In 2010, the Bell Shakespeare Company toured
Shakespeare’s mercurial comedy Twelfth Night around Australia .
Directed by Lee Lewis, the production was grounded in the context of the Black
Saturday bushfires of February 2009; the actors emerged out of the blackness,
exhausted and covered in soot, and proceeded to tell each other a story,
assuming the identities and roles of the characters in Shakespeare’s play.
Using costumes drawn from a large pile of clothes donated to charity set in the
centre of the stage and a scattering of cardboard boxes around its edges, Lewis
delighted in the playful theatricality of disguise, the simple answers to
switching identities at the drop of a hat, and made sure that joy and an
effervescent sense of life were never far away from the very tangible sorrow, melancholy
and heartbreak that sits at the core of all Shakespearean comedy. I mention
this production for two reasons: first, it was the first time that I saw a
production of Shakespeare and understood – felt – the story and the very real
humanness at its heart; and second, because Lewis’ Twelfth Night felt like a fresh new play, a play written
now, for a contemporary audience.