St Andrews Castle

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In fair Verona where we lay our scene…

... or in this case, St Andrews. Without a doubt this is the most stunning performance space we’ve seen. And we’ve seen some stunning places.

The camper van and stage are set in the courtyard of the ruined castle of St Andrews. The outer defences and hollow windows are still intact, and you have to cross the old moat, now a mossy green, to enter our auditorium. Two towers have tumbled behind the audience, and beyond that the breadth and noise of the sea rages, something that is mentioned more than a few times in the play: a reminder of power and inevitability, and also peace. The castle has several exciting features that keep us insouciant actors entertained: an ominous bottle dungeon; a gaping well by the stage; and a deep, skittering mine and counter-mine that run beneath us. The knowledge that people really have died fighting here adds a new layer to the death scenes in the play. As does the information that there have been teenagers who have thrown themselves off these walls to the deep, heart-sick and despondent. The characters in this play are real, they exist in our world: it’s easy to forget that.

The staff at the castle are incredibly hospitable, and help us from the beginning through to the mini-get-out at each day’s end (this involves dismantling all but the stage and hiding the camper van within the castle, as errant knaves with sticky fingers occasionally scale the ruins from the seashore). Our green room is actually a dungeon, cold and evocative with a perilous shaft mine in one corner… all very exciting. The audience can see right in as they leave, so our valiant costume supervisor wedges herself in the window to protect our decency. As if we had any…

The weather is mercurial, and being so close to the sea the shifting scenarios range from brief spittle to high winds to glorious sunshine. There’s even a little rainbow to entertain the audience half way through. I think the space seems tiny, but the presence of the sea makes us feel inconsequential at times. We push through.

A small disaster with the white costumes and a mislaid red bandana. The nurse has to go on with a pink shirt. Better her than Romeo, though.

The audience are hardy, and stick it out through the wind and the cloud-spats. It gets very cold, the bitterest weather yet towards the end. But appreciation comes in the form of a cheery Scot on his way out — ‘Youse mouse be Scottish, puttin’ a wi’ weather like tha’…’

The second performance in St Andrews and we all feel a buzz of beauty and readiness. But during the play this seems to falter. There’s a theory that the elements —being so forceful and enviously majestic around us— are actually sapping our energy rather than enhancing it. Or it could be the hangover. Ah, the mystery of theatre.

Perri Snowdon

Have you seen the show? Post your thoughts on the Romeo and Juliet blog.

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