MAYER WAKEFIELD is entertained but let down by an audacious production that, sadly, doesn't ring true
SHAKESPEARE was not a king nor even a man in power. He was a jobbing playwright whose itinerant lifestyle allowed him to observe life in high and low places and to use the fads and foibles of the world at large as fodder for his incomparable talents.
His history plays, timeless favourites on the British stage, sometimes appear as immutable period pieces and often they are brandished like the Union Jack to incite nationalism.
But, always, they explore the fragility of the crown and its quest for power.
MARY CONWAY keeps up with the sheer pace of a drama about the terrible gap between sanitised reporting and real-life turmoil of race and gender
Family issues and dragon-fuelled history amount to a vacuous spectacle that ill-fits the theatre, muses SIMON PARSONS
MARY CONWAY applauds the timely revival of Miller’s study of people fatally deformed by the economics of survival
MARY CONWAY becomes impatient with the intellectual self-indulgence of Tom Stoppard in a production that is, nevertheless, total class


