read this book in much less time, it is extremely demanding both in the complex twists and turns of the storyline, and in the descriptive language. I found it hard to read more than two chapters in one sitting, and I needed at least 24 hours to let all the information and drama that each chapter is saturated with sink in and settle in my mind. Looking back on the experience of reading the book, I think the length of each chapter allows Appignanesi to indulge in both a richly gripping detective story and a lyricism of language and engulfing description of Paris, two things which crime writers often choose between, usually letting the latter go in favour of a shorter, more accessible storyline. To me, having read Paris Requiem, this is a regrettable error on the part of other writers, and the combination of the two is a testament to the author’s dedication to an all-encompassing tale that demands not just dramatic events and exciting dialogue, but a conjured up image of Paris which entirely envelops and transports the reader to the period and location of the novel. Understanding one could not be possible without the other, which is what made this so much more than a ‘psychological thriller’ for me.

Yet another novel that’s near impossible to write a brief summary of, but I’ll give it a go. Paris Requiem follows the reluctant, emotionally closed off American James Norton sent to Paris by his mother to retrieve his rebellious younger brother Raf and their fragile but eccentric sister Ellie. As soon as he arrives in Paris, James is swept up in the whirlwind of his siblings’ lives, hunting down the murderer of Raf’s drowned lover whilst simultaneously revealing the corruption of underground Paris and his own forgotten past. Appignanesi’s talent lies in her ability to tie together so many central strands into one story, managing to encompass an entire historical period through one family’s experiences. Despite having such a specific time and place setting, this book reminded me of one of the first novels I remember truly loving: Daphne Du Maurier’s The Parasites. This too explores the inner workings of the relationships between 3 siblings within the wider context of historical events, clashing intimate familial issues with huge world-changing events. Of course, the desire to reveal the solution to the thriller is what keeps you reading in Paris Requiem, but what really stayed with me afterwards was the tension in sibling relationships between competitiveness, jealously, rivalry, and an eternal, unbreakable attachment and unconditional love. The initial uptight, by-the-book nature of James is crucial to the impact of this tension, and the emotional dramatic irony of us realising the depths of his relationships before he does is not wasted.

At the same time as keeping us invested in the relatable familial storyline, Appignanesi flawlessly transports us to turn of the century Paris as if it is the most natural location in the world. Paris – the eternally romantic, magical city of love – becomes through Appiganesi’s description a dark and terrifying place, haunted with shadows of past, present and future. The narrative is one of those that no one can quite explain but everyone understands – one that gives you that claustrophobic feeling of danger and suffocation. At each corner that James turned, a fresh description, each dimmer than the previous, seizes the reader, and despite my ability to put the book down, I found myself just as incapable of shaking of that tainted, dirty feeling of the surroundings that James does.

Once again (thanks to Arcardia Books), I have finished a book a whole lot more knowledgeable about a place and time than I was before. This time, late 19^th century Paris - with its corruption which spreads like a disease to bond all aspects of society from the aristocratic politicians, to the powerful police, to the trusted doctors, to the seedy world of trafficking and prostitution - was laid out before me, and brought more shocking revelations as I turned each page. The American origins of our protagonists removes them from the story in the same way as the reader is, whilst the revelation that they may not be so innocently uninvolved in the Parisian world as they at first seem seduces us too into a world of inescapable corruption.

Read it now: Get it here

Under the Sun - Justin Kerr-Smiley

If you’ve read my last few posts, you’ll know that judging by the first instalments of my reviews of Arcadia books I had high expectations for the next book they sent me. I went from class and race struggles in Pakistan, to a similar tale of the power of human universality, but this time on a tiny island in the South Pacific at the end of World War Two.

I was surprised to find out that Under The Sun is Justin Kerr-Smiley’s only book. Given the creativity and elo quence of the language, it seemed to me like a real piece of literature, not just a commercial story. However, when I looked into why the book was written I wasn’t surprised by Kerr-Smiley’s interest in the ability of humankind to reconcile men of two nations pitted against each other into friendship. His combination of this with the knowledge of samurais and Japanese culture which he inherited from his Grandfather equates to an equally moving, emotive and enriching novel.

The novel is based mainly in the perspectives of the two opposed soldiers: the British pilot Strickland and the Japanese captain Hayama. Having rescued Strickland from drowning in the South Pacific, Hayama takes him back to the secret island occupied by the Japanese with the intention of torturing him for information and eventual murder. However, once Hayama realises he can’t bring himself to murder an innocent man, the two remain on the island together and forge an unexpected friendship – the island becomes a parallel haven in the midst of a world consumed by war and murder.

The switching of perspective between the two men remains flawless throughout and what really struck me about it was the disparity in content, memories, images etc, but the continuity in priorities, trains of thought and desires. This similarity between the two seemingly opposite characters becomes clear to the reader first through the direct insight into their minds, meaning once the friendship begins to blossom and the men themselves discover how alike they really are, the reader is already emotionally involved, deepening the emotional attachment we feel for them as a pair.

Another way in which we are drawn into a more profound relationship with the characters is through the way they teach each other about their own cultures. I’ve mentioned before that I love anything that teaches me about a new culture or society, and here I was learning at the same time as the characters– something that really enhanced my interest in the subject and the development of their relationship. In learning about the two men’s faiths, education, families, backgrounds the reader can compare the two and look for their differences and similarities – the fact that this wasn’t thrown in my face but that I was allowed to draw the conclusions of my own accord was a real highlight, a homage to the abilities of the reader to draw from inference, which you don’t get in so many books nowadays.

There is a huge amount to say about this book, I could go on about its style, language and plot line and the way these are brought together to create such a moving novel, for days, but I won’t. Instead, I’ll do what Justin Kerr-Smiley has so skilfully done, and leave it up to the reader to create their own understanding of what the book is about. A novel that studies the simultaneously personal and universal reactions of single people to war and the obligations it brings with it, Under the Sun uses two completely contrasting characters to outline the paradox between the concept of enemies and allies and the collective love that humans can’t help but feel for each other, even in the face of ultimate tragedy. Not only did this book compel me to view the war from a new and unique perspective, it also made me consider the personal tragedies beneath the generalised blanket of ‘wartime’ and understand the heartbreak of war in a new light.

Read it now: Get it here

Sweet Treats in London

It’s been a very long term. I've barely managed to see any of my friends from home and it seems we’re all just completely bogged down by the dreaded third year workload. However, for me, last weekend marked the beginning of the end (for this term at least), and even better, the beginning of Christmas! Yes I know it’s mid-November, and no I am not ashamed. I will proudly own up as one of those Christmas loving needs-two-months-to-build-up-excitement types, I always have been and always will be. For me, Christmas is about family, friends, great food, and fun Christmas outings, and this is definitely what this weekend was all about.

On Saturday morning Harriet and I had arranged to have brunch and as the local Londoner I left it up to her to pick the place. She did NOT disappoint! She picked a place I’d never heard of called Honey&Co near Warren Street station. Now I’m one of those controlling weird people who likes to look up the entire menu of a place and take at least 3 days to mull over what I’m going to have – I’m just far too indecisive to choose on the spur of the moment. It’s a problem. However, the Honey&Co website is pretty basic and strange to navigate, with no menu, so alas I’d have to risk the anxiety of choosing on the day.

In the end, this website turned out to reflect the intimate, friendly atmosphere of the café/restaurant. Despite being very tucked away and subtle, the place was packed and we were lucky we’d booked. All the staff were really friendly and accommodating and I felt slightly like I was in someone’s living room rather than a restaurant. However – the best part was, of course, the food. We were recommended ‘the big breakfast’, and it was an AMAZING choice. At £12.95 per person it’s a complete bargain, and it is absolutely perfect for such an indecisive person like me. I should mention brunch in particular is very tricky as I can never choose between the sweet and savoury option – so this combination was a dream come true.

After a few sips of our rose and cinnamon tea we were bombarded with mini plates of Israeli mezze. On the savoury side we had houmous, garlic yogurt, pittas and breads, curried carrots, feta salad and olives, whilst for the sweet tooth there was hands down the best granola I’ve ever tasted (and I am a granola fiend) with yogurt and berries, and delicious varieties of jam. After ALL this we then chose our own option from the main menu – Harriet went for a harrissa sausage roll with a fried egg, whilst revealing that she’d NEVER had a fried egg before – just IMAGINE. After some heavy debating I went for poached eggs baked with wilted spinach and yogurt served with potato bread soldiers – simple but delicious. The eggs were the perfect amount of runniness for me, although I like them preeeetty undercooked so you may want to specify if you prefer a less liquidy egg (yes I know I’m so gross). The combination of the tart yogurt and spices with the creamy textures of the egg and spinach was just right – I could not have made a better choice!

Despite this immense feast, we couldn’t help being tempted by the beautiful array of cakes on display – we’ll blame it on our dangerous seating position RIGHT by the counters. We decided to share a coconut and chocolate cake (so much restraint). I’m not usually a coconut fan but it was actually very subtle and complimented the richness of the chocolate sponge perfectly. A great end to a three course brunch!

Once I had recovered from the morning banquet (and having been further plied with cakes at my sister’s house) we headed to Covent Garden to watch Charlie and the Chocolate Factory the musical at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane for my little sister’s 10^th birthday. I’d been really excited about this for the whole week, it’s one of my favourite Roald Dahl books and I was so excited to see how the Wonka World would be translated onto stage. When we got there I realised it hadn’t just been translated onto the stage – the whole foyer of the theatre was decked out in Wonka merchandise and chocolates and really got us in the mood.

We were lucky enough to be sitting in the Royal Box, right at the edge of the stage, I’ve never been so close to the stage before and it was such fun experience actually being able to SEE the faces on stage (a novelty for me even with my glasses on). The whole performance was just really fun, family-friendly, and often very funny – I barely stopped smiling from start to finish. But what really blew me away was the set. The way they’d constructed Charlie’s home – his grandparents’ bed, the falling down walls – and Wonka’s factory – the chocolate garden, the nut testing room, the glass elevator – made it feel like they had plucked it right out of my imagination. The oompa-loompas were also a major highlight and really cleverly done (I could never explain how) to create the illusion of their shortness. However, the real highlight was the curtain call. A steward came into our box and asked the woman next to us to stand up for a minute – next time we turned round Willy Wonka was sitting in her seat chatting to us! He did his curtain call from our box, no doubt slightly marred by our severe blushing in the spotlight, but still a really cute personal touch which just topped off a really feel-good evening.

I can’t promise a chat with Wonka for everyone, but I can guarantee a great evening out – get tickets here

Revolt - Qaisra Shahraz

So here’s the second instalment in my Arcadia books reviews. I was really pleased to be reading something written by a woman after an entire term of male dominated literature, especially one who is as interested in the universal issues faced by women as Qaisra Shahraz. On her website, Shahraz explains how much of her work is influenced by not only her own experiences as a Muslim woman, but the experiences of those around her. This emotional attachment on the part of the writer was extremely evident and effectively translated into the heart of the reader – something which makes this novel so human and accessible.

Revolt is a multi-layered story of the events – public and private – of a small village in Pakistan, touching on every single resident. The character list is extensive, there is no one protagonist – although the story does take its starting point from the impending marriage of the children of two of the three wealthy land-owning sisters in the village, the bridegroom returning from England for the engagement party. This set-up immediately focuses the story on a set of characters, whilst widening the perspective to the entire rest of the village, as well as stretching the setting across the continents to England. I found this combination of such a large expansion and inclusion of societies, cultures, races and classes with a microcosmic zooming in on each character at any given chapter or paragraph fascinating, its flawless transitions endlessly skilled. From the outset, it is clear this is not just a simple story of the petty worries and events in a random Pakistani village – it is a multi-faceted exploration of the difficulties caught up in the debate concerning the gulf between Muslim Pakistani values and the West – seen through the eyes in turn of each and every character.

Much of the terminology surrounding reviews of this book is along the lines of ‘satisfying’ and ‘journey’ with Editor of Women’s Books Anora McGaha calling it a ‘fascinating ride’. These descriptions could not be more fitting – having sped my way through the gripping thriller Cloudland, Revolt was the perfect antidote. I really took my time reading it, enjoying every chapter and relishing in each new thread of the intricate storyline – it’s not a book you read 10 chapters of at a time, it’s one you slowly weave your way through, pausing to mull over and take in each and every strand. If I were ever to liken a book to a hug, it would be this (and I did) – combined with a big cup of tea and a blanket, it’s the perfect comforting winter warmer.

Every relationship possible is explored in the book, and at the base of it all I felt the characters were being linked with the one same point: no matter your race, gender, class, job, familial/living situation, all humans are equal and prejudices can only ever cause problems. This may sound like an obvious point we take for granted, but I really felt that this book taught me a lot and reinforced this point more than ever – even in the small intricacies of life prejudice needs to be combatted. Despite being mostly based in an almost completely alien situation and location to my own, Revolt forced me to reflect on my own behaviour and actions towards the people in my life. A book that makes a difference to the way you think is the sign of a truly great achievement. Moreover, the ability to make this one point over and over again with different characters without a sense of repetition coming through conveys Sharhraz’s creation of characters developed and emotive enough for the reader to interpret each story differently, whilst maintaining this pervading message.

I was hugely excited to start this book as I am a big fan of anything that teaches me about other cultures and societies – whether it be literature, film, food, or travelling to places themselves. Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things is one of my all-time favourite books, and was what really revealed my love for exotic settings and contrasting cultures. When describing Revolt I was known to call it ‘a watered down version of The God of Small Things’ – this is in no way an insult, although perhaps a flippant, vague statement – but I think it really gets to the bare-bones of the story. Obviously Roy’s novel is set in Hindu India, as different from Muslim Pakistan as England or America, it is also a hell of a lot more serious in tone, character development, and plotline (and eventual outcome) – hence the expression ‘watered down’. However, this exploration and exploitation of the serious problems and dangers surrounding traditional caste and class systems, as well as racism and the ways in which these are inherently engrained in people’s minds and souls, inescapable to even those who want to escape them, is what makes up both books. This is ultimately what made me fall in love with both books.

On the surface Revolt is an involved, intricate story that had me laughing one minute, tearing up the next. I wasn’t expecting to feel as attached to the characters as I inevitably did as their lives and situations unfolded – it’s impossible not to sympathise on some level with each and every character. However, underneath the reflex reactions and emotions, this book really taught me something and opened my mind to new perspectives of struggles regarding sexism, racism, and classism. Undoubtedly, I learnt a lot of fascinating things about the Pakistani culture and traditions, but at the root of the book is the universality that inextricably links the whole of humankind.

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Edward II at The National Theatre

For the majority of my degree I have been a not so slight Shakespeare obsessive. There’s really nothing better than the multi-layered plots, complex characters, and stunning language of any one of Shakespeare’s plays. With this in mind, for my third year Special Author I chose Christopher Marlowe. There are all sorts of crazy rumours suggesting Marlowe faked his own death at the age of 26 and went on to become Shakespeare. The reality of it is, we know almost nothing about Marlowe and his life. The majority of his works were only performed and printed after his death, and even his name was of uncertainty until relatively recent years. What I’ve come to adore about Marlowe is his investment in language, and the ways he can translate Classical traditions and influences onto his own stage, which can in turn be translated onto the modern stage. It is a truly magical transition to study.

Marlowe’s plays are rarely performed, so whenever one of them pops up it’s an exciting opportunity to see how his hugely adaptable and often ambiguous script has been interpreted. I’m clearly not the only one who thinks this, because when I went to see Edward II at the National Theatre a couple of weeks ago, the theatre was completely packed. And it’s a big theatre! I’d never been to the National Theatre before so it was a real treat. Its mixture of a modern foyer with various exhibitions, restaurants and cafes, with the more traditional stage areas makes it fun, inviting and exciting whilst retaining the much loved old-fashioned feel of a trip to the theatre. Oh, and it goes pink at night – amazing!

In a nutshell, Edward II is a tragedy/history play based on the King Edward II who faces mutiny from his advisors and eventual torture and death for retrieving his lover Gaveston from exile and running riot in the kingdom, neglecting both his duties, and his wife and son. The play enjoyed a revival in the early 90s, when there was a lot of discourse and debate surrounding homosexuality and AIDS. Edward and Gaveston are often seen as homosexual martyrs, especially in Derek Jarman’s haunting and graphic film adaptation of 1991.

This production has received very mixed reviews, most are negative. In a particularly damning review from The Telegraph, one of the main points of contention is the comedy of the production, and I am inclined to agree. The entire performance was extremely farcical, Edward reminded me of King Richard in the Disney version of Robin Hood – a childish king who sucks his thumb and takes advice from a snake. Need I say more?

The majority of the first half consisted of him and Gaveston running around the stage shrieking with laughter and causing havoc. Meanwhile, the down-trodden neglected Queen Isabella struts around sulkily, champagne and cigarette in hand, berating her poor lot in life whilst her child runs at her heels filling up her glass at any opportunity. This comical vibe is all well and good if you’re just out for a fun evening at the theatre – but to make such extreme comedy out of what was originally a profound, tragic and controversial work seems rather too bold and brash.

Having said this, the second half is completely contrastingly dark and sombre. We are suddenly confronted with the extreme Marlovian brutality that was expected, but its clash with such a comic, slapstick first part undermines it – whether there is a point trying to be made here, I failed to understand, no matter which way I looked at it.

The mish-mash of Renaissance and modern costumes seemed completely random – whilst Edward was in traditional King’s clothes, Gaveston was in a leather jacket and jeans, and Edward’s brother-turned-sister was in a feminine trouser suit. Indeed, the sex change of Edward’s brother Kent as well as one of the advisors, Pembroke, to women, didn’t seem to have much lasting impact. The presence of two screens on either side of the stage which depicted various scenes was a point of interest, but again, where was it going? In short, I felt as though I was being confronted with as many experimental theatrical devices as possible, all on the cusp of making an interesting point, but none quite reaching one, rendering them pretty much obsolete.

Despite what may seem a wholly negative review, I did actually enjoy the performance! As a reviewer and a literature student I undeniably found a lot of the devices hard to get past, but once I let go of expectations I was able to enjoy the play just as a dramatic exhibit of love and suffering. The use of Gaveston’s actor as Edward’s murderer who sodomises him with a burning rod conveyed the homosexual take they were aiming at – however the lack of physical engagement between Gaveston and Edward throughout the play illustrated a prudishness at actually carrying this out, which was again frustrating.

I was certainly moved at the end by Edward’s son’s (now the King) final speech: standing centre-stage, he calls out commands and orders to an empty stage. The pessimism and anxieties regarding power, control, and the monarchy that is so Marlovian are certainly highlighted here – if the only influence that is taken from Marlowe himself.

Cloudland - Joseph Olshan

I’m writing this in a gleeful (and slightly smug) state, feeling warm and full at home – a novelty for us students. Yes that’s right – it’s reading week, woohoo! Having finally got rid of the two essays that have been plaguing me for the past two months, it’s time for some well-earned time off. I managed a day of doing nothing before I was itching to write again, so here’s my review on the brand new thriller Cloudland by Joseph Olshan.

Now I know ‘reading week’ is intended for us to catch up on neglected reading of the past six weeks prepare for the next six weeks of reading, but this time I’m planning on using it to delve into all the brand new books the lovely people at Arcadia Publishing sent me last week. So here’s the first instalment….

Joseph Olshan is an American novelist, journalist, and short story writer. When doing a bit of research into his past work, I wasn’t at all surprised that he isn’t a crime writer as such – in fact Cloudland seems to be his first novel marketed as a ‘crime novel’. Instead, Olshan’s focuses seem to be the tensions and depth within relationships, and the anxieties surrounding societies and communities. What I loved about Cloudland was its combination of these concerns with a fresh take on the much-loved crime fiction genre.

Based in a secluded community in small-town America called Cloudland, we follow the story as narrated by Catherine Winslow: a middle-aged divorcee/widow, ex journalist who lives alone with her two dogs and household pig. On a morning walk towards the end of winter Catherine discovers a dead body – a strangled woman who turns out to be one of a string of cases that are being investigated. Catherine is rapidly caught up in the investigation and the detective story becomes inextricably linked with her own personal life and dark problems. The sinister snowy setting, the cut-off rural location, the suspicious locals – all add up to the standard crime novel lay out, however our protagonist Catherine is precisely what makes this novel stand out as something more. Putting the perspective in that of someone who is not directly involved in the case itself makes Cloudland not just a thriller, but an exciting psychological thriller.

Don’t get me wrong – the scary and sinister plot devices and twists were exciting and addictive, the red herrings were constant, every character had something not-quite-right about them. I loved being put into the position of detective myself, and by the end I was desperate to know whodunit. However, more desperate was my desire to find out what would happened to Catherine in the end, her reaction to each new piece of the ominous puzzle was always the focus of my attention. Most striking for me was probably the dichotomy between Catherine’s unbelievable calmness and fearlessness in the face of a mass-murder case in which she – a woman living alone in a secluded area – could be the next victim, and her constant anxious preoccupations with regrets, the past, age, and responsibilities. For the majority of the book, the terror comes not from the image of the murderer coming to find Catherine one stormy night with no one to save her, but from inside Catherine’s own head – the inability to escape her own thoughts, and her past, are what really frighten Catherine.

Catherine’s restless awareness of age and the past seamlessly infiltrate the novel. Catherine’s previous relationship with a younger man is mirrored in her daughter’s current relationship with an older woman. An adult’s responsibility for their child is reflected in the rocky and sometimes reversed relationship between Catherine and Breck, and the neighbours Paul and Wade. We as readers are never allowed to forget the age – mental or physical – of any character and it becomes the default method of judging each one. I felt Olshan was drawing attention to this shallowness of judgement that the human race maintain, and this is only highlighted by the small-town America setting. Through Catherine’s eyes we are given a glimpse of each person’s pasts, and it is no accident that these cause us, and Catherine, to suspect every single character as the murderer. I found this light-hearted suspicious narrative surrounding even Catherine’s closest friends slightly hard to deal with at first – how could she suspect people she’d known for years? And why was she still comfortable to be alone with them and even openly discuss her suspicions if they were sincere? However, the consistence of this is not a casual oversight of Olshan’s – it comments on the inability of the individual to escape any aspect of their past whilst placing them in the wider environment of the gossip-fuelled, dysfunctional nature of such close-knit, small communities such as Cloudland.

Whilst we have picked the book up at the start of what is to be a disturbing detective story, we have also picked it up in the middle of Catherine’s slowly unravelling life. I realised that she was not becoming less stable as the book went on, it was merely becoming more apparent as she revealed more intimate secrets from her past. With crime fiction being so huge today, plots have to more and more complex and intricate, characters have to be more developed, crime writers can no longer rely on creepy clichés – readers are becoming more perverse. Joseph Olshan has managed to fulfil this criteria and more. I’ve only picked up on a few of my favourite themes, but really there is a whole trove of them: from extreme religion to homosexuality to literary influences, Olshan manages to cover an inordinate amount, and in sufficient depth, all within the frame of a detective novel.

A detective novel in the eyes of a mere onlooker, a simple concept that has created a fascinating work of literature which kept my mind spinning for days – even after the culprit was revealed. After this introduction, the crime fiction genre has A LOT to live up to for me!

Read it now: get it here

A Midsummer Night's Dream at The Noel Coward Theatre

Another weekend, another Shakespeare play. I feel extremely lucky at the moment to be enjoying so many trips to the theatre – some cultural, some less so (I am extremely excited to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory the Musical for my sister’s 10^th birthday in a few weeks…), nonetheless, the theatre is always a great day out. This weekend it was time for the hugely well reviewed A Midsummer Night’s Dream, starring

David Walliams and Sheridan Smith. And yes, I am one of those people who gets ridiculously star struck at even the smallest of sightings (I once met Ben from A1 and got the picture of us printed on a t shirt. Don’t ask who A1 are), so needless to say I was very excited.

Admittedly I was less excited for the actual play than I should have been. A Midsummer Night’s Dream isn’t one of the plays that I’ve extensively studied, but I’d kind of put it down in the same category of ‘overdone comedy’ as Much Ado. Now don’t get me wrong, I love any Shakespeare play - some would say I’m TOO obsessed even - but I am a sucker for the dramatic, haunting tragedies, rather than the comic romances. All I can say in justification of what I have now – post weekend – realised was a far too rash and completely erroneous opinion, is that I have been subjected to far too many mundane and shallow performances of Shakespearean comedy. The comedy had never come alive for me before in the way that tragedy does, it was all so dated and coy.

Well, I can tell you for sure, ‘dated’ and ‘coy’ are probably the two LEAST appropriate words to describe this incredible production. Instead, I’d probably go with hilarious and raunchy, saucy and hysterical, side-splitting and sexy…you get the picture. To start with, there were absolutely no null scenes, no annoying actors, no slow, dragging speeches – the talent of the entire cast and crew was outstanding. I would go as far to say this was the best stage production I’ve ever seen (aside from the pantomime obviously, although at times slightly reminiscent…more on that later), it really flew by and I felt a genuine pang of sadness when I realised it was coming to a close.

Now I realise I need to justify these bold statements, and I’ll try very willingly. First up: the two big names lived up to high expectations. Walliams, as Bottom, was the perfect camp comic archetype – to be honest it’s not hard to imagine his performance: just think of him in Little Britain, or on Britain’s Got Talent, or in Come Fly With Me…you get the picture. He did play his standard character, but I would go with the ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ theory in this case. His character suited the play perfectly and seeing it live was even more hilarious.

Sheridan Smith was more of a surprise, I’d never really seen her on anything except Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps, so the transition from pub loving, tracksuit wearing 20-something to glamorous, bohemian queen of the fairies was never going to be a predictable one. Her performance turned out to be really captivating. Her husky, soothing voice delivered any lines with the perfect touch of emotion – whether she was angrily railing against Oberon, lovingly caressing Bottom, or commandingly addressing her fairies, her enchanting charisma was consistent. This was highlighted further by the general atmosphere of the fairy world – it was somewhere in between a boho summer festival and the Christmas pantomime. Dressed in minimal clothing with dreaded hair and sunglasses, the fairies pranced around the stage smoking, singing and lounging. The contrast between this and the more erratic, hyperbolic atmosphere of the lovers I felt emphasised Shakespeare’s mockery of the hysteria of the human characters – as they leap around the stage manically, the fairies retain constant control of both the humans and their own laidback lifestyle.

Now onto the true (unexpected) highlight for me, and who I felt were the unsung heroes of the performance: the four lovers. Performing aside one of the most famous comedians in Britain today must be somewhat of a daunting prospect, but this was at no point evident in any of the four lovers’ performances – they were just as hilarious, if not more so at points. Their scenes together basically consisted of each running after the next across the stage, increasingly wearing less and less clothes. Lysander and Demetrius ended up in no more than tight white boxers – much to mine, my mum and my sister’s delight! Everything was exaggerated, everything was overtly sexual, everything was over the top, everything was brilliant. From Helena predatorily mounting Demetrius in desperation, to spellbound Lysander screaming in his former lover Hermia’s face ‘I hate thee, you DWARF!’, every single scene had me in stitches. The overstated sexuality in this performance transformed phrases like ‘make love’ from the Shakespearean vocal meaning to the physical act it is today – the lovers became contemporary teenagers whose storyline anyone could understand, and everyone was laughing at, despite the potential language barrier.

I said it before and I’ll say it again – this is probably the best stage performance I have ever seen. I never really knew a theatrical piece could be quite SO laugh-out-loud funny. I wouldn’t hesitate to see it again today, tomorrow, the next day! Nothing was lacking for me, every single actor brought something exciting to it. You could tell they were working their absolute hardest to deliver the best performance possible – and they did!

It’s not on for much longer, and tickets are extremely popular so I’d recommend getting them here asap! Alternatively, Henry V featuring Jude Law (YUM) is up next, if anyone wants to get me tickets….