Dazed and confused

Tara Arts, a troupe devoted to ‘cross-cultural theatre’, are hauling their Tempest around the country. In a minivan by the look of things. The whole production — cast, cossies and props — could easily squeeze into a Bedford Rascal but, as Mark Rylance has already demonstrated, thrift and The Tempest don’t mix well. Rylance bored the Globe to a standstill doing this play with three actors. Tara sport six and it’s still not enough for the sprawling and fantastical storyline. You’ve got two sets of castaways on different bits of an atoll (three, if you include Prospero and Miranda) and a pair of magical sprites buzzing around like lost milk floats. Confusing enough if it’s your sixth view of The Tempest. Indecipherable if it’s your first.

I was surrounded (yet again, are they following me?) by a host of teeming school-kids. Actually they behaved better than most teenagers, and though everyone was texting and talking no one was stabbed. The cast just about managed to keep them diverted but kids have a merciless eye for pretension and when Ariel came mincing on waggling a blue plastic bird they howled with contempt. Best thing on view, the stylish Islamic costumes. The acting seemed passable, the set perfunctory. Scrimping on props is as unwise as scrimping on actors. When swords are drawn, and no swords appear, the result just looks bonkers. Same goes for the ‘director’s vision’ in the programme notes where Jatinda Verma likens Prospero to ‘Dr Ayman al-Zawahiri, bin Laden’s right-hand man’. If that’s vision Milton was an astronaut. Tara Arts and their rickety Rascal may pitch up in your area. Give them some petrol money and a friendly adieu.