The theatrical air has lately been heavily charged with argument. Some of it horrible. Soon after announcing that Francesca Amewudah-Rivers had been cast as Juliet, alongside Tom Holland’s Romeo, the Jamie Lloyd Company put out a statement explaining that she had been subjected to a “barrage” of racism and misogyny online. Strong support for Amewudah-Rivers, who is black, came quickly, in an open letter with more than 800 signatories. But what really crushes the pathetic bullies is her performance. She is one of the best Juliets I have seen.
And what a production of Romeo & Juliet from shake-them-by-the-scruff-of-their-neck Lloyd, constantly turning expectations inside out. It is a marvellously young cast – Freema Agyeman’s cracklingly vivid Nurse is no clucking matron, but more like Anita in West Side Story; in his stage debut, Daniel Quinn-Toye brings wide-eyed pathos to unfortunate Paris – yet the predominant note is not exuberance but intensity. There is no clambering up balconies: some of the play is spoken without movement. Fights are blacked out (Jon Clark’s lighting is low, dusky) so that there is nothing between the flashpoint and the result: blood-drenched vests and an inert figure. There is no declamation, much intimate whispering (everyone is miked), yet never silence: sound design wizards Ben and Max Ringham send a drone, a note of constant low-level anxiety, throughout the action, sometimes quickening the alarm with a drumbeat.
