In The Whirligig of Time, we revisit Malvolio, the much-maligned steward who leaves the stage at the end of Twelfth Night vowing revenge on the whole pack of upperclass nitwits and rambunctious peasants who have caused him so much anguish.
A man drowning in the waves of his own thwarted ambition
Centuries before Gove declared the country was bored of experts, Shakespeare conjures a self-made man so necessarily skilful at his job that he is squeezed by scornful punching down from the nobs who will never need to turn an honest penny, and irritation from those below-stairs who despise his aspiration. If the phrase sneering metropolitan elite was coined for anyone, it was surely Malvolio.
For those uninitiated: Malvolio is uptight, punctilious, supercilious and overbearing. With – whisper it softly, for nothing is more appalling to the invaded upper echelons or those whose own status is deemed too lowly – ideas above his natal station. And it is this potent combination of intellect, determination and burning resentment that lies at the heart of understanding what drives the man to his threatened reprisals.
As Malvolio, Robin Leetham slides from waistcoated pomposity to garrulous wench and from oafish flatulence to elegant feminity with psychological fluidity and a sardonically amused eye for the vagaries of life. Much of the success of the piece comes from its perhaps surprising humour, which nods to the tone of the original whilst bringing a sense of freshness and modernity to contemporary audiences.
Whirligig is never less than a feast for the linguistic senses for anyone hungry for a script peppered with the understanding, nuance and love that only a team of other actors can fully weave. A masterclass in exploring the significance of character backstory, subtext and motivation; this should be one of the first stops for Fringers wanting to hone their own craft and priortise the suiting of their actions to their words.
So clever is Richard Curnow’s writing and Oliver Brooks’ direction that there is no need to understand or even know Shakespeare’s source script. Indeed, Whirligig works beautifully as a standalone, introduction or companion piece to Twelfth Night. There will be those who nod wisely and bathe in the delicious sprinkling of Shakespeariotics (guilty) but also those purely fascinated with the portrait of a man drowning in the waves of his own thwarted ambition.
