The Tempest ★★★☆☆

We’re not allowed to say ‘Shakespeare’s a bit boring, innit?’, are we? No matter whether it’s true or not.

A new production of The Tempest has opened — a reimagining of Shakespeare’s last and perhaps most enigmatic play. It has often been seen as a valedictory for his career, specifically in the final speech in which Prospero tells the audience “Let your indulgence set me free”, asking to be released from the stage one last time before retiring.

The story centers on Prospero, an exiled duke – but in this version, duchess – who wields magical powers on a mysterious island. After orchestrating a storm that shipwrecks her usurping brother and other nobles on the island, Prospero seeks to reclaim her rightful place while navigating complex relationships with her daughter Miranda, the spirit Ariel, and the monstrous Caliban.

This production marks a significant moment in theatrical history—it is the first Shakespeare play to grace Theatre Royal Drury Lane in over half a century. Jamie Lloyd, known for his innovative and often cinematic approach to theatre, has assembled a star-studded cast led by Sigourney Weaver (yes, the sci-fi Sigourney Weaver) in her West End debut as Prospero. Weaver’s casting not only brings star power but also adds layers to the character; her portrayal reverses the traditional gender roles within the narrative.

As the curtain rises, you are immediately drawn into Prospero’s world—a realm where magic intertwines with reality. The play opens with Prospero contemplating her exile alongside her daughter Miranda. Their solitude is disrupted when a shipwreck brings their past to their doorstep. As they encounter the shipwrecked nobles—Alonso, Sebastian, and Antonio—alongside comic relief from Trinculo and Stephano, you witness a rich tapestry of human emotions: love blooms between Miranda and Ferdinand, while Caliban’s resentment towards Prospero reveals deeper themes of colonisation and servitude.

Lloyd’s direction emphasizes these emotional currents through carefully orchestrated moments that balance humor with pathos. As you watch Prospero manipulate events from her throne-like stool—an image both commanding and vulnerable—you realize that her journey is not just about vengeance but also about forgiveness and letting go.

Sigourney Weaver’s Prospero is multifaceted; she commands the stage with an authoritative presence yet reveals vulnerability in quieter moments. Her physical stillness — often seated — leads to a sense of inertia in the first act, but when she finally rises in the second act, it feels like a release of pent-up energy. This choice emphasises Prospero’s transformation from passive observer to active participant in her fate.

Mason Alexander Park (a recent Emcee in Cabaret) shines as Ariel, bringing an ethereal quality to the role that captivates you. Their aerial (sorry!) work is mesmerising—each flight across the stage feels like an embodiment of freedom constrained by servitude. In contrast, Forbes Masson’s Caliban offers a raw portrayal that oscillates between grotesque humor and tragic depth, reminding you of the complexities within seemingly simple characters.

Mathew Horne’s Trinculo provides much-needed levity with his comedic timing, while Mara Huf’s Miranda embodies youthful innocence juxtaposed against her mother’s hardened wisdom – although her (pointless) American accent was a strange choice that didn’t quite work.

The actors navigate a set designed by Soutra Gilmour that features undulating hills of flint reminiscent of barren landscapes from science fiction films. It’s pretty cool, actually. But one of the stranger decisions is the complete absence of any props, apart from one – the stool Prospero sits on during the first half. There is, literally, nothing else. Yes, it means you get the chance to imagine your own scenery and props. But you could go a step further, save £75, and sit in empty room and imagine the whole thing. Even Prospero’s staff is missing; so when she says “I’ll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, as part of her decision to give up her magical powers, it all looks a bit… silly.

The pacing throughout the performance varies significantly; moments of stillness are punctuated by bursts of action or magic that keep you engaged. For instance, during Ariel’s enchanting songs, the lighting shifts dramatically—casting shadows that dance across the stage—creating an immersive experience that pulls you deeper into this fantastical world.

This production may spark conversations about how we approach Shakespearean texts today—whether they should be preserved or reimagined—and what it means for future generations of theatre makers. In its boldness lies its beauty; whether you love or loathe this interpretation, it undeniably leaves an impression—a testament to theatre’s enduring ability to provoke thought and evoke emotion across time and space.