COTTESLOE, NATIONAL THEATRE

Ah, the never-ending whirligig of theatrical fashion. Last century the words Theatre In Education were greeted with the same bloated dread that accompanied phrases like The Scottish Play. Self-styled Withnails would claim they’d rather eat their Equity card than tour schools with Bullies Need Befriending and Peggy Penguin & The Falklands Dispute.

But now these tours, those early starts and yawning young faces can actually land an actor onstage at the Nash. For those of you not, ahem, down with the kids, that’s the Royal National Theatre.

Today is Twelfth Night at the Cottesloe, where it’s bedded in for a week between school performances. Coincidentally, Twelfth Night was the first T.I.E. production I ever saw at the poster-paint smell-scape of my primary school (I believe they styled it 12th Nite, or, Wotcha Will Shakespeare). It went down well for many reasons. The lady playing Olivia appeared to be kissing with tongue (we duly took notes). Malvolio’s yellow tights snaked hilariously around his oblivious ankles. Sebastian managed to slice off the tip of Toby Belch’s finger, and we all helped look for it as Mr Clemens ran for the ice-box. We got the morning off whilst they mopped blood off the gymnasium floor. Result.

The Cottesloe is the smallest of the National’s three theatres, and huddles snugly behind its bigger brothers. It’s happily self-sufficient and the most adaptable of the trio; in fact the space is so chameleonic you probably won’t recognize it from show to show. Today’s company conjure up the streets and palaces of Illyria with an ingenious red curtain-box, a jamboree of bright costumes and some tongue-in-cheek doubling of characters. Sat in a sea of blazers and ties, I monitor how times have changed. Olivia’s proposal is now controversial (“Ugh!” retches the girl next to me, “Why would she want to get married?! That’s what old people do.”). But they love the laying of the letter-trap for Malvolio. This is something they could relate to. Utter mischief. Shakespeare’s a bit good at all that.

We sing with gusto, laugh at the funny masks, the quicksilver performances, the obvious talent of the whole production. And the children lap it up. Because here’s a show and a space worthy of their intelligence and sensitivity. No cut corners, no shoddy acting, no condescension. T.I.E as it should be. So bravo the Cottesloe, little theatre with a big heart, for celebrating these school tours. Goethe may have said

“I wish the stage were as narrow as a tightrope so that no incompetent would dare tread on it”

but that’s nothing compared to the perils of performing for Year 6. One bad production, and boom, you’ve put a child off theatre. For life. One hammy soliloquy too far, and you’ve wrecked Shakespeare for them forever. So remember, Mister La-Di-Da West End Actor, these troupers you once sneered at are out there winning over future audiences. For you.

Yes, I’m mainly talking to myself there. But I learned my lesson eventually. C+.