Review: Gallathea

Gallathea, John Lyly’s gender-bending play from 1585, contains some intriguingly modern ruminations on the interaction of love and law. Set in a village in Lincolnshire, the play revolves around Neptune’s demand that the fairest maiden in the land (or at least in the local area) should be sacrificed to him each year. Failing the delivery of this hapless girl, he will inundate Lincolnshire with catastrophic floods. Two doting fathers, loath to part with their darling daughters, disguise them as men and send them forth into a nearby forest. However, they reckon without the attentions of the mischievous Cupid. Alone, outcast, and unhappy, Gallathea and Phyllida meander around the glades bemoaning the unseemliness of their garments until, catching sight of each other, they are lovestruck. Their delusion as to each other’s gender and the authenticity of their emotions set the platform for the play’s examination of the conflict between instinct and convention.

Ben Anderson, the director, sought to emphasize the play’s more modern aspects by cladding his troupe in t-shirts that were mostly emblazoned with gender symbols. This was a simple and effective, if slightly unsubtle, way of dealing with the limited resources of the Barron Theatre. The elaborate costume that often accompanies plays that deal with cross-dressing was entirely absent from Anderson’s pared back aesthetic. If this simplicity perhaps sacrificed a few laughs, it focused the play on its subject. The sparse stage design and costume gave complete primacy to performance and dialogue. Phyllida, played with growing confidence by Sarah Pollock, wails ‘if she be a maiden then there is no hope for my love’, setting the foundation for a final face-off between the chaste Diana and lubricious Venus in which Gallathea and Phyllida’s fate is decided. This was certainly the play’s most interesting scene, if not its most entertaining. This being a romantic comedy, love must have its day – but could a play written for an Elizabethan audience really defend gay marriage centuries before its legalisation? The play was set for a spectacular clash of emotion against cold decree, until Lyly took the easy way out and decided that the gods would simply turn one of the lovers into a man. Nonetheless, it was fascinating to see centuries-old play exploring romantic love beyond the bounds of heterosexual relationships.

That the play had a cast of 15 posed difficult questions of Anderson’s production. Transitions between scenes were not always slick, and several times actors appeared not to know what they ought to have been doing. A play with such a large cast is an ambitious undertaking and will necessarily present issues of cohesion, and the show was not without its stumbles. On the whole though, the play was well-ordered and intelligent. Andrew Chalmers stole the show as a simpering and mischievous Cupid. His energetic and mannered performance emblematised Cupid’s diametric opposition to Diana, played icily if a little flatly by Courtney Stone. Cara Mahoney, assured as ever, delivered a strong performance as Gallathea, while Wendell Krebbs’ and Niall Kennedy’s partnership as the protective fathers was rich with wit and verve. This was an intelligent production that sought to redirect an ancient play for the modern age. However, while it contained some commendable performances and discussed an intriguing subject, it sadly lacked polish and fell short of its potential