The Tempest is one of my favourite plays and Hag-Seed probably my favourite out of the Hogarth Shakespeare series. Had I any talent, I’d write my own retelling, with the tragic nature of Caliban’s story at its centre.

Unfortunately, I do not have any such talent, and I have to make do with going to the theatre and admiring, or not, how those with talent interpret the play. In this particular case, I am unclear about the intended message of the production and what Jamie Lloyd had in mind with the decisions he made. With Shakespeare my recommendation generally is – if you do not have some amazing vision of where you want to take the play, better simply stick to the script – it is brilliant enough just as it is.

It is not that I had a problem with a female Prospero (and here Prospero was a mother/duchess, not simply a male character played by Sigourney Weaver). Frankly, it did not make that much of a difference and it is a bit hard to tell what the person of the sex flip actually was.

What did make a difference however is that Prospero was no longer a powerful mage, ruler of an island, spurned sovereign scheming to regain her rightful position. Rather, shuffling along in the baggy trousers, long shirt and short gilet, she reminded me of my grandmother in her last dementia-ridden years. There was a weakness and vulnerability to her that was at odds with the lines that were being spoken. This came across most starkly when Prospero was castigating Ariel, but seemed afraid of her servant looming above her; and when Miranda stated “Never till this day saw I him touch’d with anger so distemper’d,” but no signs of anger from Prospero were forthcoming. A tempest with no temper.

None of this was helped by the fact that Sigourney Weaver delivered the lines as if she did not quite understand not only what it was that she was saying, but what the broader context actually was. I know the play very well, but was at times struggling to follow what Prospero was getting at.

The depiction of Miranda was interesting, even if somewhat out of place. In an outfit probably more befitting Olivia Rodrigo or one of her young fans, she pranced about in a very contemporary manner, completely at odds with the demeanour of the other members of the cast. She was a horny teenager delighted at all the men candy that had suddenly appeared around her, flirtatious, not demure and definitely not at all wise. This emphasised the perfidiousness of Prospero who abused her innocence and pushed her into the arms of the less-than-average Fernando for personal advantage. Even if not really explored in this production, one could argue that this was a justification for such a portrayal.

It is however much more difficult to come up with any reasons as to why Caliban became the gimp from Pulp Fiction and Ariel some kind of dominator/dominatrix. I have always found these two characters the most fascinating in the entire play – both native to the island and enslaved by Prospero, with so many similarities between them and yet so many juxtapositions – that I take particular interest in how they are presented.  

Ariel is an airy spirit, not uncommon in Elizabethan plays, doing Prospero’s bidding in the hope that one day he will earn his freedom. In fact, it is Ariel who is immensely powerful, and I have always struggled to quite understand why he does not simply break away from his captor. Here, this particular lacuna is very much amplified by the formidable manner in which the sprite is portrayed. Whilst written by Shakespear as male, Ariel has often been played by women who brought out his ethereal nature. In this case, Ariel is played by a man who states he is non-binary. This could have been an interesting take, given spirits and sprites don’t necessarily have to be sexed. However, this Ariel, clad in BDSM attire, is very clearly male. He has a commanding presence, a terrifying and piercing singing voice, and dominates every scene he is in. He descends from the heavens, leering over his master with a menacing physical prowess that is in stark contrast to the weak Prospero. The dynamic of the play is completely thrown off – Ariel should have long ago imprisoned the faltering female and taken over the island with submissive pet Caliban at his side.

Caliban is a wholly original, complex character and one of the Bard’s best accomplishments. An extremely painful illustration of the harms done by Europeans to natives of the lands they conquered, right down to plying them with alcohol. Reducing him to a bag of cheap laughs in bondage gear is criminal – they might as well have stuffed a ball gag in his mouth and removed the need for dialogue. This interpretation leaves no place for nuance. This is not the son of a woman exiled from her home by men who feared the knowledge she possessed, attempting to reclaim his heirloom. This is not a being, maybe different to us, but one who nonetheless is sensitive and loves his island homeland, its beauty and its magic. It is just a mooncalf monster, drunk and disorderly, prostrating itself for a bit of sack, cowering. How pointless.

All of this was in no way helped by the flat manner in which the audio was broadcast. All the actors were mic-ed up and whether they were back stage, front stage, facing the audience or turned away made absolutely no difference. At times it was difficult to discern which character was actually delivering the lines.

Was there anything good about this particular performance? I liked the idea of having Prospero sit centre stage, observing the comings and goings, but invisible to the characters themselves. The ominous presence of the ruler personified. The staging also made an impact. I had gone to see the 2017 RSC production at the Barbican – and whist it was an experience of almost wizardly-like visuals – the skeleton of a ship, the screen for projecting magical imagery – it was all a bit overwhelming, with the play like an afterthought to this creation. In this case, the scenery reminiscent of some interstellar planetoid, the use of light, the smoke and earie silk sheets were not anywhere near as fancy, but extremely emotive. There was nothing superfluous on stage, the movement between the actors quite compelling, effects at times almost scary. Unfortunately, in this case, a significantly more extravagant experience would have been needed to distract from the poor acting and to hide at least some of the aforementioned shortcomings.