In some ways, Sheridan's initial audience was not wrong: at around three hours, The Rivals is a verbose and over-intricate plot and the purpose of Sir Lucius, beyond a device for yet another layer of intrigue, is as unclear as it was on the first night in 1775. The play is saved from its own flaws by the reversal of expectations that comes when Lydia rebels against being the unwitting subject of Jack's elaborate ruse and asserts her feminine independence.
An altogether more sobering version of female revolt is on display in the RSC's The Witch of Edmonton. A Jacobean tragi-comedy, co-authored by Thomas Dekker, John Ford and William Rowley, the play was inspired by the story of Elizabeth Sawyer, hanged for witchcraft in Hertfordshire in 1621. Eileen Atkins plays the strange old lady, who wishes for a talking dog and is thus the perfect candidate to be singled out as a witch — a slur she combats by acting out the role, "Tis all one to be a witch as to be counted one." Her desire for a canine companion fends off loneliness but rapidly becomes a means for settling scores. Jay Simpson, smeared with black body paint, stalks the set as the most sinister domestic stage pet since Bulgakov's Woland showed up in Moscow.
From this point onwards, the plot is frankly lumpy, as works by committee usually are. Bewildering entanglements involving an exploitative young lover, bigamy, wife-murder and Morris dancing abound. Imagine a heady mixture of A Midsummer Night's Dream and Marlowe's Doctor Faustus.
Director Gregory Doran and his deputy Erica Whyman want to revive more historical plays with strong parts for women, and although Atkins is on stage for a frustratingly short time, she does not disappoint: a sunken, defiant presence, glaring at an irrational, hostile world with hooded grey-green eyes — betrayed, but bewitching.
Ford is better known for ‘Tis Pity She's a Whore, the harshest play of a cruel Jacobean bunch. The Globe's production at the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse, directed by Michael Longhurst, captures the fraught, illicit nature of Giovanni and Annabella's (Max Bennett and Fiona Button) incestuous liaison and James Garnon as the duped lover. Stefano Braschi shines as the cuckolded Soranzo, who having loved "long and truly" is defeated by passion and plotting.
At its best (as in the Barbican's Cheek by Jowl production) the play is heart-rending and disturbing. I thought the sense of an amoral void was lacking in Longhurst's sizzling version, but his sinful, sensuous world is nonetheless mesmeric. It runs until December 7 and ticket sales are brisk. Four hundred years on, sex still sells.
An altogether more sobering version of female revolt is on display in the RSC's The Witch of Edmonton. A Jacobean tragi-comedy, co-authored by Thomas Dekker, John Ford and William Rowley, the play was inspired by the story of Elizabeth Sawyer, hanged for witchcraft in Hertfordshire in 1621. Eileen Atkins plays the strange old lady, who wishes for a talking dog and is thus the perfect candidate to be singled out as a witch — a slur she combats by acting out the role, "Tis all one to be a witch as to be counted one." Her desire for a canine companion fends off loneliness but rapidly becomes a means for settling scores. Jay Simpson, smeared with black body paint, stalks the set as the most sinister domestic stage pet since Bulgakov's Woland showed up in Moscow.
From this point onwards, the plot is frankly lumpy, as works by committee usually are. Bewildering entanglements involving an exploitative young lover, bigamy, wife-murder and Morris dancing abound. Imagine a heady mixture of A Midsummer Night's Dream and Marlowe's Doctor Faustus.
Director Gregory Doran and his deputy Erica Whyman want to revive more historical plays with strong parts for women, and although Atkins is on stage for a frustratingly short time, she does not disappoint: a sunken, defiant presence, glaring at an irrational, hostile world with hooded grey-green eyes — betrayed, but bewitching.
Ford is better known for ‘Tis Pity She's a Whore, the harshest play of a cruel Jacobean bunch. The Globe's production at the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse, directed by Michael Longhurst, captures the fraught, illicit nature of Giovanni and Annabella's (Max Bennett and Fiona Button) incestuous liaison and James Garnon as the duped lover. Stefano Braschi shines as the cuckolded Soranzo, who having loved "long and truly" is defeated by passion and plotting.
At its best (as in the Barbican's Cheek by Jowl production) the play is heart-rending and disturbing. I thought the sense of an amoral void was lacking in Longhurst's sizzling version, but his sinful, sensuous world is nonetheless mesmeric. It runs until December 7 and ticket sales are brisk. Four hundred years on, sex still sells.
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