First up, Richard II.

You're all much cleverer than me so you'll know the story. Given my deep-seated suspicion of programmes, I accosted a gentle and refined looking man as we sat in the Circle Bar awaiting admission to ask for a plot synopsis. (Yes, Siobhan, I can hear you snorting from here.) But by the interval, I liked it so much that I lashed out and bought an aforementioned brochure. Though plot-wise, it didn't prove very useful as it contained only an intellectual essay from the Allardyce Nicoll Professor of Drama at Birmingham University on the concept of kingship. With a few plot pointers thrown in for fools like me to thirstily lap up.

The programme was further proved redundant as I'd (secondarily) wished to check the identity of Richard. I spent the entire first act half-convinced that he must be the red-headed boy that featured in our (DG's) Dangerous Liaisons a few years back. Hasn't he done well for himself? I marvelled. However, it turned not to be this boy at all but in fact, a boy that Cari and I had watched on celluloid a few weeks before in My Week With Marilyn. Eddie Redmayne is his name. Bolingbroke was pretty hot too. It was a fine play for eye candy.

But the production. Was wonderful. The set was beautiful. I wanted to take a sly photo but the ushers looked vigilant and impatient. Let's see if this will work:

Look at that!

A balcony, a staircase, an exit off on the high level and what you can't see because of the photo angle is that the stage was raised with little catwalks exiting off to the back of the auditorium to the left and right of the audience seats. Five different exits. Imagine! And just to reinforce the fact that they really knew their stuff, incense was wafting around the auditorium as we squished in to take our seats. Magic.

It's a cracking story. Eddie was effetely radiantly perfect as Richard II. Well, as far as I could see. I concentrated my very hardest and didn't feel sleepy once. (To be fair, I'd deliberately gone without dinner in the hopes of maximising my alertness. The high quantity of handsome boys in the cast I'm sure made no contribution.) I got a little bit confused about who was whose brother. But that's possibly just the nature of the history plays. Given no prior study, I kept pace remarkably well.

The costumes were stunning. Oh to have money. It was beautifully directed. (Michael Grandage's swansong at the Donmar.) Not remotely histrionic although the script could seamlessly slide into so being with the amount of shouting and ranting squashed into the lines. And the thing that really got me was that they all spoke Soooo well. As if it wasn't Shakespeare at all. It just happened to sound lovely. Of course you'd expect them to be so competent but a real pleasure to see the language so well and effortlessly (apparently) spoken.

(Spoiler alert!) As an additional pleasure, Richard / Eddie died beautifully. A demonstration, should one need it, that you don't need to screech and flail your arms about. Lie still. People will get the point. I like these lessons.