Shakespeare In Love reviewed by William Shakespeare himself

A Review by William Shakespeare: Upon Seeing Shakespeare in Love Performed in the Flesh (Mine!)

Good morrow, dear reader. Last night, beneath a sun-kissed Darlington sky, I had the peculiar pleasure of witnessing my own life played out before mine eyes by a most gallant band of players – the Castle Players, no less – upon the fair grounds of All Saints Church. I took myself in whilst sporting a cunning disguise so as to not startle the good fellows and presumed witness from afar.

Now, I know what thou art thinking: “Surely, Will, none could do thy tale justice?” And yet, directed with verve and vision by the learned Gordon Duffy-McGhie, this performance did rise to heights even I dared not pen. A marvel, indeed.

Let us speak first of Oliver Smith, who portrayed me (a daunting task, I’m sure). Dashing, brooding, and possessed of more than a little charm – the lad captured my essence most handsomely. ‘Twas almost as if he had read my soul. And Phoebe Lorenz as Viola – heaven bless her – brought passion, poise, and poetry to my muse. Their chemistry could’ve lit the candles of the Globe.

Now to my dear friend and rival, Kit Marlowe – brought to swaggering, scene-stealing life by Sam Straker. Wit, wisdom and, let us be honest, the source of several of my better lines (thank you, Kit), were all on show.

Ben Pearson’s Henslowe was a delight – charmingly chaotic, forever a heartbeat away from disaster – a theatre manager as I remember him. And Peter Firby’s Fennyman, the money man with dreams of the stage, made the transformation from fearsome to theatrical with flair.

Phil Sculthorpe’s Edmund Tilney dripped with pomp and petty authority – oh, how I laughed! And Matthew Harper’s Lord Wessex – so vain, so villainous – a walking peacock in pursuit of my Viola. Lastly, Sarah Fells’ Nursie ! She had us roaring – a delicious tribute to a certain bawdy nurse of Blackadder fame.

A word too for the choir, whose sweet harmonies stirred the soul, and to the glorious stage and costumes – a feast for the eyes. Hats off (literally) to the front of house, who governed the crowd with grace and good humour.

In sum: I came, I saw, I applauded till my palms were sore. Bravo, Castle Players – you’ve made this playwright proud - now, dear readers, I urge you to also commit your own subterfuge, steal away from your evening plans and come to Mickleton Village to view with thine eyes MY glorious work.