However if one is going to see Twelfth Night at all, with all its faults, Michael Grandage's production is without a doubt worth the journey. It was the best I have seen so far, largely because of the unforgettable performance of Derek Jacobi as Malvolio. He was mesmerising. There can be thrilling moments in the theatre, when you realise that you are in the hands - in the emotional control - of a great artist, and Jacobi has that power. Malvolio is in many ways a very unsatisfactory role, and Jacobi chose to ham it up. But what a ham! Every slight turn of the wrist, every hint of a look, every triple and quadruple meaning was dramatic genius. And no one could dismiss Jacobi as being merely a bit of a ham. He is a great tragic actor and his Cyrano of long ago (RSC 1983) remains one of the best things I have seen.
As all schoolchildren used to know, there is often, at least for contemporary audiences, something about Shakespeare's low life and comic scenes that is rather leaden - not so much light relief as heavy distraction from the more interesting bits. There is also the problem that the speed and complexity of the language is sometimes, if not hard to follow, at least hard to enjoy. The complex witticisms of 16th- and 17th-century humour are not really for us any more, young or old. But none the less, Grandage's production manages to infuse comic life into the play, not only with Jacobi but also with three other accomplished performances from Ron Cook as Sir Toby Belch, Guy Henry as Sir Andrew Aguecheek and Zubin Varla as Feste the fool. It is very funny at times, and very physical, with dancing, acrobatics and body language that are not just actorly, but good. The humour is often visual. Malvolio's yellow hose and cross garters are very cleverly recreated in (vaguely) modern dress, and the difference in size between the short, sexy Sir Toby and the daffy beanpole Sir Andrew is well exploited. Zubin Varla's singing is bewitching.
Even so, this excellent production cannot deal with the central problem of the play: its comedy and its cruelty can never come to a satisfactory ending together. What remains above all is its great language and its many famous lines, which are now truisms. A couplet that perhaps should be better known is Antonio's protest against the appearance of goodness and beauty, when it is not what it seems: "In nature there's no blemish but the mind;/None can be called deformed but the unkind." This is, of course, a judgment in advance against all those central characters who show or allow unkindness to Malvolio.
