From now on, every time there is a revival of a play that I do not want to see, I would like Rupert Goold to direct it, please.
My general view of Romeo and Juliet is that if I never have to watch it again for the rest of my life, it will be no great loss. Give me West Side Story rather than the plodding inevitability of the play on which the great musical is based.
In this RSC production not even the excellent Sam Troughton and Mariah Gale, who each deliver their title roles with uncompromising adolescent passion, can evoke much more than passing poignancy in the final, fatal scene.
But Goold's vision bigs up sex, obsesses about violence and, with the silent stand-up routine delivered by Jonjo O'Neill's Mercutio, delivers the rudest R&J I have ever seen.
The director lets no scene pass without a bravura moment. His big idea is that Romeo (depicted as a 21st-century, hoody-wearing tourist) and Juliet (jeans and Converse sneakers) are detached from their period-costumed family, friends and foes, all of whom are unable to understand the lovers. You know what? I could watch the whole thing over again.
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