Stratford Festival's lavish revival of ‘The Tempest’ makes this revenge comedy work for today

But while complete sympathy isn’t necessary, it is essential that an audience understand what motivates his actions. Yet that feels increasingly difficult in our current political climate.

“The Tempest” can be read as a story of political revenge. Prospero, deposed by his younger brother Antonio (Gordon S. Miller) and the King of Naples, Alonso (David Collins), conjures a terrible storm to shipwreck his enemies and bring them to his shores. There on this island, the powerful magician has enslaved its spirits along with Caliban, the son of the island’s previous ruler, a witch who trafficked in black magic.

Prospero, however, can be interpreted as no better than that witch. He can be bitter, tyrannical and unforgiving. When his adversaries arrive, Prospero casts a spell on the King’s son, Ferdinand (Dakota Jamal Wellman), making him fall in love with his daughter, Miranda (Ashley Dingwell).

It’d be fair to argue, as many have, that Prospero merely uses his daughter as a political pawn to reclaim his dukedom and secure his future. And though “The Tempest” ends as a comedy, not a tragedy — with Prospero eventually forgiving Antonio and Alonso; emancipating both the spirit Ariel (Marissa Orjalo) and the witch’s son, Caliban (Jonathan Goad); and even asking for the audience’s forgiveness — it’s easy to be cynical and dismiss Prospero as a conniving opportunist.

After all, how many male politicians have committed such grave wrongdoing only to insincerely beg for forgiveness in order to salvage their political careers? (Or, if you live in Ontario, how many times have you seen one particular politician do this? I digress.)

But director Antoni Cimolino’s production, quite a bold departure from his previous “Tempest” in 2018, makes it crystal clear what motivates Prospero. Here, Geraint Wyn Davies’ protagonist isn’t an amoral Machiavellian politician. Instead, he’s guided by one thing only: an unwavering love for his daughter. It’s this love that informs his moral compass — no matter how warped or imperfect it may be at times. And it’s what anchors this revival. 

Wyn Davies and Dingwell are completely believable as father and daughter. His Prospero exudes a nurturing, fatherly warmth, his arms often wrapping Miranda up in a protective embrace. 

When Wyn Davies’ Prospero devises the reunion between Miranda and Ferdinand, there is no hint of ulterior motives here; he does it solely for his daughter’s happiness. Likewise, when Prospero finally gets to confront the King of Naples, charging, “Most cruelly didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter,” Wyn Davies digs into those final three words, stressing that what hurts Prospero more is not what Alonso did to him, but what was done to his daughter. And earlier, when Miranda recounts faint memories of her life before exile, questioning whether she did, in fact, have “four or five women” once tend to her, Prospero responds: “Thou hadst, and more.” Wyn Davies’ voice, at times booming, in other moments barely above an audible whisper, almost cracks in pain as he delivers those words. 

Julie Fox’s set and costume designs are sumptuous. Upstage, a large, rotating rock formation marks Prospero’s cell. Downstage on the Festival Theatre’s thrust is a washed-up piano (a nod, perhaps, to Stratford’s 2010 production of “The Tempest” starring Christopher Plummer, which also featured the same instrument). Elsewhere, Prospero’s seaswept domain is filled with snails, glowing jellyfish and other marine creatures. 

The beauty of this setting raises the stakes in this “Tempest.” And by the end of the play, when Prospero relinquishes his craft, it shows just how much the exiled duke is willing to give up out of love for his daughter. 

Beyond this central relationship between Prospero and Miranda, however, Cimolino’s production is or more mixed success. Among its highlights is its namesake scene. In this production, the opening tempest is one of indomitable fury: Ranil Sonnadara conjures a soundscape of howling winds, while Imogen Wilson’s lighting designs give the illusion of waves battering Alonso’s ship. 

As Trinculo and Stephano, respectively, who conspire with Caliban to overthrow Prospero in one of the play’s humorous subplots, Josue Laboucane and Ben Carlson make for a mighty comic duo, their slapstick humour earning big laughs on opening night.

But few other members of the company rise to this level. Despite some winning chemistry with Dingwell, there’s a flatness to Wellman’s take on Ferdinand, and his role remains nothing more than an ingénu throughout. As Ariel, Orjalo feels like a better fit for Trinculo; her skittish, overeager interpretation, head always cocking one way or another, makes it hard to believe that she’s enslaved and desperate for her freedom. 

It’s also a bit perplexing that Cimolino has chosen to depict Caliban, who is half-human and half-monster, so much like an animal in this production. (Wearing Fox’s costumes, Goad looks like the Cowardly Lion if he’d just tumbled out of a laundry machine.) 

“The Tempest” has a lot to say about about colonization, and can even be read an as allegory of European expansionism. Indeed, Cimolino teases some of these ideas by setting this revival in the early 19th century, at the height of the Napoleonic Era. But by leaning into Caliban’s more monstrous, animalistic side, this production ultimately relieves its audience of having to draw the parallels between Caliban’s treatment at the hands of Prospero and broader themes of Western imperialism. 

If this “Tempest” feels somewhat disappointing, it’s only because Cimolino has set such high standards for himself over the past 14 years as Stratford’s artistic director. And even with this staging — the first of two shows he’ll direct this year as he concludes his tenure — he remains one of the finest and most consistent Shakespearean directors in this country. 

It’s not hard to see parts of Prospero in Cimolino. When the sorcerer delivers his final speech, breaking the fourth wall to ask the audience to unshackle him from his art and magic, Prospero and Cimolino seemingly blur together. He may be hanging up his magical staff for now, but let’s hope we haven’t seen the last of it.