This imaginative interpretation of one of Shakespeare’s most problematic plays is well worth seeing. Often categorized as a comedy, The Winter’s Tale is something of an oddity. The first three acts are the stuff of pure tragedy, culminating in the abandonment of a newborn baby, the death of an innocent young prince and, possibly, the death of an equally innocent queen, falsely accused of adultery by her husband, King Leontes. Matthew Alves’ is utterly convincing and terrifying as Leontes, tortured by the crazy logic of his delusions. We see him not as a villain, but rather a victim of a devastating mental illness: ‘I am a feather for each wind that blows’ he cries. His paranoia is fuelled by the age-old problem that, while a mother is always sure that her children are her own, a father cannot have such certainty: ‘I’ll not rear another’s issue!’.

If Leontes is a part that offers an actor much to chew on, the role of his queen is not one that actors generally relish; innocent victimhood can be rather bland and one-dimensional. However, in the opening scene Lyndsey Huebner gives us a real flesh and blood Hermione; a good friend, a loving wife and an expectant mother, not a mere symbol of purity. In the later trial scene, standing bloodied and alone under the glare of harsh neon lights, she gives a deeply moving depiction of a brave woman cruelly wronged, but undefeated until she hears of the sudden death of her son. Jessica Giannone, as Hermione’s loyal friend Paulina, is equally impressive, particularly when she confronts Leontes directly, scornfully mocking his ‘weak-hinged fancy’. If Leontes’ sudden return to remorseful sanity is less convincing than his earlier and equally sudden descent into madness, that is no fault of this production. There are undoubtedly aspects of The Winter’s Tale that place severe demands on our willingness to suspend disbelief.

The first half ends with Leontes’ newborn daughter, Perdita, being left abandoned in remote countryside by Paulina’s husband, Antigonus, played with sturdy assurance by Paul Bryan. He falls victim to that most famous of stage directions: ‘Exit, pursued by a bear’. And a huge, fantastical bear it is too, hinting that we are now entering a very different world. Indeed we are, for The Winter’s Tale is most certainly a play of two halves. ‘Time’ tells us that sixteen years have passed, and gone is the dark psychological drama of the first half; now we have colour, clowning, music and dance. There is a cheerful, unashamed revision of the text, too. In a scene-stealing and very funny performance as the pickpocketing pedlar Autolycus, Richard Lafleur is given to belting out his lines in the form of somewhat cheesy 1960’s-style pop songs. Josh Wiseman, excellent in the first half as the courtier Camillo, now has great fun as a broadly caricatured young rustic, sparring verbally with Paul Bryan’s worthy Shepherd, who has adopted the abandoned Perdita. Their transformation from yokels into newly-promoted and utterly unconvincing gentlemen of the court is a comic highlight.

The cast of ten play over twenty-five different roles, but any confusion thus caused is outweighed by the enjoyment of seeing these actors fully exploiting their versatility. Among the minor parts I particularly liked Mina Kweon’s ‘Time’, sinuous, knowing and strange. I also very much liked the final scene, in which Hermione’s ‘statue’ comes to life. Director Kim Durham has bravely decided that we should suspect that it is indeed a statue, suggesting that Leontes’, despite his genuine remorse, does not deserve the return of the real Hermione. The Winter’s Tale has the conventional happy ending of a comedy, but in this thoughtful production, when the actors have left the stage, there is a final, poignant moment that reminds us that Leontes’ redemption has come at a high price. Catch tonight’s last performance if you can. ★★★★☆ Mike Whitton