This is a notoriously difficult play to pull off, so Dave Workman and his energetic cast of six are to be congratulated for even attempting it, especially with such a heavily cut text. The playing time is reduced to just under an hour, which has the advantage of making Timon's disintegration from fawned-upon society idol to ranting outcast all the more shocking. The corresponding disadvantage is that much of the detail of characterisation and motivation for Timon's psychological breakdown is lost.
Staged in the stark, intimate Burton Taylor studio, Timon's tragedy unravelled at breakneck speed using only a few wooden blocks and much doubling. Scenes were intercut as if on television by the impressive use of pools of light.
Workman's brave decision to dispense almost entirely with props and distinctive costumes is one he may reconsider should he attempt any similar productions (and I sincerely hope he does), simply because the absence of props led to some very amateurish miming, and with five actors playing a multitude of characters, it was often difficult to know who was who. The girl playing Alcibiades made him identical to the other characters she'd played, while the whores and bandits gave no visible clues as to who they were. A sash here, a hat there, the odd pendant or trinket would have been invaluable shorthand clues to characters' identity in this hurly burly of encounters.
Benjo Fraser is best known for his musical comedy performances, and there were definite shades of Gilbert & Sullivan in his frantic, hyperactive Timon. In the second half Timon's internal collapse was too rushed to be convincing, and for some reason - in a production that had hitherto eschewed props (an apple and a mobile phone apart) - he suddenly acquired a binbag full of rather clean-looking rubbish!
Elsewhere the cast was lively, though characterisation was inevitably sketchy; Nakul Krishna did the best he could as the loyal Steward (the play's only sympathetic figure), though much of his part had been discarded, speaking his lines with a sincerity and gravitas that others in the cast might well emulate.
Also memorable was the girl playing the tiny part of the Messenger announcing Timon's death, who demonstrated in her few lines the dying art of speaking Shakespeare effectively.
Incidentally, why was the central character referred to throughout as "Tim-On"? Surely it's pronounced "Tye-mon"! It certainly was in the two RSC productions I've seen. Nit-picking apart, this was a brave and commendable experiment, well worth my journey over from Cambridge.
Staged in the stark, intimate Burton Taylor studio, Timon's tragedy unravelled at breakneck speed using only a few wooden blocks and much doubling. Scenes were intercut as if on television by the impressive use of pools of light.
Workman's brave decision to dispense almost entirely with props and distinctive costumes is one he may reconsider should he attempt any similar productions (and I sincerely hope he does), simply because the absence of props led to some very amateurish miming, and with five actors playing a multitude of characters, it was often difficult to know who was who. The girl playing Alcibiades made him identical to the other characters she'd played, while the whores and bandits gave no visible clues as to who they were. A sash here, a hat there, the odd pendant or trinket would have been invaluable shorthand clues to characters' identity in this hurly burly of encounters.
Benjo Fraser is best known for his musical comedy performances, and there were definite shades of Gilbert & Sullivan in his frantic, hyperactive Timon. In the second half Timon's internal collapse was too rushed to be convincing, and for some reason - in a production that had hitherto eschewed props (an apple and a mobile phone apart) - he suddenly acquired a binbag full of rather clean-looking rubbish!
Elsewhere the cast was lively, though characterisation was inevitably sketchy; Nakul Krishna did the best he could as the loyal Steward (the play's only sympathetic figure), though much of his part had been discarded, speaking his lines with a sincerity and gravitas that others in the cast might well emulate.
Also memorable was the girl playing the tiny part of the Messenger announcing Timon's death, who demonstrated in her few lines the dying art of speaking Shakespeare effectively.
Incidentally, why was the central character referred to throughout as "Tim-On"? Surely it's pronounced "Tye-mon"! It certainly was in the two RSC productions I've seen. Nit-picking apart, this was a brave and commendable experiment, well worth my journey over from Cambridge.