A Mad World My Masters

This was a perfect example of someone making the best of a bad job. But it raises the question of why choose a bad job in the first place. This is a little played restoration comedy, and trust me there is every reason for this to be little seen. Everything good or even tolerable about this performance had nothing to do with the actual play itself. It relied on slapstick humour outside the text, a great set, an interesting backdrop and a series of 1950s songs. Set largely around a 1950s bar (as one would expect for a 17th century play) this is a bawdy farce, but the plot and dialogue are so weak it is difficult to convey. But perhaps lets start with the subtlety of the characters' names, Mr Littledick, Mr Penitent Brothel, Sir Bounteous Peersucker. You get the picture.

It is all about sex and swindling. And while no doubt it had a Jacobean audience in stitches, it would be hard put to raise a titter among a modern audience were it not for the modern embellishments added outside the text. One might say that is just my taste, but let me provide an analogy. At the time this play was written, if you went to a physician with an infection (or almost any other ailment) you would probably have had leeches applied, not given antibiotics. Now, is it only a matter of personal taste as to whether you like leeches or antibiotics? And frankly, leeches would be funnier than this. The only passable joke in the whole play was a pretty weak pun. Sir Peersucker to physician "Pray be patient sir" "Sir, I cannot both be patient and physician." If that doesn't have you splitting your sides nothing else would. We have moved on.

The setting in the 1950s may sound incongruous, but even more so were the intermittent musical interludes where members of the cast would burst into songs like "Cry Me a River". The sudden gear changes from Jacobean language to 20th century song should have jarred, but didn't because of the sheer relief one felt at the brief respite from the awful dialogue.

Some historic practices should be left buried, like leeches, plague and hanging drawing and quartering. And this play should be interred alongside them. It is a desperate waste of the talent at the RSC's disposal.

(You may have guessed from this review that I didn't like it. My companion asked whether we should bother with the second half. So I was not alone.)