Being cultural and seeing a proper play at a West End theatre

As the kind of person who’s only visits to the theatre up until the age of 19 were for pantomimes and snooker matches, I feel uniquely qualified to comment on and review plays. Well, uniquely placed anyway. Uniquely meaning poorly, in this context.
So, being poorly placed to comment on and review plays, I nonetheless proudly present to you some words after I saw the Sir Kenneth Branagh production of Romeo & Juliet at the Garrick Theatre on Monday last week.
Even a local authority-run school alumni such as myself knows not just the plot but also the ins and outs of the themes of Rome & Juliet (thank ingyou GCSE English), so that saves us an awful lot of time here.
What I want to talk about is the language–the rhythmic, loping, bouncing language of Shakespeare which we all know but never appreciate. To go back to Year 10, reading Rome & Juliet off the page was a bore because not many 15-year-olds from Reading, generally speaking, have the ability to read 400-year-old soliloquies lyrically. Most struggle with reading Tweets.
In this production, the language of Shakespeare is so wonderfully retained but so perfectly boiled down to still challenge the listening audience to interpret the spoken word but also to ensure the production remains accessible to a wide ranging audience.
And the cast of this production is why there is a wider social spectrum in the audience. Or in the audience on Monday night anyway.
Richard Madden and Lily James play the star-crossed lovers and their TV back catalogue rakes in the younger audience.
Madden’s puppy-ish, devoted Romeo often dominates his swaggering teenager ego, not always a bad thing though as his lovestruck, brooding young man performance is strong but too much and it becomes mopey.
But James’ portrayal of Juliet is what keeps its all going – whether it be the champagne drunk on a balcony scene when she properly meets her Romeo, the on-the-cusp-of-orgasmic anticipation at seeing Romeo again after their secret marriage or the heart-rending dénouement, all are innocently lovely – wonderfully, recognisably teenager. Which is what this is all about of course, love and lust at a vulnerable time of our lives.
Elsewhere, Derek Jacobi’s Mercutio is wonderful – an unusual ‘fun, lecherous but non-threatening’ uncle approach to the role meant to be an age contemporary with Romeo which just works if not perfectly, then perfectly suited to the audience.
To go back to language, no-one does knob gags quite like Shakespeare and it is a joy the way Jacobi delivers them (and great when one works out the more complex knob gags. Complex knob gags indeed.)
However, as a result of this style, his death was sadly interpreted by some members of the audience as an exaggerated piece of physical comedy, beyond the moment he is stabbed and right up until the moment he is no longer speaking before the penny drops.
In a similar vein, Meera Syal’s Nurse was also a far more knowing, mischievously devious and encouraging confidante for Juliet than anticipated – playful but still deeply caring of her surrogate daughter.
All of this is set in a 1950s-style Venice filled with café culture, suits, sunglasses and a time equally as recognisable as male-dominated as the original play.
Without having much else to compare it to given limited  theatre experience, it would be foolish to sum up this play in any other way than to say I quite liked it so…yeah…see it if its your thing. Or don’t, if you don’t want to. Its your choice really. Unless tickets are sold out, in which case you have no choice. That’s how it goes, I suppose.