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The Tempest

 
Rebecca Vines Review by Rebecca Vines 3 Published: 9 Jun 2026 Royal Shakespeare Company Show Dates: 13 May 2026-20 Jun 2026

The prospect is a delicious one.

The company has missed a trick here: with fairly little tweaking this could have been a cracking Christmas show

The RSC. Richard Eyre. Kenny B. Shakespeare’s final solo play. And a central role deemed to represent the Bard himself.

It is a theatrical consummation devoutly to be wished; but if you failed to secure a ticket for one of the event castings of the summer, you need not wring out your hankie in the Avon just yet.

At the outset, our Ken ambles on to the stage. We are unsure as to whether this iteration is Branagh or Prospero. Perhaps that is the point. He dons an esoteric blue robe, presumably endowed with magic powers, and begins to orchestrate: not just the band, but the terrible tempest that has begun to rage around him. As the electricity crashes across the cyclorama, we are invited to see him not only as the conductor of the storm, but as the deus ex machina for all that will unfold on stage.

This is certainly a handsome production, courtesy of Bob Crowley’s design and Akhila Krishnan’s stunning videography. And the opening scenes of Ariel’s terrible attack on the Italian nobility are spectacular in both storytelling and execution. But, much like Prospero’s pyromaniacal orders for the royal barque, the promised fire never actually ignites.

Given that the conceit of the piece revolves around a micro-manager who punctuates every social interaction with a nicely timed thunderclap, there is an awkward irony in the fact that nothing else really hangs together or feels coordinated.

There are some impressive performances: Ruby Stokes is a charming Miranda and Amara Okereke a doting Ariel. But without a solid defining concept, most of the cast pop on, gamely do their thing, and then pop off again without too much of a purpose getting in their way.

For whilst the source material can be said, to an extent, to have something of a muddled identity, it seems a rather too easy and unsophisticated decision to have taken on a production with this pedigree. This naïveté permeates the piece and provides a rollicking enough romp which, aside from one very odd and ill-judged moment, the whole family can congratulate themselves on enjoying without ever having to worry too much about political or philosophical messaging.

In a raft of unexplored themes and untaken chances, the most glaring example lies in the casting of actors of colour as the enslaved characters. This provides a strong visual juxtaposition against the white interlopers and offers so much possible commentary. Unfortunately, this is never properly developed, and the ugly face of colonialism remains unchallenged. This is a particular shame given that the dignity and intelligence shown by Ashley Zhangazha as an engaging and sympathetic Caliban could easily be extended to texturise the piece and provide the necessary narrative bite.

Branagh delivers the verse with the eloquence we would expect, but until the final moments, his characterisation never really takes off. He may be trying not to overshadow the rest of the cast, but this results in a shadowy and creeping Prospero rather than the towering and terrible majesty of someone who can conjure meteorological and emotional tempests. There is petulance here rather than rage; a little boy tossed on the waves of happenstance rather than a man of power grasping all he can to survive. Ken has always played prats rather well, but it just seems a misfire to reduce Prospero to this sort of pathetic status.

The close of the piece does provide some intriguing moments. Ariel is now free, but with clipped wings. She stands on the shore, unsteady and mutilated, bidding goodbye to the oppressor she served so faithfully. Alongside her is Caliban: newly enrobed but uncertain. The white man has taken what he wanted and, once his revels have ended, shuffled off without much of a backward glance.

As Ken ambles from the stage, we are again unsure as to whether he is Branagh or Prospero. This is a nicely cyclical touch, and one which underpins the blurred lines between the renowned thespian and Shakespeare’s magician.

This is by no means a bad production; and if broad, panto-esque vignettes are your bag, there will be plenty to tickle your fancy. Indeed, the company has missed a trick here: with fairly little tweaking this could have been a cracking Christmas show. It does not take too much of a leap of imagination to visualise Stephano, Trinculo and Caliban sitting on a random bench on the beach, haunted by inexplicable spirits and chanting, “Well, we’ll have to do it again then, won’t we? Oooh!”

But as a production for the ages, it never really reaches the heights it promises.

Amir Nisi

Rebecca Vines

Rebecca is an acclaimed practitioner and lecturer with a renowned global practice; and is the current Drama Chairman for the board of the British and International Federation of Festivals. Rebecca began her writing career as a diarist at The Guardian newspaper, and has been reviewing theatre since 2000. Rebecca trained as a performer with the Actors Company, and has written, directed and produced critically acclaimed and sell-out shows at the Edinburgh Fringe since 2003.

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On a remote island, an exiled Duke prepares to perform his swansong, his great act of revenge. Kenneth Branagh takes the role of Prospero in Shakespeare’s final play, a meditation on art, power and freedom, directed by Richard Eyre.
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