Coventry

In Fair Verona Where We Lay Our Scene... or in this case: COVENTRY.

It seems very fitting that at the end of this, the first half of the tour, we bring a play about reconciliation to a city devoted to forgiving the horrific damages done to it during the second world war. This thought is echoed far more elegantly by an older couple, who, most likely having memories of it themselves, speak to us after the show. Shakespeare’s plays are shifting creatures, often scintillating and riotous in their own ingeniousness; but every now and then a chord is struck that reminds you that for all the codpiece-talk and faery-tale exposition, the conflict and compassion he writes about live on today.

Our stage is set in the almighty grounds of the ruins of Coventry cathedral, packed in by broken shafts of stone, caged in with windowless walls and roofless to the sky above. The ground is unforgiving and decidedly un-springy, which does not bode well for our dance, which consists mostly of rhythmical stamping. Our fight director comes up to redirect the fight scenes for the rain, which proves precognitive as the main thing that Coventry delivers on is endless clouds bursting over the general vicinity of our camper van. We are all equipped with colds and poorly voices, bequeathed by Manchester’s punishing performances.
It is also very cold; perhaps because this is the first stage we’ve played where nothing is alive: no plants, no grass, no trees (to which Romeo adds a little self-conscious humour: ‘I swear by yonder moon, that coats with silver all these fruit tree-tops?’)

The scene is thoroughly dominated by the cathedral’s great spire, which serves for Juliet’s threats to throw herself from ‘yonder tower’, and also as a constant, imposing reminder of religion. The constant inconstancy of the bells chiming is a little bewildering, but a couple of times it works very nicely with the play. Such as at the very end.

Being closer to London, some people are commuting. As much as my miss my loved ones, cats, bed etc. I have to admit that there’s a secret disappointment that London is so close, and that commuting in this case is possible. This certainly wouldn’t an option in Shakespeare’s time. The ubiquity of the shops (as handy as it is being able to find a Waterstones in any of our towns so far) make me yearn slightly for the days when traveling to a different county was almost like setting foot in some strange new land. Washed up on an alien shore, like Viola in Twelfth Night.

The audiences at first seem young. Benvolio has difficulty pointing out a ‘beauty’ for Romeo to banish thoughts of Rosaline with (although in Elizabethan times, and in Juliet’s case, these youthful brides were the norm. Shudder). Juvenile they may be, but quick of tongue, certainly. When I approach the stage with Paris’ song to draw Juliet from her bedchamber, unaware she’s ingested the friar’s poison and ‘died’, a young wit exclaims: ‘Nah, she’s dead mate!’. I pretend not to hear. What else can you do! On top of this we have local ragamuffins making alarums just beyond the gates of the cathedral. We’re all in two minds whether or not just to invite them in and hope they’ll shut up. I’m reminded that originally at the Globe the actors had to contend with much more. At least we haven’t had the veg cart thrown at us. Yet.

A young couple who had booked in for our waterlogged and cancelled Cheltenham show have made the journey all the way to Coventry and we agree to unofficially dedicate the show to them. They look very happy. I think Romeo & Juliet, however you embrace its final outcome, is a very tender thing for a couple in love to appreciate. ‘We think like that,’ they realize, ‘and maybe we could even talk like that about our passion.’ It brings hope to every burgeoning romance.

On a lighter note: what with these being our last performances before the holiday week, and with a few people heading for sunnier climes, there appears to be an outbreak of furious exercising amongst the cast to tone up their holiday-bodies. Every break between scenes there seems to be someone in the backstage tent sit-upping or star-jumping. And people say actors are vain…

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