23-07-2025
The Winter's Tale: A refreshing take on one of Shakespeare's trickiest plays
Written in the twilight of Shakespeare's life, The Winter's Tale is regarded as a problem play with good reason. A complex study of the nature of dualism, power, transgression and forgiveness, it begins as a psychological drama but the tone shifts abruptly between acts three and four, and it becomes a pastoral romantic comedy. There's a jarring switch of locations, too: it starts in the austere Sicilian court of King Leontes before moving to Bohemia, the kingdom of his childhood friend Polixenes. The story is driven by Leontes's unplumbed absurd, baseless jealousy, which tears his family apart – before a Pygmalion-style miracle provides healing many years later.
So the conundrum for any production is how to satisfyingly yoke together its inconsistencies of tone. Director Yaël Farber's take on it for the RSC – starring a brilliant Bertie Carvel as Leontes – is a valiant, nuanced and gripping tussle with that conundrum and, for the most part, succeeds in remaking the play afresh.
A lot of that is achieved by suppressing the more farcical elements of the text but Souta Gilmour's sparse but striking set design is also key to Farber's vision. A huge and imposing moon-like orb hovers over the cast for most of the action and is the backdrop for the majority of Tim Lutkin's lighting design.
It's an inspired combination of lighting and set because the orb is a visual metaphor for so many elements of the play – a potent symbol of the cyclical nature of the seasons and the passage of time, it also illustrates the violent passions driving Leontes's lunatic destruction of his family. It emphasises the blue-grey austerity of Leontes's court and contrasts that with a blood-moon hue in the wilder, more pagan Bohemia. It adds to otherworldliness created by composer's Max Perryment's ambient soundscape.
Not all of Farber's directorial choices land their mark. Although Trevor Fox delivers the key character of Autolycus beautifully as a world-weary troubadour, the decision to render some of his commentary on the action in rhyming couplets falls a bit flat and doesn't ring as rich and true as Shakespeare's own language. Likewise, Madeline Appiah's Hermione, Leontes's much-abused wife, and Leah Haile's Perdita, his long-lost daughter, have an unfortunate habit of eliding their words, which makes them difficult to understand.
The abridgement of Shakespeare's text for the Bohemia set scenes is also a tad severe but I can appreciate that it was necessary in order to smooth the transition of tone shift between Sicily and Bohemia. It's still a thoughtful and striking production that pays attention to details. And as for that famous stage direction 'exit, pursued by a bear' – this fresh, sparky take on it will take you by surprise.
The happy ending of this play doesn't feel as pat as that of Shakespeare's other comedies. The strong cast ensures that its conclusion thrums with all that is left unsaid in the tentative reconciliation between Hermione and Leontes: a vision of love that is world-worn but still full of hope.
